In Which We Turn 47

It's a truly beautiful spring day, all pearl sky and light breeze, the type of day when it seems sinful to have to work indoors. Surely they should let us out on a day like this. We get so few of them here! We shouldn't be stuffed in our veal-pen cubicles; we should be out walking beside a river, flying kites, digging in the garden. It's especially so today, because it's my birthday, and I have an intense desire to go hiking and have a picnic. Ah well!

I remember when I got my first fulltime job, and I was shocked to find out I was expected to work through the summer. What, you mean this is all year? You never shut down? I was so used to being a student with summers off; it had never occurred to me that I was going to be expected to work year-round. 'Til five o'clock! Preposterous!

I will say, though, that I really get my money's worth out of every minute of vacation time now, because I know how precious it is. When I have a day off, I can walk the dogs, work in the garden, bake bread, clean house, do laundry, and read a good portion of a book by 7 a.m. Every second is packed with utter enjoyment. I'm not sure if I would enjoy "down time" that intensely if I had lots of it. Working makes me appreciate the times I'm not working. What would I be like if I had every day off? It probably wouldn't be pretty. I'd wallow in books and baking and playing with my puppies and not accomplish much at all.

I'd like to try it.