Someone tell Mari!

Our log house is 150 miles away;
a bit over three hours if you measure that way.
Once it was just twenty minutes away.
In between, it was about 1500 miles east.

The log house has not moved. We have.

"Cabins"--as all getaway homes are called,
here in Minnesota; here in Minnesota, it is not
a "cabin" if there is not a lake nearby; there
is no lake near our log house, so it is not a "cabin"--
but I digress, cabins should not be more than
twenty minutes away. Else they are sinkholes.

Sinkholes are places where uncaring people
tossed things: old refrigerators, filth, brush,
rocks, the broken wagon, that rusty Chrysler
K-car. And labor. If you own a getaway sinkhole,
you toss a lot of labor in there, too.

It is impossible to find enough time to contemplate
all the tools and ladders and materials one needs
to go to the cabin--read, "sinkhole"--together with
the six or seven hours it takes simply to drive there
and back. Doctor's appointments, lawn care,
straightening up the study, eating, living life, work,
meeting friends at coffee, and sloth all get in the way.

Mari says I am incapable of going to our log house
and relaxing. She says I think of it as nothing but work;
that I do not know how to to there and just relax.

I took a picture of our picnic table recently.

It is still that way. Someone tell Mari, please!
.

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