School-age kids across the country are out on Spring Break and New York City is buzzing with an extra dose of "school's out!" energy. The subways are packed with families traveling to Times Square, park playgrounds, and FAO Schwarz. Tourists have descended from every place on the map, even the ones no one marks with pushpins. Cameras are clicking. Sidewalks are shrinking. In other words, it's time to get the hell out of dodge.
Unfortunately, that just ain't happening. Wah, wah. Fooled you.
Instead of soaking up the rays, lapping up the waves, and trying to keep sunscreen from leaking into my eyes, I am schlepping to work in the end-of-April fog, running the usual errands, and flipping through pictures of vacations past.
I've heard positive visualization really works. We'll just see about that.
In my mind I am sipping rum cocktails with fruit wedged on the side.
And sucking back smoothies made of juicy tropical fruit like coconut, mango and pineapple.
This week, I'm not surrounded by steel and chrome and concrete, but by bamboo and rickety wood painted like Rainbow Brite's clubhouse. No one is buttoning their top collar or tucking in shirts. They're kicking back, hanging loose, wearing bikini tops with cut-off shorts and flip-flops with sand between the toes.
Where I am, it's so warm that ice cream melts and hits the sand before it ever hits my mouth. Who cares? I'll wash my sticky skin off in the ocean.
Under this hat is a face that has been kissed by the sun and a brow that has lost its furrow. That Belinda Carlisle really knew what she was talking about--a vacation is all I ever needed.
And until I can really get away, I'll keep dreaming of sandy shores and ocean breezes, candy-colored cocktails and lazy afternoons. Oh summer, where are you??