Just got back from a totally relaxing week on the Oregon coast, south of Yachats, north of Heceta Head Lighthouse. I did absolutely nothing. I was totally unproductive. I vegged big time. I lay around in my pajamas and ate cereal for dinner, in the living room, watching bunnies out the front window and ever-watchful bald eagles from the back window. The eagles starved and the bunnies were totally oblivious.
I didn’t watch a clock. I took naps. I didn’t follow rules. I did, however, floss and took my vitamins. I ate whatever I wanted; got up when I felt like it; dressed when I felt like it (some days, never). I became civilized occasionally and dressed appropriately and blended in with other tourists in the quaint Old Town villages of Newport, Waldport, and Florence. I stopped at every wayside along Highway 101 from Lincoln City down to Florence, enjoyed the ocean and all her majesty from as many viewpoints as I could find.
I spent a wonderful full ten days with no phone, no tv, and lots of books. So, I was a little startled as I drove home and all that was on the radio were news items about Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Gale Storm, Billy Mays, and Ed McMahon. All dead. O my. Of all of these deaths, the one that bothered me the most was Gale Storm. She was one of my mother’s favorites. Perky, saucy, funny. Her death was lost amongst all the hype that went with particularly Michael Jackson, but Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon as well. All the loss, turmoil, pain, ups, downs, eccentricities, foibles.
Of all the things I didn’t have on my vacation – the television was the least missed. It brought to point for me that there really is nothing worthwhile on television that enhances my life in the tiniest way. I came home refreshed and revitalized – something that television just does not do for me.