SPRING BREAK MANIAC
Slice of Life #4
For my wife’s funeral, I wrote twelve short stories about our life together and decided to post them here on Substack, too. A few people told me they enjoyed these slice-of-life vignettes just as much as my waxing philosophical about grief, so I figured I’d keep writing them now and then. Plus, it’ll be something my girls can come back to someday.
Blisters blistered over other blisters as we marched across another endless meadow toward one more distant, majestic peak. The sun felt closer than the mountain. Our water canisters had long since run dry, leaving us to ration warm plastic refills we prayed would last until the next life-saving oasis, otherwise known as a visitor center.
My girls were too exhausted to even ask how much farther. That stage had passed miles ago. Now they simply walked. Silent. Hunched over. Running on fumes. Possibly considering whether emancipation was an option at age nine.
I propelled the expedition forward with every trick in the parent handbook.
“Who wants more gummy worms?”
Morale briefly improved.
But I could tell the sugar rush alone might not carry this battered unit to our final destination.
My wife, Judy, began quietly suggesting that perhaps this was a good place to turn around. She expressed concern that we might get lost, eaten by wildlife, or cannibals, or worse — be forced to endure the unimaginable horror of spending the night camping in the wilderness rather than returning safely to our Airbnb sanctuary with indoor plumbing and reasonably strong Wi-Fi.
To be clear, this was not an expedition to the North Pole.
This was our family Spring Break trip to Yosemite in 2016.
If you’ve read many of my articles, you’ve probably picked up on a running theme. I don’t rest particularly well. I tend to believe that if you’re going somewhere, you should see it all. Turn over every damn rock if necessary. Possibly all in one day.
So, through a combination of enthusiasm, persuasion, and lots of tactical coercion, I convinced my wife and our two nine-year-old daughters to hike nearly fifteen miles in a single day.
Fifteen miles may not sound extreme to experienced hikers. But for a family who had just bought our hiking boots at REI, that was a bit of a stretch.
The following morning, the true consequences of my quest became apparent when Judy and I attempted to get out of bed. It felt as if someone had replaced our muscles with wet cement sometime during the night.
Unfortunately, I had also promised the girls we would visit the small lake in the community where we were staying and go horseback riding.
My legs screamed, whhhhhaaaaaaatttt?
But then again, what else were we supposed to do? Sit peacefully in our luxurious cabin? Read a book? Play a board game? Enjoy a calm day together?
THIS WAS OUR VACATION!
Judy, however, had reached her breaking point. She calmly informed us she would be staying behind to do... laundry. The girls and I made an attempt to convince her to join us, but she wasn’t budging.
“We just hiked fifteen miles yesterday,” she said. “Laundry is all my body can muster right now.”
She then propped her feet up and began playing Candy Crush.
Nothing was going to pry her away now.
So I popped some aspirin and took the girls to the lake and horseback riding, which felt like someone taking a jackhammer to my thighs with every trot on the bumpy trail.
Later that evening, we all met up at a quaint little pizza place where the girls and I enthusiastically described everything Judy had “missed,” while she quietly enjoyed being able to move without groaning.
And the truth is, she never really felt like she missed out. She always said she loved seeing the glow on our faces when we came back.
She tolerated the over-packed itineraries. The attempts to squeeze three vacations into one. The belief that rest happened later, maybe on the drive home, unless I spotted a must-see roadside attraction.
World’s largest ball of yarn? We’re stopping.
And when she reached her limit, she trusted me enough to go have my adventures with the girls, knowing I’d come back with some stories and probably a mild injury.
That was part of our balance.
I thought about that trip this week because it’s the girls’ Spring Break again.
We talked briefly about returning to Yosemite, but one of my daughters filled her calendar wall-to-wall with plans with friends, including a three-day sprint down to San Diego.
A chip off my slightly unhinged block.
My other daughter kept things much lighter. She’s more like Judy. Some of the things she had hoped to do didn’t quite go as planned, so I stayed home with her.
And I told myself it’s okay to just be.
No epic hike.
No fifteen-mile forced march.
No emergency gummy worm rations required.
Just spend time together.
I’m slowly learning that not every meaningful moment requires a summit.
Sometimes the best memories are just sitting together, letting the day unfold at a pace no one needs an ice pack to recover from.
And I’m starting to understand more and more how lucky I was to have a partner who accepted me exactly as I am and was occasionally willing to follow this intense maniac, even if it meant the occasional blister.
Miss you, honey. Love you.