There are six of us on the houseboat today. That's a fairly low number for us, but it fits in with my mellow mood. All I want, at least out of the first day, is a chance to relax. I'm not a strong enough swimmer to jump in the lake and take off, but I did spend a good long time bobbing around with the life vest on this afternoon. All lathered up with sunblock, of course.
We started getting shade on the back deck about 5:00 pm, so that's where we gathered to sit and read and tell stories (about those who are absent; we'll tell other stories after they show up). On the back deck is, in fact, where I'm sitting and writing this. And I'm not taking it for granted at all.
In fact, I'm savoring every moment, while at the same time trying not to think about the life (and responsibilities) I left behind. In fact, let's not even go there.
For one of the first times I can ever remember, there was no music on the houseboat today. It was peaceful all afternoon, and then this evening Eric took his twelve-string up on the top deck and strummed notes and chords and tunes. It was pleasant background music for all of us, but I enjoyed it especially since I haven't heard him play his guitar for a long time.
It was much better than hearing something electric (or electronic) blasting from one end of the houseboat to the other. (I'll admit, though, that sometimes I'm the one who loads the CDs, and I don't always choose quiet, peaceful music. I do like a break from it sometimes, though.)
I started this at 5:20, and I have no idea how long it's been. I haven't kept at it straight through, but I haven't been doing much of anything else, either. For once I have no agenda, no deadline. I had to drive half the day to get to a place where I don't feel driven myself.