beat it

i love the day before a vacation. it's so close you can taste it. when i close my eyes, i'm already at the beach, breathing the salty air, holding my book and towel in hand, drinking in the rare moment without constant phone ringage or faxes passed over cubicles or fluorescent lightbulbs drowning out natural light. just dreaming about it might keep me up all night.

i will not, i promise, be nervously anticipating my turn at the voting booth. i know which way illinois will vote for the presidential election, for the open senate seat. i know enough to understand that melissa bean will easily win the 8th congressional district spot. i know it matters. and i will watch the votes come in and be counted tomorrow. and the next day. and god knows, we'll probably have a president come christmas just in time for half the country to celebrate their candidate's cheap triumph.

blah. i think if you want change, it's done on a grassroots level.
but i didn't come here to get all political ...

i came here to talk about vacation. respite. holiday. leave. breathing space.

i remember as a kid getting ready to leave for a vacation to the East Coast and being so restless with excitement that i couldn't sleep and walking downstairs to find my mom going over the last minute packing essentials. i loved the anticipation of a van vacation. we'd bring our little suitcases out at the crack of dawn, and my little sister, paula, and i - still small enough to walk around inside the van without having to hunch over - would nab the far backseat, leaving our older sister with a middle bucket seat and what paula and i could only assume were her own assumedly-bizarre pre-teen thoughts (thanks for putting up with us, sarah).

each road trip necessarily began with michael jackson's thriller album in the tape deck, the three of us girls singing "beat it" with an irish accent (don't ask ... because i honestly couldn't tell you why), and ending with a little foot-to-foot bicycle action during the mj/paul mccartney "the girl is mine" hit. to this day, i have vivid recollections of traveling through the mountains in pennsylvania on a sunny day, cycling in the backseat with paula, and taking turns on the ever popular duet:
"Michael, We're not going to fight about this, okay?
Paul, I think I told you, I'm a lover, not a fighter
Because the doggone girl is mine ... "

*side note: name one song that has speaking in it that's NOT a hit. seriously. that's what music is missing these days ... someone get pharrell and chad on the phone*

i loved riding in that van. i loved every minute: when mom would come move to the back and teach us how to play euchre, when we got to take turns riding shotgun so we could keep dad company while mom slept, when we'd stop at mcdonalds for egg mcmuffins (i swear, the ONLY time we ever got mcdonalds - besides fish filet fridays in lent) and take "naps" afterwards at 7 in the morning. i loved it.

and now, well, there's no van, no family members, and i certainly don't think ATA will allow me and shelly the freedom to sock cycle. but at least one thing will be the same ...
at least one song playing through my headphones will be sung in my head with an irish accent. because, i promise you, it's not a vacation without a little irrrish. otherwise, you're doing it all arseways.

off to pack ... and find that thriller tape.