This I know: There’s a back story to every big decision. Last weekend I walked along the Oregon Coast and contemplated a major purchase. A big deal. Something that could very easily crack the foundation upon which I’ve built my most cherished possession—my stability.
It wasn’t unlike the day we decided to (quite literally) put all our eggs (quite metaphorically) in one basket. Though this time, my father was way more involved than I would care to admit.
My thoughts last weekend all began with the Magicland Development Corporation. You know, those few hardy souls behind the development of Gregson Hot Springs. (For those of you born after the Kennedy assassination, Gregson Hot Springs is what we used to call Fairmont Hot Springs.) My dad was an officer in the development corporation, along with a man named Bob Franklin. Both of them have long since passed away, but Bob F, Bob B, and a couple of other entrepreneurs put their heads together and developed Gregson into a resort, which they sold it to a Canadian man named Lloyd who had a resort in British Columbia called Fairmont Hot Springs. The big deal at Fairmont (Montana) was the golf course. The bigger deal was supposed to be the timeshare condominiums. Back then, timeshares and condos were totally new concepts. New enough to not come with the baggage they seem to carry today.
I think, and by that I mean I do not know, Dad had a vested interest in the timeshares in Fairmont. There used to be a map in the hotel lobby with a future state of the condos. Byington Trail was one of the streets. I don’t know if the condos ever materialized. In point of fact, I don’t really know whatever happened between my dad and the Magicland Development Corporation. Maybe it had something to do with Lloyd. Maybe not. But something happened. Something soured. I do know the whole thing became something we never spoke about again, once it happened.
My thoughts were futher complicated by the overt inability of my parents to go on a family vacation without a major dispute. I do not exaggerate.
Exhibit A: Note how they spent an entire week in Canada not speaking to each other. My father worked, my mother sighed heavily, my sister spent so much time in the swimming pool her hair turned green. I passed the time tightly coiled in the fetal position with stomach cramps.
Exhibit B: Note how they held a rather demonstrative conversation in the front seat of the car before vowing to never take another trip again. We checked into a motel cabin on Lake McDonald. My mother refused to speak. My father refused to eat. My sister wrote endless letters to her camp friend. I learned to shop and cook in a motel kitchenette—a skill that will serve me a hundredfold in later life.
Exhibit C: Note how, due to their inability to truly express themselves, they decided to tour Temple Square in Salt Lake City instead of going to Lagoon, the family fun center (and affordable alternative to Disneyland) their children had seen advertised on cable television since infancy.
I ask you: HOW DIFFICULT CAN RELAXATION GET?
Since those experiences it might not surprise you to know that I consider a vacation to include a lot of sitting and staring. Maybe some reading. Maybe a little walking. Maybe some good cooking. And a nice bathtub. (I do enjoy a nice, long bath.) Views are optional. (Although a huge bonus when staring, views can be distracting when reading, and if the views are truly view-worthy, they are not necessarily bereft of strangers, which can interfere with walking.)
It also might not surprise you to know that my most favorite vacations are those in which I can sit, stare, read and cook in the comfort of a cozy enclosure away from strangers. An oceanfront condo is, well, Sitter-and-Starer’s Nirvana. And a couple of years ago, in a deperate attempt to sit and stare, Alana and I found just the spot. It has haunted us ever since. The only hitch in this giddyup? It was a time-share sort of situation.
But here’s the deal:
In my mind, my dad loved the idea of sharing time. Time sharing. Whatever. Not having to maintain a completely different place that sat empty most of the year. I think he would have found the economy of the entire idea far outweighed the cost. I can see the gears turning in his mind. He wanted a quiet place for his family. He didn’t want to worry about restaurants. He wanted to cook for himself. He didn’t want to stress about reservations. He wanted to plan ahead. He only wanted to pack and unpack once. He didn’t want to be surprised. He didn’t crave adventure. He loved side trips. He loved geology. He loved to sit and do crosswords and read Rex Stout books.
Now I know this is gross displacement. I know this is me, making excuses to do what I want. And I know the decision I made, we made, I made, will lose its lustre if times ever become tight.
But if there’s one thing I know, it’s what I want.
So we got it. Now we have it. Let the sitting and staring commence.