The jury is in – all votes have been counted – the truth is undeniable. Our staycation activities director is a sadist. I thought the idea of a vacation, whether stay at home or escape from home destinations, was to relax, unwind, and enjoy activities you don’t have time to pursue during the everyday grind. She did not get the memo. I had envisioned mimosas and massages, but her idea of fun and games was to perform a Marie Kondo on the storage locker. Yep, you heard me. Who rents a U-Haul in January?

It is difficult for me to admit, but she had a point, as less than twenty items languished in an 8 x 10 unit. There is also the matter of the New Year’s Resolution which states we should live with less and keep only the things we love. So, we bit the bullet, and heaved, lifted, tugged, and carted until we loaded everything, and then we drove the truck home, where the reverse process ensued. One benefit was nobody broke into a sweat because it was far too cold. At home, we rearranged, sorted, found places for everything, and then totally exhausted, we collapse on the couch.

Thank goodness it’s Friday, and she had the good grace to serve a celebratory drink. She scowled at me when I asked for a double. I didn’t care. My muscles were already complaining, and I know Saturday will involve lots of soreness. I hope she doesn’t have any more bright ideas. I think I need to go back to work.

Do you need a vacation from your vacation?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Our staycation activities director is full of surprises. Before I was properly caffeinated, she had us donning coats and gloves to venture outside. I checked my phone and shuddered. My weather app reported a balmy 20 F and clear skies. Without a cloud in the sky, sunlight glistened, sparkled, and reflected off the 10-inch-deep snowdrifts. Snowblind, I squinted and fumbled for my sunglasses. Meanwhile, I attempted to step in the footsteps of the person in front of me. It didn’t work, and all my trouble only rewarded me with the unpleasant sensation of cold, wet snow snaking into my boots. Yuck.

The day’s excursion was an exploration of the backyard forest with an arborist. It was easy to see that the man loved trees. He gleefully pointed to Arborvitae, Norway Pine, Scotch Pine, White Pine, Crab Apple, Linden, Freeman Maple, Tree Lilac, Shrub Lilac, Dogwood, Blue Spruce, Oak, Locust, Eastern Red Bud, American Beech, and River Birch in the landscape. We traipsed after the little boy in the candy store as he pointed out candles on evergreens, debated the merits of planting one species versus another in our backyard micro-climate, and detailed the advantages of winter pruning on maples.

Unfortunately, he also identified evidence of a Cytospora Canker on the Blue Spruce. Instead of the canker girdling a lower branch, a manageable situation, the infestation has encircled the trunk about halfway up the 40-foot-tall tree. Dieback is already apparent at the tree’s apex. There are no treatment options for the once beautiful specimen, and the disease will undermine the tress’s structural integrity and symmetry. Given its proximity to a driveway, the best course of action is to remove the tree. I wanted to cry.

The ever-effervescent arborist noted the advantages of planting a different species in a better position to replace the Spruce. He also suggested a Bald Cypress as a focal point and windbreak and a planting Pussy Willow as a screen in another area. They say the best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago, and the next best time is today. I foresee a few new trees sprouting in my backyard sanctuary this spring.

Do you notice trees in the winter?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Our staycation activities director didn’t come out of her room until almost lunchtime yesterday. When she emerged, she was a bit disheveled, and definitely not her usual self. As she shuffled past me on the way to the shower, I swear I caught the faint aroma of hazelnut chocolate, and unless my eyes were deceiving me, she wore a dark smudge on her right jawbone, just below her ear. Perhaps I should have warned her about the dark truffle liquor centers? Maybe not, since she was rather mellow most of the day.

My body, tired from the previous day’s frantic driveway shoveling antics, rejoiced in the lack of games. Quiet activities ruled. The guests were subdued, absorbed in their independent pursuits, as I tiptoed away to confirm my reservation. The spa had my name written on an engraved invitation. Oh, the joy. Warm vanilla, with hints of roses, jasmine, and raspberry, perfumed the air. My tub, the source of the fragrant mix, was filled with scented water. Soft music played in the background. Nearby, candles flickered, my favorite hazelnut coffee beckoned, and I slipped into a state of bliss.

When I reluctantly emerged from my palace of solitude, heated towels swaddled me before I donned an oversized fluffy white robe and lush terry slippers. My nerves felt less frazzled, my skin no longer itched from the ravages of winter dryness, and sore muscles relaxed. Clearing my Wednesday hump day hurdle never felt so good.

How do you relax?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

I think our staycation activities director is in cahoots with the Amazon driver. As predicted, snow fell for a full 24 hours, blanketing the world like a snow globe creation. Even the snowplows were reluctant to spoil the beauty. They delayed as long as possible and postponed our initial pass until after 10 am. Gray clouds were undeterred and attempted to erase all traces showing they had passed. The wind blew, keeping up its end of the bargain.

The Prime delivery trucks don’t seem to notice and arrived earlier than his regular 4-5 pm time slot. He was in a rush, and instead of trudging through 6 inches of snow (10 where it drifted), he opted to perch the parcels precariously on top of the mailbox. Then he sped off around the corner. The wind seized a playful opportunity and knocked them into the street. The cruise director shrieked and hurried her staycation guests into their winter attire. It was time for another game. Into each mittened and gloved hand, she placed a shovel. She issued curt, simple rules. The first person completing a clear path down the driveway to retrieve the packages would win. Then, adding urgency and higher stakes to the heated competition, she pointed to flashing lights on the next block that were headed in our direction. “Hurry. Save the little darlings,” she screamed, and the race began.

It was a nail bitter. Would we recover the prize? Or would the plows scoop them from the snowy pavement and bury them under a mountain of salt-encrusted, ice-coated yuck? Or worse yet, would they crush them into oblivion, leaving the contents unfit for human consumption? I had insider information – you see. A rare bird I know ordered a life-sustaining, snowmageddon survival kit filled with chai tea, hot cocoa, and handcrafted chocolates. I could not stand by and condemn my sweet treats the indignity of being smashed into smithereens.

I shoveled like a madwoman on a mission and saved my survival gear. Intrepid writer 1, Snowplows 0. Yes, there was a victory dance in the endzone. Fine me. As a bonus, we cleared the drive of white stuff with record-breaking speed and without whining. Inside, our Copacabana Lounge bartender concocted a batch of warm drinks for rosy-cheeked patrons. He topped my mug with an extra float to take the chill away. The umbrella was a thoughtful touch too.

How did you spend your snow day?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Our lovely cruise director greeted us our first morning with promises of a fun-filled game day. My staycation participants are always ready for excitement and competition, especially when prizes hang in the balance. I admit I saw through her manipulative words, but I smiled and played along. The object was to gather dirty items that needed cleaning and place them in baskets. She conveniently had an attractive assortment, and everyone got to choose their treasure chest. The winner would be the one who collected the most.

The results were smelly, and some were very unexpected. Filthy socks, stale underwear, and sheets wadded into a tight ball found their way into the collection bins. The oddest Item was a greasy, dusty pizza box with a long-forgotten table knife clattering around inside. I didn’t dare ask questions since I was sure the backstory would make me queasy. We crowned our champion King of Clean and permitted him to watch his favorite movie while we losers sorted piles into the washing machine and the dishwasher.

Right on cue, we heard the announcement that snow had started falling in our neighborhood, accompanied by freezing temperatures and wind gusts to 40 miles per hour. Our tropical paradise registered a balmy 72 degrees, and we settled in for a special shrimp cocktail appetizer. It was not a bad Monday, after all.

How was your Monday?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

They say, “There is a time for everything, a season for every activity,” and this week is about rest, relaxation, sleep, taking it slow, clearing the schedule, and pouring drinks with pretty little umbrellas in them. Sometimes you need a vacation, a staycation, no matter the time of year. I packed my bags, stocked the pantry, have the delivery service app installed, and called in sick. I have my itinerary and have programmed the GPS with the coordinates to Spa Island, the Copacabana Lounge, the Easy-Living Livingroom and Theater complex, and The Comfy Comforter Executive Suite. It is funny how the map resembles my house’s floor plan.

The weather forecasters predict five to eight inches of snow, and I expect I will be housebound, eh, I mean unable to get a flight home before Friday. Superwoman promised not to help. I think she’s secretly hoping for a massage.

Are you planning a winter vacation?

_________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

We are nearing the end of January. Almost one month into the new year and I am still working on my New Year Resolutions. I know many people have already abandoned their hopes and dreams. Statistics tell us 80% of New Year’s resolutions fail by the second week of February. If you made a fitness-related resolution, then the second Friday in January was the fateful date when commitments crumbled. My goals are audacious, ambitious, optimistic, and exhausting. This month has shown me I was too confident with some and overly generous with others. No worries, I put on my editor hat to assess, revamp, and make needed adjustments.

I decided to shorten some goal’s finish dates and remove them from my list. However, bumping the timeline affects the remaining goals. Since I am struggling, it is clear they need extra work. I extended their timelines, added steps, and created more precise details to augment the process. There is a benefit to completing the simple goals first. Once finished, my time available to work on the more challenging goals expands. It is the current plan, anyway.

How are you progressing with your goals?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

What day is today? I never seem to know anymore. Yesterday, I didn’t realize it was Friday until 8 pm. Like the trendy meme says, “I wish days of the week underwear were still a thing.” If they were, I might have a fighting chance. My life is a jumble of agendas, must-dos, obligations, and deadlines. My calendar dictates my activities, but even with careful planning, my world lacks structure.

Working from home, I no longer endure my everyday commute or notice the signposts separating my workdays from the weekend. My typical day job routine starts earlier and ends later than when I worked in an office. This difference results from shifting evening family duties into previously verboten work hours. Without clear delineation, business hours leak into the entire week. Experts tell us increased screen time messes with our internal clocks. Between computer for the day job, Zoom calls, smartphones, games, and streaming my favorite shows, I find myself forever sucked into the evil blue light. I bet the reduced winter daylight and my general anxiety are contributing to my nighttime insomnia. Is it any wonder my biggest daily challenge is dragging my butt out of bed in the morning?

As crazy as it might sound, the answer is more organization. Those silly experts say set routines, provide clues and markers to distinguish Friday from Sunday. In the Pre-Industrial Revolution society, women adhered to the “Wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday” arrangement. Maybe it helped them distinguish the days of the week more easily. An assigned task for each weekday was common enough to appear in nursery rhymes and folk songs. There is comfort in knowing what is expected on each specific day, though I plan to update the poem to suit my needs more accurately. I propose to write essays on Monday, short stories on Tuesday, and maybe flash fiction on Wednesday?

Do you have specific days for certain tasks?

_________________________________________

Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

I have a love-hate relationship with deadlines. Deadlines are easy to despise. I bet you can list dozens of reasons you detest them without breaking a sweat. I was not a fan until I understood the secret powers inherent in well-crafted, targeted completion dates. Now I am a convert, and I am becoming a firm believer in tight deadlines.

Call me crazy, but seeing a finish line and a checkered flag gets me moving. It’s even better when I combine an element of competition. Who doesn’t enjoy bragging rights and the thrill of winning? Setting clear, defined objectives with milestones and endings is exciting and provides a source of inspiration, ideas, and possibilities. It gives me purpose. My personal goals up the ante for my motivation. These are the promises I make to myself and seldom share with anyone else. They rise to the top of my priority list, and I work diligently to meet those drop-dead dates. Who wants to look in the mirror and admit failure? Not me.

Success does not come without a cost. I can’t commit to every opportunity. Choosing one activity often means I must say no to others. It’s painful in the short term. I would love to binge-watch the latest Netflix release, but it doesn’t feed my sense of accomplishment. It only creates nasty feelings of guilt. Winning, finishing early, is a reward that keeps on giving. I celebrate a job well done, and my accomplishment fuels my desire to start the next project.

The absolute best aspect of deadlines is they give me a specific place to stop. Time’s up, step away from your keyboard. As a perfectionist, I could tweak, rearrange, adjust, and spend hours running down fascinating rabbit holes with nothing to show for it. Deadlines force me to release insignificant minutia and focus on the key elements. They compel me to decide and move on.

But every well-conceived deadline needs a buffer for the unexpected. You never know when you might be sidelined by a fever and head lice.

Do you work with deadlines?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The problem with beautiful falling snow is the need to shovel it from sidewalks, driveways, and car windshields. It is one winter task I relish, especially when I can complete the work in nighttime silence. I tried, stayed up late in hopeful anticipation, but when I fell asleep in the morning’s small hours, it was still snowing.

The alarm slowly penetrated my hazy dreams. With reluctance, I let them slip from my mind to meet the cold, bright morning. Frigid might be a better word since my thermometer read a whopping sixteen degrees as I pulled on a hat, jacket, gloves, and sunglasses to start my day. A little voice told me to dig out my time-tested Icelandic wool coat, and I paid for my laziness with bone-cracking chills for the duration of the required work hours.

All was not lost. A steamy hot pot of Good Hope Vanilla tea, a warm vanilla sugar cookie, a cozy fire, a thick blanket, and a short restorative nap was all I needed to set the world right again. Bitter winter weather spurs me to act, often for self-preservation reasons. Freezing conditions demand forethought, action, and contingencies to account for the worst-case scenarios to preserve life. Writing may not hold such dire personal consequences. But inside me, a glowing ember of desire burns, driving me to produce stories when there are few distractions and an atmosphere enhanced by inspiring vanilla winter waves.

Do you prefer writing in the summer or the winter?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer