The Shortness of a Long Weekend

Three days. No office. No meetings. No work related responsibilities.

What to do?

Saturday is booked with a baseball game with my daughter. I am a little anxious about dealing with the people streaming into the city for the Fourth of July festivities. The ball game starts at 11 so I think I will avoid most of the madness. I am putting my faith in Metro because driving into town would mean dealing with road closures, parking, and clueless tourists from Scranton who think it is their God given right to drive into DC without a clue of how to get anywhere. Normally, I’d ride to the game but, despite doing my damnedest to set a good example, she wants nothing to do with riding a bike. After the game we’ll do some socializing and then escape to the suburbs, perhaps to watch the fireworks from an undisclosed location where the D meets the M meets the V.

That takes care of Saturday. What about Friday and Monday?

Friday will be my alone time. I am driving out to Shenandoah National Park and hiking for hours and hours. I will think thoughts or, perhaps, I will think none at all. I might find answers. I might find questions. I hope to find calm.

Sunday looks like the kind of day made for a long, slow bike ride. Somewhere far. Maybe something as simple as the White’s Ferry loop. Maybe I’ll find answers to Friday’s questions. If I do, I’m pretty sure that I’ll have more questions lined up.

Life is like a Spanish sentence. Question mark at the start. Question mark at the end. How do Hispanistos get anywhere in life? Good thing I’m Irish.

It’s going to be a long weekend, I fear.

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