I was thinking about taking a drive to Charles Town, West Virginia this week to play some poker and to watch the horse races. That’s enjoyable any time of year, but late October is best by far—not because of the poker or the horse races, but because of the gorgeous fall colors and the history that absolutely oozes from that part of the country.
Charles Town was incorporated in 1786 and was named after Charles Washington, the brother of George Washington (yes, that George Washington). Charles Town was the scene of the trial and execution (hanging) of abolitionist John Brown, whose raid on the Federal arsenal in nearby Harper’s Ferry triggered the civil war.
[A gorgeous section of the Shenandoah river in W. Virginia]
Charles Town is also very near the convergence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers. In late October, the views are spectacular. There are many places to walk and enjoy the crisp air and the falling yellow, orange and brown leaves.
So, what’s the problem? Why am I only thinking about this trip? It’s just five hours by car, and the drive is gorgeous this time of year. The colors in eastern Ohio, western Pennsylvania and western Maryland will be fabulous all the way.Nobody’s going to miss me at home.
Tess' Note: That's not true, but he's grumpy so we'll just let that go.
Not only that, but let’s all think for a moment. How many chances do we have to do something that makes us happy? Do we take one, two, three, maybe four opportunities a year? Some probably don’t take any.
Tess' Note: I've been thinking a lot about this, and how at 22 my work is my life. I have little to no friends and I'm in a foreign country where I know nobody and nothing. Hell, I can't even speak the language. But on weekends, I like to go and get off at a random stop on the subway and do some shopping. It may seem a little bit careless, and useless...but It makes me happy. Why is it that we don't do things that make us happy?
Well, you know the story: There are chores to do and money to earn and people to please. In other words, life’s usual obligations—life’s ways of making us know it’s not all fun and games—are standing in the way.
Life doesn’t care what we want to do. Life just tells us what we ought to do. Yeah, well, life can kiss my grumpy ass.
At my age (58), it’s time to consider the fact that twenty to thirty years left on Earth is a pretty short time compared to eternity elsewhere. So…Hell yeah, I’m going. Hell, yeah.
Good for you dad. It's interesting, because I've been thinking so much about the fleeting temporary quality of life, how it can sneak up on you. How when you're alone, or spending a lot of time thinking, it can scare the hell out of you.
Honestly, right now...I feel the clock ticking, in my bones and in my head. I wake up every day with a sense of urgency, that I must make my mark.
My grumpy dad wants to enjoy life, and why shouldn't he? He's worked his entire existence to put us in a position to succeed. Us, being my family. Mom too. She should do something she wants for once as well.
Although, I prefer to not think about that stuff...it makes me too anxious.
What do you want to do? Is it practical? Who cares?
[Make sure to check out Bonus Grumpy Dad this week, as he tells a real life horror story from his alma matter, Western Michigan University. Click here to read. ]