I think I may be a minimalist.
For some, vacation may be about excesses - an overabundance of sun. . . food. . . family . . . drinks. . . games. . . loud and raucous laughter. . .
Not for me.
I search for order out of chaos. . . solitude from the swarm . . . and silence over shouting. A stray coffee cup has me itching to clean it. A sloppily-hung beach towel affronts my eyes. A blaring television, an insult to my ears. (Good thing Mr. Drip Dry's favorite past-time down here is watching the Golf Channel - gotta love those broadcasters. . . they all whisper. . .) And although my favorite word is akimbo, that's not really how I want my world to be.
And so it is that each time I'm here, I can't keep myself from purging unneeded/unwanted/ outdated/outlandish stuff from my parents' beach house.
Every once in a while we have to ask ourselves. . . do we really need a napkin holder that says Hold 'em Here, Mate? Sample pieces of carpeting under trash bins? Bookends crafted to resemble Abraham Lincoln? Are toasters so ugly that we need to design elaborate covers for them? And would no one ever guess that it's actually a toaster hiding under that lighthouse???
Toasters of the world, Unite! Do not be afraid to show yourselves! Shed those silly garments that housewives of the world have been dressing you in since the 1950's! Let's hear you! Say it loud! I Toast. . . and I'm Proud!!!
And into the garbage that toaster cover went. . .