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Today’s Monday – our week at the Shabby Shack is over. I’ve never cried on the last day of vacation before but I sure did shed some tears on Saturday when we were packing up to leave.

Good grief, I didn’t want to come back to the real world – it was an absolutely perfect vacation. Every day of sitting on the beach reading smut books with my feet in the ocean, taking an occasional nap, and not thinking about much of anything – not Sauer-Danfoss, not money, not cancer, not family drama, not anything except whether my sunscreen needed to be reapplied (and just a side-note… I didn’t even get sunburned!). I even lost track of the days at times, although I always managed to remember very quickly thanks to the little clock in my head counting down the days until it was time to come home.

It was truly, truly a wonderful vacation – the best one that I’ve had since our honeymoon. I think a lot of it was that there were no expectations for me to meet. And then I realized that only worrying about yourself is a lot different than playing “hostess.” Even though my family was down there, the bar was set in the beginning that they were not to impose their crap on anyone else – the rule of vacation was that “you can do anything you want as long as it doesn’t harm someone else – no else can tell you what to do.” And it went surprisingly well – me, Tom and Sue used the rule most often to our advantage – perhaps because we’re the ones who get bossed around the rest of the year?

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