Is it appropriate to roll into the Great Wolf Lodge with my military tank of a wagon — aka the Gorilla cart — this Sunday?
The thought hit me with a flutter of excitement in my solar plexus. Not just for the mindset I’m bringing (say yes to Evelyn for every slide, wave pool, and lazy river request), but because I’m arriving in style.
After last week’s successful panini-press lunch — grilled turkey or ham with Havarti or American on sourdough — and wanting fun (and free!) options for back at the room, I thought of bringing the sandwich stove. Then I thought about coffee. And the watered-down in-room machine. Hence, the idea of bringing our industrial espresso maker. Too heavy to carry by hand. But not for my cart.
A quick AI confirmation said, “It’s generally acceptable,” which I expected. But that word generally waves a tiny yellow flag in my socially appropriate/inappropriate detector. Yes, it’s a kid-focused hotel. Yes, chaos reigns, and decorum loosens. Still, I picture a general manager tapping my shoulder: “Ma’am, get that steroid-taking wagon out of my hotel right this instant.”
If anyone knows how to quiet that jump-scare voice — the one constantly scanning for social missteps, the one that hounds and badgers me toward the perfectly acceptable, white-ruffled-socks-and-lace-gloves way my mama raised me — let me know. Because knowing myself as long as I have, when something feels ridiculous or forced, I rebel. Hard.
It’s sultry out, even at 6 a.m. The windows are open, 67 degrees this morning, down from 80 yesterday, and the house feels like five people were locked in a closet for an hour. I don’t hate it. I don’t love it. I know this because I’m already brainstorming solutions — fans higher, cool air nudged down — but humidity’s soulful sashay isn’t going anywhere.
The nice weather pulls me outside. Like fingers slicing through ocean waves, I commune with the soil. Lack of use and rain had compacted it; it needed fluffing (yes, the technical term). After hand-pulling weeds, I drove the shovel six inches deep across the 6-by-10-foot bed. As I worked, I imagined the carrots and veggie roots thanking me, plunging their tendrils easily into the loosened earth.
Lastly, simply put: I’m happy.
A two-foot window opening (no screen) lets the morning air drift in. A chipping bird. Cars are starting for school. I feel lucky. Light. I love being back to running, having that hour to myself. I love how strong my body feels, how clean and organized the house is, how loved I feel in my relationships — especially as I reclaim my health.
Happy Friday, y’all.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 