Back from the swell life

I was livin' it up last week.

I took the entire week of Thanksgiving off (3 work days) and went with my bride to D.C. We had a blast. Nerds that we are, we spent 2 days in the American History Museum, a day at the Natural Science Museum, a long afternoon at the Air & Space Museum, and a day viewing the monuments on the National Mall. In between, we made a trip out to the country to her godmother's country estate for Thanksgiving.

It wasn't quite the sprawling estate we'd envisioned. It was on a plot of only a few acres, but the land was attractively kept in a mostly natural state with some landscaping. A large fountain sat out front in a pond near a gazebo. The back yard had a large swimming pool (covered up for the season) lined with small statues; nearby a luxurious hot tub awaited us, with a man-made waterfall as a backdrop. The house itself was very elegantly appointed inside with fine antiques and artworks. My favorite room was the beautiful library, with its rich green walls, towering cases full of books about history, architecture, and art, plush sofas perfect for long reading sessions, and charming antique writing desk. The dining room, where Thanksgiving dinner was served, boasted a long (18 feet maybe?) table and sideboard littered with antique silver. The hostess decorated the table herself with flowers and foliage in harvest colors, with glass gourds. The table was set with fine china, antique silverware, and Waterford crystal drinking vessels. Such is the only way a gentle-man would dine on this holiday.

Our bedroom was in a large finished part of the basement, expertly decorated like a Western huntsman's lodge, complete with bearskin rug, big sectional sofa upholstered in a geometric Native American pattern, stone fireplace topped off with a trophy deer's head, and a stuffed & mounted black bear. There were times when I didn't want to leave the cozy comfort of our little suite.

Of course, I couldn't resist dressing for the part in D.C. I donned dress trousers, conservative necktie, and my tan trench coat, to evoke the archetypal government agent, and walked with a confident stride and a serious demeanor. My shaggy mane, however, probably diminished the effect. I opted to leave the coiled earphone at home. A great little touch was a blue & gold American eagle lapel pin I found at a museum gift shop. The tan trench coat is by no means a cliché or passé in that town; it was a fairly common sight on the metro on weekday mornings & evenings. Part of the excitement of the District is the concentration of shadowy G-men. I may have passed by Secret Service agents, FBI agents, or NSA spooks without knowing it. If I won the lottery, I could see myself having a place in Arlington and riding the metro to town and back during rush hour dressed in my government goon gear, just for the hell of it. I'd have to get a haircut, though.

My enjoyment of our vacation was enhanced by not having to do anything we didn't want to do. No getting up with the alarm at 7:15 and trudging to a boring office, no worrying about what to eat for supper. For a week I got to live the life I've always wanted. Now I'm back in my gray little cubicle, doing shit I don't want to do, dreaming of a better life lived on my own terms.

On an unrelated topic, I think if I win the lottery, I would assemble a private motorcade. It would be awesome to ride around town in a black limo, escorted by big black SUVs and perhaps a few motorcycles. If I had enough winnings, I'd have a few different styles of motorcades: Presidential (Cadillac limo with little flags on the fenders and a personal seal on the doors, GMC Suburbans, Crown Victorias), European (Rolls Royce limo and Range Rovers, BMW motorcycles with drivers wearing yellow hi-vis jackets), and generic American VIP (Lincoln Town Cars, Lincoln Navigators, and Lincoln limo). I'd say that would be a hell of a lot better than what most of the dumb hicks who usually win the lotto do with their winnings, like buy ATVs and invest in relatives' cockamamie business schemes. God, how much longer must I languish in this cubicle before I have the means to do what I know I'm meant to do, which is live fabulously?