This weekend, as others are celebrating the end of classes for the spring semester, I’m flying off to Nassau. This trip is in the main a girls’ trip, a long weekend with my mother and my sister, to be spent on the beach and by the pool and in other modes reflecting an appropriate state of torpor. Or even lassitude. The kind of thing where you wait for someone with a tray to wander by before you really begin to contemplate doing anything about your thirst.
This befits the other purpose of the trip as well, which is, for me, a toast to the passing of my sabbatical, an acknowledgment of the onset of summer, and a reckoning of what must (and indeed, can) be done before teaching resumes in August. It’s a weekend of taking stock, of assessing what I’ve managed to accomplish during this leave–which, frankly, has turned out to be not at all what I thought I’d do–and what I haven’t, and figuring out where to go next, and how to get there.
Here’s wishing all of you who are wrapping up a semester a speedy conclusion of spring and a well-deserved onset of summer. For me, however, a little delay would be good, a languorous last weekend of leave.