By Robin Weaver
When I first attempted to identify “my favorite place,” I sat on my couch, snuggled under a blanket watching the snow fall. For a brief moment—that was truly my favorite place.
When I first attempted to identify “my favorite place,” I sat on my couch, snuggled under a blanket watching the snow fall. For a brief moment—that was truly my favorite place.
Let me clarify. I
live in one of those Southern states where even the mention of snow sends us
into a Chicken Little it’s-not-a-snowfall-it’s-a-falling-sky-panic. All was not
dire, though. All falling sky events immediately prompt a
cancellation of work. Yep. Favorite Place identified.
Only… What if the power went out? How could I have a
favorite place with no internet? Ye, gods! And shouldn’t a favorite place include
Bon Jovi music? Preferably a private concert? Now we’re talking.
Since my brain quickly leaped from an actual favorite place
to the realms of fantasy, I decided my most-beloved location should include a
hunky guy under my blanket? With big shoulders and... a sense of humor, and... mesmerizing eyes, and...
Then I came back to the reality. I had no groceries in case
the sky really did fall! Yikes. Thus I
sent my darling daughter on a grocery run. Perhaps I should mention that my
daughter’s favorite place is anywhere there’s an abundance of salsa. See what she acquired for our "we’ll never be
able to leave the house again, 'falling sky'" weekend.
Sigh.
And I thought I’d been quite specific about needing bread. And coffee.
My idea of a favorite place was rapidly disintegrating.
Which made me realize how a favorite place is highly dependent upon your mood.
And who you’re with. And a host of other factors. For example, I love the
beach, but not in Charleston on a 102 degree day. Nor when the temperature
hovers near freezing. I also love the mountains, but not if my
motion-sickness soul has to travel there via a back seat, sans Dramamine.
But I’m sure I’m taking this theme of favorite place to the
wrong—well, place. Thus I’ll attempt to rein in my renegade brain and focus on some actual favorites. I loved Switzerland. And sitting in a deck
chair watching the tide come in beneath a full moon was pretty terrific. But the hospital where my daughter was born
ranks as one of those magical places, too.
So my favorite place? Please don’t ask this schizo-writer a question like that. At least not before
I find some bread. And coffee.
