One Day, Unplugged

We travelled South under the whitewashed glare of a mid-August, Texas sun. The kind of sun that bleaches the surrounding landscape till it's as tired and faded as an old photograph. Something inside me felt the same way, desaturated, pale and worn out. We panted our way through a sweltering stop at the filling station and squinted behind our sunglasses as the miles hummed by.

And even though we sang along with old favorite songs, there remained a tightness inside of me, an anxiety born of too many long days full of too many cares and responsibilities. We arrived at our hotel sweat-slicked and cranky, not at all enthused about the surprise $10 per day parking charges, or the lack of luggage carts to help manhandle our belongings up to our ninth floor room. All in all, not the most promising start to a weekend getaway.

Things started looking up at dinner, however, where we enjoyed delicious, authentic Mexican food, the kind I grew up on, at a scandalously low price. Ten o' clock found us tousled and tired, fruitlessly channel surfing (a great reminder that we aren't missing anything since we cancelled cable), but in considerably higher spirits and looking forward to the promise of tomorrow, and the comforts of one full day unplugged.

A quick breakfast and an hour's drive brought us to our destination, the glistening green banks of the Guadalupe River. One early bird coupon (we had to be on the water before ten) and $35 bought us two tubes, plus a cooler that we filled with snacks and cold drinks. Then we bounced along in a dusty van that finally brought us right to the water's edge. The first shock of plunging waist deep into icy water turned out to be exactly what I needed. After that there was no more room in my head for any cares or worries. Just the bright green of the river, the clear blue of the sky, the luxury of this one, full, slow day.

One day with no cell phones buzzing, no emails chirping, no deadlines and no distractions. No iPads. Even (gasp) no blogging. We were surrounded by happy families, and crazy college kids and barking dogs. By rocky hills and lush, fragile ferns and towering cypress trees. And somehow, we were also in a world all our own, insulated in our own little bubble of fun and laughter.

Six hours later we hauled ourselves out of the river for the last time (we'd already managed to make the full circuit twice). We were shriveled and pruny, sunburned, water-logged, and ever so slightly buzzed. We were also loose-limbed and easy, giddy from the sheer relaxation, the pure and delicious freedom from it all. Such a needed treat, such a perfect day. One day, unplugged. We should really do it more often.