I’m converting my living room into a beach.

Sand is being delivered in 55 minutes. I have a sound machine flooding us with waves and seagulls. I’ve changed into shorts and a tee. Flip flops are unnecessary. I travel light. Heat set for 82. Slight breeze.

Kids don’t know this yet—I haven’t shared our staycation. It’s a surprise.

They are also unaware that all electronics have been disabled. We are on a remote island.

Cat wears a life vest; he’s nervous around water but randomly jumps when he hears the seagulls.

I will respond only to messages in a bottle.

Meanwhile, I won’t replace the toilet paper properly. Laundry will enjoy a respite too—on the carpet, one inch next to the hamper. Dishes will be replaced with paper. (I will recycle; I do have a conscience even during my staycation.) Mother earth is here for us, not against—I respect her compassion.

There will be no need to run the washer or dryer. We will conserve water and our electric bill will be zilch. Clothes are minimal. At night, we lay our tees and shorts on rosemary bushes. Rainwater rinses them; hummingbirds dry them.

We have a symbiotic relationship with nature.

All closet doors will remain wide open; there’s nothing to hide when you are exhausted, unplugged and free.

Therefore no skeletons hanging willy-nilly to scare the hell out of me.

A shuttle boat will arrive twice a day. The boat is fueled with essential oils—peppermint in the morning and lavender at night. It is more sophisticated than the Ompa Lumpa’s boat. I had the fuel customized for overcast days: a little ylang-ylang and a splash of wild orange. Our mini excursions will be for meals and books.

The meals will be organic, wheat, dairy, tree-nut and egg free. I won’t worry or need an EpiPen. Benadryl can stay tucked away. It is essential though—I appreciate medicine. It’s saved my son’s life, six dozen times. (I counted.)

As for books, I need books. The kids keep tapping the covers; nothing happens. It is a test to recalibrate their minds—I love how quickly they learn.

Food is secondary to reading and writing but recognizing my teen’s need for hourly feedings, food bowls will be available 24/7. Coffee or tea is a must and flows steadily. Chocolate stays on the island too. Pigmy goats, unicorns and garden fairies retrieve the best of the best. Part of the island is ruled by King Penguins and a small cooler for perishables. We made friends.

Fresh flowers are pleasantly unruly. Gardena and hibiscus lace the pergola where I sip my morning coffee.

We relish this staycation—we dip our toes on the warm carpet sand, it is befitting. I painted my toenails fuchsia to match the glow growing in my heart. I assure you it’s not sunburn; we live in the Pacific Northwest.

I will have that swirly-girly-drink now, please and thank you.

I haven’t forgotten my manners and I won’t. Kindness matters; love rules; friendships count.

I also found an old key to trust while emptying a closet full of memories.

Music will be available morning, noon and night. Owls by night; song birds by day. Crows, hawks and eagles will provide healing rituals. We won’t tell anyone though. We’ll just say they visit because I feed them breadcrumbs.

Keeps it legit in suburbia where the houses touch and the monochromatic color scheme are various shades of blah.

Our hut is chartreuse with eggplant trim; my son doesn’t approve but suffers while floating in one of the many natural warm springs. He eats mangos and French Fries; remote controlled games are a thing of the past. He has no need to drive. New car dreams temporarily subside. Peer-pressure is nonexistent. Looming college applications and inquiries are paper airplanes blanketing the sand carpet.

My daughter pirouettes endlessly; it’s free flowing-artsy-fartsy. Vampires are left in their diaries. Leaps are an incredible 10-feet vertical rise. Hummingbirds assist. At low tide, only the starfish and a few sea anemone witness her performances. She achieves triple-gold-platinum-crystal-diamond-incrusted joy in her heart. Trophies aren’t necessary—confidence brushes her long hair. She has private sessions with dancing foxes.

Magic happens when the sea turtles hatch—that’s the grand finale.

I practice yoga daily; it is so quiet I can hear the wild bunnies nibbling. It feels good to stretch all my tender aches in the tropical sun.

It’s secluded. I’m all relaxed and even my hips are aligned. Shoulder wings touch the sand. It’s incredibly surreal as chipmunks braid my hair in savasana. No yoga selfies—I am shy. I like to keep my yoga private; it’s got something to do with the lineage. (Wink).

I sip water with cucumber slices.

Our staycation is nearly over—I must do this again. I’ve lost five imaginary pounds of mental-worry and gained my imagination. I offer gratitude to the gods and goddesses at 444 Squirrely Island Lane—it’s paradise.

My third eye has been activated.

PS: Next time you can join us. (I’m a bit introverted and we need our own smallish island. I hope you understand.) But there’s two extra islands. Plus roll-away-seaweed-mats.

Bring your own pillow, please. 

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Editor: Bryonie Wise

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