The art of doing nothing

The hubbie and I took off early on Friday for the mountains. My grandma owns a cabin in Estes Park, near the south entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park. It's an 800 sq.foot two bedroom, 1.5 bath cozy hideaway with a wrap around porch and spectacular views.

My grandparents bought the place in 1993. It was a summer cabin built around the 1920s. My grandpa, a talented woodworker, and many members of the family stripped the inside and rebuilt it to be a year-round place. There's a lot of hard work there. It’s more special because it was my grandpa's last major project before he died of cancer in 1995.

This was our second annual Valentine’s Day weekend at the cabin. We brought books, movies (and a newer VCR and DVD player to upgrade what was there) and Suduku puzzles. We spent almost the entire Saturday in PJs, taking a late day bath (in the clawfoot tub) to go out to dinner at the nearby Dunraven Inn.

The cabin is a place we’d love to bring our children – even grandchildren. It’s a peaceful place that I would love to go to every weekend. Why we haven’t gone more often ... well, we can’t bring the dogs since other folks are allergic, and while Camp Bow Wow isn’t over the top expensive, it still is an extra cost to send them to doggie camp for the weekend.

Then there is the everyday beat of a fast-paced life. Weekends around here aren’t really days off. I vowed for new year’s resolutions that I would not work weekends. Surprisingly that has stuck so far (much to the dismay of my project managers). Well, at least the not working on freelance work on the weekends. Instead, I've been doing many projects, visited my sister in Albuquerque (and helped paint her kitchen), and have been helping my grandma go through years and years of stuff as she moves from her 4000 sq foot home to a two-bedroom condo (a really cool condo but considerably smaller than the big old house).

The cabin is a place that we can catch our breath. There’s a telescope to check out local wildlife (really animals, not the neighbors) or the night’s sky. You can sit inside the big picture windows when it’s cold and just stare at the beautiful mountains in front of you. When it is warmer, you can sit outside on the wraparound porch. You can sleep for 11 hours or be up at the crack of dawn, sipping fresh brewed coffee and watching a flock of crows. You can smell the clean, crisp mountain air.

The art of doing nothing.

Now it is Monday and I am home and relaxed but only for a moment. Ends up our mountain haven, the special place my grandpa put so much work into, is going to be put up for sale in April. My grandma says she's too old (she's not) and no one else seems to find the time to go there. It's a beautiful place and too expensive for her to keep up.

The breath I caught over the weekend has been whisked away. The art of doing nothing has become the need to do something. I am angry at my family for letting this happen. I’m not angry at my grandma but angry at my parents, my aunts for not seeing this place for what it is. In the past couple of years, I couldn’t get up there because there were always folks there. I can understand and I don’t think she should be expected to cover the place herself. That's where the rest of us should be helping.

So now I am torn. There’s no way we can afford her asking price. I am considering seeing if she'll let us take over the maintenance and perhaps buy the place from her over the long term. We could conceivably go up there several times a month. She doesn't need the money - that is, she isn't desperate for it as her house will sell soon.

She won’t put it up for sale until April. Maybe that will give us time to come up with an offer or perhaps win the lottery.

Is it practical? I am a terribly sentimental person. Can it be done? Maybe.

Maybe I just need to accept it and go on. But I don’t think I can do that. But do I have a choice?