Greetings from Lake Winnipesaukee

I’m spending a girls’ weekend in New England, in the town of Alton, New Hampshire, on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee. Nearby is the town of Wolfeboro which bills itself as “The Oldest Resort in America.” I have not been to this part of the country before, but it is easy to see why people have been vacationing here for 200+ years.

Lake Winnipesaukee, the largest lake in New Hampshire, is nestled in the mountains and sits 500 feet above sea level in Central New Hampshire. It is surrounded by heavily wooded hills dotted with colorful cottages and grand vacation homes. The weather is mild and pleasant. Although we’ve gotten some cool weather and clouds today, yesterday, our first day here, was picture-perfect: the sun was shining, the lake was calm and blue, and a gentle breeze stirred the satisfying 75-degree air.

We’re staying at our friend’s three-story vacation home, which is built into the side of a hill at the edge of Alton Bay. Their home is situated next to a quiet country lane on a narrow piece of land that slopes down to their dock and boathouse. It is a charming blue and white cottage with sweeping views of the lake and surrounding green hills. A deck runs along the back of the house, creating a spectacular setting for dining alfresco. Inside, the house is decorated in cheerful shades of blue, yellow and tangerine with whimsical aquatic-themed accents. A trio of glass fish hangs in a window and catches the sunlight; a miniature, gabled birdhouse decorates another spot. The fireplace mantel is studded with colored-glass stones and sparkly shells. It is to this happy and serene place that we have escaped for a few days.

We are enjoying what I think of as the quintessential summer weekend-by-the-lake in New England. We are doing essentially the same things that I imagine those well-heeled vacationers of two centuries ago must have done. We take morning walks on the winding country lane; mind you, these are not leisurely strolls: the rolling terrain challenges us as it winds up and down through the neighborhood. We go out in our friend's boat for some sight-seeing on the lake and a ride into town (how cool is that, using a boat for transportation instead of just for entertainment?). On the boat, we don our jackets and enjoy the wind in our hair as we motor about, seeing some of the lake’s many islands and glimpsing vacation homes of the rich and famous. In town, we shop in the quaint shops of Wolfeboro and stop for ice cream at a walk-up “dairy bar.” We enjoy browsing the cute gift shops, boutiques and even a wine shop, each full of unique items. Back at our friend's home, we indulge in elegant and leisurely lunches on the deck; we enjoy assorted cheeses, pate and champagne one day and fresh grilled lobster and cool chardonnay the next. In the evenings, we share cooking responsibilities and enjoy good food and great company around the dining room table.

This is a picturesque place with a lot of old-fashioned charm. Everything is updated and modern but it feels as if not much has changed since the resort area first was established. It is simple, refined and authentic. It is about a million miles away from the artificial reality that is Las Vegas.

"I feel lucky, oh oh oh, I feel lucky, yeah… Think I’ll flip a coin, I’m a winner either way. Mmmmm, I feel lucky today." (Mary Chapin Carpenter, "I Feel Lucky")

It’s 5:30 am at Las Vegas’ McMarran Airport on a Thursday morning. Outside, dawn is breaking and it seeps through the window overlooking the tarmac, casting a soft glow on a row of empty slot machines. The air is filled with the jangling electronic melody of the ubiquitous slot machines but in my head, Mary Chapin Carpenter sings “I feel lucky.” I walk to my gate, accompanied by the smell of warm cinnamon rolls thick with icing, wafting from the Cinnabon shop. In my hand I carry my boarding pass, a mocha espresso scone and a very strongly-brewed large iced tea.

I do feel lucky today. I am heading to New Hampshire for a “girls” weekend. There are five of us “girls” who leave our husbands and kids behind twice a year for a weekend of shopping, eating and most importantly, talking.

The five of us became friends way back in the -80’s when we each graduated from our respective colleges and moved to Dallas, eager to begin our professional, adult lives and on our way to becoming “yuppies.” Since then we’ve all added home ownership, marriage, motherhood and other assorted milestones to our real-life resumes. We are now scattered across the United States from the southwest to the northeast yet we remain close enough to share our hardships and joys, our laughter and our tears.

This weekend we are getting together at the vacation home of one member of our little group. We will share our latest stories, cook gourmet meals, drink fine wine, stay up too late and get up too early (especially for me since I am the only one on Pacific time). I am lucky to have these friends and these weekends.

Lest I worry that I’m leaving my family behind while I go have fun, my husband and daughter planned a father-daughter weekend in Seattle for a baseball game, a trip to the Space Needle and dinner at a restaurant called “Purple.” Knowing that they will have a great weekend leaves me free to enjoy myself. I am indeed very lucky.

Ahh.....Vacation :-)

Vacation. The very word brings a smile to my face, a deep breath into my lungs, and a drop in my blood pressure. No work. No cooking. No schedule. . . . No email.

Yes, that is vacation. Even if you choose to do some cooking or stick to some kind of schedule, it is still vacation and it feels blissfully different from the daily routines of regular life. Perhaps the magic of vacation is simply the freedom of choice it provides: on vacation you can choose to set the alarm for 7:00, or you can choose not to set the alarm and enjoy sleeping in. You can choose to go sight-seeing or you can choose to go shopping. Or maybe vacation earns its high marks just for being different from our everyday lives. Or possibly vacation is great because we're all basically lazy and vacation requires nothing from us.

What makes vacation so good? It is too serious a question for me to ponder right now (after all, I am on vacation). Plus it makes me start to wonder if I like vacation because (a) I am too controlling and have to be able to choose what I'm doing, (b) I have a dreary life and doing anything different is better, (c) I am a lazy underachiever who will never accomplish anything in life because I'd rather be on vacation, or (d) all of the above. In an effort to avoid contemplating any nasty character deficiencies, let me just say that I am all for vacation and leave it at that.

We have chosen to spend our daughter's Spring Break skiing in Whistler. We have been to Whistler several times and know where we like to stay, where to go to dinner, and where to get important vacation provisions like chocolate croissants for breakfast and Okanagan Valley wines for apres-ski. It is fun for the whole family.

Of course, Whistler is completely different than Las Vegas. And while skiing isn't exactly a lazy vacation, all you have to worry about is where to point your skis to next.

What makes a good vacation in your book? Is it the escape from reality? The chance to literally leave your problems behind for a few days? The ability to see new places? I'm interested in hearing your thoughts. In the meantime, I'm off to the hot tub while our bottle of Jackson-Triggs Chardonnay is chilling...