It's Holland Happening week, and for the first time in four years, that fact means nothing to me! I can't even tell you how excited I am to stay in Port Orchard this weekend while Oak Harbor gets turned on its head for three days.
This week, I will only work 40 hours instead of 100+. This week, the phone will not ring for me 60,000 times a day. I will not have to use my best eastern accent interpretation skills to decipher what the heck the vendors want from me. I will not have to yell. I will not have to pack trucks. I will not have to coddle the Dutchies. (I'm sorry if anyone is offended by that statement. But not that sorry.) I will not have to remember what happened to the sound system adaptor that I forgot three years in a row. I will not have to write a parade script. I will not have to babysit dignitaries who can't remember from one year to the next how to walk in a parade. I will not have to order porta potties. I will not have to argue with Paul Brewer. I will not have to dodge cranky vendors. I will not have to give press statements!
At the same time...I won't get to share a hot plate of powdered sugar-coated pofertjes. I won't get to grin indulgently at how cute and excited Jan and Helen look in their costumes. I won't get to smother my pride as I watch the Lindz play in the Community Band with the geriatrics. I won't get to gossip scandalously with Ron Apgar (am I really sorry about that? Wow.) in the shadow of his shop door. I won't get to drive the world's coolest golf carts through tourist-packed streets. I won't feel the pride of knowing that 15,000 people are going to have a great weekend because of me. I won't get to savor the moment of collapse (usually in front of a very alcoholic beverage) with my co-workers at the end of the long, sun-burnt day.
I'm not sorry the festival is out of my hands, and I'm not sorry I've decided not to go. Am I?