In Edith’s dreams of this moment, she was gowned in-floss thin raw cotton fibers, surrounded by both wicker and canvas. She would gaze towards the setting sun, tip her hat like Clint Eatwood while taking a smooth drag of her gin and tonic. Just woman in nature and the serenity it possessed.
It was fine when her adult children invited themselves to come along to pristine cabin hide away and it was fine that the dog needed to come too. It was even fine when the rental company called to inform her that the cabin she had spent months painstakingly researching would no longer be available, on account of an untimely racoon death in the ceiling. It was fine because this was her vacation and nothing could derail it.