Good times.

When Steve and I were young and rootless, we once took an unplanned, indeed enforced, vacation in the Colorado mountains. We had been peacefully minding our own business, driving across the country as our larger project and just then along Rt. 285 out of Denver, when a woman turned left suddenly in front of us, totaling our car. Everyone was uninjured, and the other driver was definitively at fault, but we had to wait for the insurance people to come hem and haw over our crumpled Toyota before they could proclaim it defunct.

It would take the adjuster a few days to get to us, so we were destined to spend some time in little Fairplay, which is incidentally a county seat and smack dab in the middle of the real live South Park, Colorado. Wikipedia tells me that in 2000 it had a population of 610.

We ate at all of the restaurants in town -- I think there were three? -- and got friendly with the local liquor store. Everyone soon knew our story and took special relish in the fact that the driver who'd caused all the trouble was from Breckenridge, a fancy-pants nearby resort town. "Oh, Breckenridge," everyone would say, with all the scorn and relish you can imagine poured into the name.

"Yeah, Breckenridge," we'd agree, and developed a little shrug that said: What can you do? Breckenridge.

The motel had DVD players you could rent, and a little library of DVDs to choose from. The proprietors were a husband and wife, and the wife said, "Oh, whatever else you do, you have to watch this one, it's my favorite movie in the whole world. No charge." It turned out to be the 1939 Wuthering Heights.

The town was dusty, dry, tiny, nearly empty. We drank cheap vodka and cheap orange juice in our motel room. I smoked clove cigarettes in the parking lot, and miraculously had plenty on hand. We watched lots of TV and walked around to see the meager sights.

It was a wonderful time, one of my favorite memories. I'd like to go back, except that of course it wouldn't be the same.

It's funny, because I think of myself as a great big stick in the mud, and I certainly have a long history of considering ALL CHANGE BAD. But provided that nothing actually tragic occurs as a result, it turns out that I quite like an occasional sudden disruption to my plans. I hope this bodes well for my future happiness.

I have another example that I'll save for next time. It involves a medical scare and a doughnut, and was what gave me the idea that I might actually find a certain kind of disruption generally appealing. Previously I'd thought it was just a special quirk of Fairplay.

What about you, though? Do you have episodes of enjoyable enforced changes of plans in your past, or is it always just upsetting? Is there a pattern that accounts for which changes are pleasant and which are a pain? There have to be more constraints on the appeal beyond disruption yes, tragedy no. What do you think?