A Boat + A Lake + Tubing = Fun

We took a vacation across many miles in August, and it was so worth it.  Just the three of us--my husband, my youngest son, and I.   My husband's oldest brother has a boat and he took us out to Brookville Lake in Indiana.

Tony drove the boat. Pat sat in the back and held her head down, hand on her bandana, not enjoying her maiden voyage on this new boat. The water was rough, the skies overcast, wind a bit whippy, and the temperature in the mid-70s.

Not ideal weather, but it was our only chance for the weekend we were there.

And my soul has been yearning for a boat ride on a lake for a few years.

(Gotta love boat hair.) 

Paul and Joel spent almost all their time tubing together on a huge 6 foot 8" tube.

--

What a fun father-son bonding time, hanging on for dear life.  Or just cruising along in the wake.

Meanwhile, Pat and I took turns worrying about all the people on jet skis.  And about whether Tony could see the boats in front of us when the bow of  our  boat was pointing skyward.


He could.
He assured  me this wasn't his first rodeo.
Or boating trip.

I guess my ideal boating trip includes maybe just three boats, the Coast Guard, and zero jet skis on a huge, placid lake.  Nonetheless, my soul eventually settled down while we made the memory that my son dubbed "the best day of the whole summer."  And, I think, mine as well.

SWD 8.3.12

  Simple Woman's Daybook 

Outside my window...

I don't know exactly. And I don't want to know. It's pitch black out there and the woods are deep and the spiders are crawly and the snakes are slithery and the moon doesn't want to be seen tonight.

I am thinking...

that trying to find a vacation home for just three people should be a whole lot easier and cheaper than finding one for six or more. But the truth is, being the parent of an "only" is a lot harder for finding entertainment than when his older siblings were always able to go with us.  The feeling I get when I look at these places online is mostly lonely.  I don't know that I'd enjoy a vacation without the vigor and zest and laughter that four children and a couple friends brought to the "down time" at base camp, so to speak.

I am thankful for...

dental floss.  I seem to need it more these days.

From the kitchen..

tonight I played a game of Monopoly with my boy.  I  had properties and houses all OVER the board and, despite many acts of fiscal mercy on my part,  wiped him OUT!  I was reminded of the time I asked him in the car what he wants to be when he grows up. He said, "Rich."  So you can imagine how he responded to being bankrupt by his own mother.

I am wearing...

a purple polo and a pair of tan shorts that I'd never wear in public.

I am creating...

more free space in the home by ruthless purging of stuff.  I am really starting to loathe "stuff" and crave simplicity.

I am going...

to bed soon. It's past 3 a.m.

I am reading...

Battlefield of the Mind.  So far it's spot-on.  I'm not a huge Joyce Meyer fan (mostly her delivery) but she tells it like it is.

I am hoping...

that God drops a vacation plan and rental property into my lap so I give up this frustrating search.

I am hearing...

the celing fan whir. Niiiiiiiiiiiiice. 

Around the house...

I go, day after day, night after night,  wondering what next? What is happening next in my life?  I feel half washed up, and half rarin' to get on with a new adventure.

One of my favorite things...

is watching my dogs dream while they sleep .They run and they bark in their dream, but in real life it comes out like paddling feet and  muffled squeaks.

A few plans for the rest of the week...

To figure out this vacation or lack thereof. All I want is a house on a lake, and to go boating, and have a lovely time disconnecting from the world and reconnecting with my man, and try to make good memories with  the little guy who gets lonely and would rather play video games than just about anything. I HATE video games!! Have I said that a time or two on here??

A picture thought I am sharing...

I am still pictureless. since my computer crash and I'm not sure where the ones that made it to CD are. 

 But here is a mental image for you.  My boy placed his hand on his head today and said he wished life was like a game of chess.  "Why?" I asked.

"Because as long as I kept my hand on my head, I  wouldn't make a wrong move. "

 

Family Photo Shoot at the Beach

It was just the five of us for this photo shoot. I really wish the whole gang could've been there. But alas, I am thankful we had a vacation and were able to take most of our kids and a special someone. I feel truly blessed to
be able to get away to the beach almost
every year. Living this close to the ocean is nothing short of glorious; after a week of sand, surf, and sun,
my soul, mind, and body let out a long, satisfied, "aah." I'm refreshed and exhilarated all at once by the beauty of the sea which God holds in the palm of His hand!

On the last evening, we hit the beach for perfunctory family photos. In my fantasy, we'd all be dressed in white tops and khaki shorts, or some variation on a noticeable theme. But once again, this is my family we're talking about, and they think coordinated dressing is hokey. We compromised. I asked if the guys could wear white or grey, and the gals a pop of color with khaki skirt or shorts.

No amount of hairspray could compete with the juggernaut called Wind. But I was determined to get pictures "come hail or high water," as my Baptist preacher daddy says.









And voila! Outtakes and goodies alike. Mostly outtakes, because we all know "there's one in every crowd...."

This one was insisting that he doesn't know how to smile for pictures. Uh-huh. Right. I spy with my little eye the one in this batch. Can you? And can you surmise what the middle-age-looking parents are saying to him?












































Pictures courtesy of Ambrey Z (a different Z last name).
(Seen here, courtesy of yours truly.)

Vacay, Day 1, Which Started At Night and Took a Sharp Right

I always say life is going by in
a blur, and here's a picture to prove it.






Steve is 20 already. My third-born. The boy who was our baby for ten years. The child I wasn't sure I could handle when I already had children ages 2.5 and 1.5. The one a fellow crisis pregnancy center counselor assured me would bring great joy and fun, a child whom God had prepared from the foundation of the world for His glory and our delight. How right she was! Steve is young man wise beyond his years, with a terrific sense of humor, and a loving, encouraging, peaceful demeanor. He handles the truth of scripture with skill, discernment, and passion. He goes out of his way to help people without complaining. He uses his God-given gifts of speaking, writing, music, leadership, serving, and teaching at every opportunity. People older than Steve have said they want to be like him when they grow up. I'm one of them. We celebrated his birthday with simplicity on our family vacation in Myrtle Beach this year.Well, not the whole family. Ben couldn't go because of work, nor Dee because Ben wouldn't be there. It would have been ideal to have all eight of us together, but this is one of those things a parent of young adults has to come to terms with. You raise them to be responsible, hard-working citizens of society, and when they become those citizens, you can't have them with you whenever you want. When they're little, you sacrifice "me time," and when they're older you sacrifice "us time." Time with them. It's hard both ways, but I found myself longing for the days when they were about 12 when I got both "me time" and "us time." That stage after diapers and before driver's license was nearly blissful, as I recall.

Anyway, back to the story...

Steve was on a physical low but a spiritual high. He said there is nothing as exciting in the whole world as to lead another person to Christ. He had the joy a few times this summer, and each time it reinforced his desire to be in ministry.

Ambrey had been away, too, in ministry, having spent five weeks in Zambia. She returned August 4th, Steve the 6th, attended her future sister-in-law's shower on Sunday the 7th at 4 pm in Pennsylvania, and came back down to our house at 8:45 pm. We were loading the van for vacation (which resembles putting a Rubik's cube together if you want any legroom at all). Poor girl, she was ex.HAUST.ed. We left at 9:15pm --only 15 minutes later than we planned, so a record for us!


Sarah drove the first three hours, Paul the next three . I took my driving shift from 3:30 to 5:00 (when I am normally asleep, so that should tip you off as to what a wild ride we had on them thar country roads, honey.) We would have taken a straight shot down I-95, but someone put the wrong address in the GPS. (I can't stand those things, so it wasn't me. I prefer printed directions, but I chose to shut up and drove.) I just followed the directions around twisty turns in the night, scared stiff the whole time, thinking surely a deer, bear, or redneck was gonna jump into my path. But I only hit one thing: a dead possum. At least I think it was a possum. A very gutsy move to re-hit a pre-hit.

I was no more comforted when I wasn't driving until I took a second row seat where I couldn't see what was in front of me. God used the obstruction to show me something: that not being able to see the road ahead is a good thing. Sometimes seeing what's in front of us would scare us out of adventures with Him. And besides, even if we get hurt or frightened, He is there.

That nervous energy kept my reflexes sharp even when my ears weren't. Somewhere after the 834th row of pine trees along a narrow stretch of asphalt, I didn't hear the drone of the GPS lady say, "sharp right turn in point 2 miles." Woops. Sorry, folks. Didn't mean to startle you awake. Are we still all together?

After some necessary stops to relieve both bladder and bones, we checked into our condo
without incident. Paul and I slept three hours until the house phone rang like a smoke detector. Grrrr. The kids slept through it, of course, the kids who had slept most of the car ride, too.

I grabbed my requisite cup of coffee and settled into a chair on the balcony. The view of the Atlantic Ocean, though distant beyond the adjacent campground, refreshed my soul. The sound of lapping waves, the smell of salty air, the sight of gleaming sun in the sky..."it's all too wonderful for me," as Emily from "Our Town" would say.


We enjoyed views from our 4th-floor balcony. Our condo overlooked a campground adjacent to the resort. (I hope no one in a trailer below could see me in my nightie above when I went out to sip coffee and read in the morning. If they did, I'm sure they're home now blogging their disgust.)



When we were finished lazing around the house, we hit various other places to laze around--lazy river, pool, beach. "Wherever and whatever."

Steve the Birthday Boy got to pick where to have dinner. Being too tired to head out, he opted for a simple meal in. So Paul and Sarah hit a local grocery store and fetched a rotisserie
chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Ambrey, his always-thoughtful girl, had brought along a Happy Birthday sign and some HB napkins. Steve didn't care about cake. So that was that. A wild ride, a day of nothing but sleeping, sunning, fun, rotisserie chicken,
and I think a walk on the beach before a movie on the sofa.

That was Vacay Day 1.

Stay tuned if you dare, and grab that second cup, as only I can write a post longer than the vacation itself.

They Got Me Good

Today in Myrtle Beach it rained, so we all went shopping. Our first stop was at a decent indoor flea market. I wandered around mostly alone until time to leave, when I caught up with Steve and Ambrey. They sort of shadowed me while I browsed and waited for Paul and the others to meet us.

At one point, Steve pointed to a bright red machine what was swirling some fluff around and around. I saw a woman and a little girl standing near. Steve said, "Hey, Mom! Wanna get some cotton candy?"

"Yes! I LOVE cotton candy! I've been wanting it this whole trip. I can't remember the last time I had cotton candy. You guys want some, too? "

"Sure," he said ,taking Ambrey's hand and following a few paces behind me, or so I thought. Little did I know they were hanging back far enough I couldn't hear them. I took out my wallet to see how much cash I had. Two bucks and change.

I approached the machine and the lady and the girl she was with. The cotton candy looked quite white instead of pink of blue, and not wispy but a bit chunky, but I thought maybe it was just white cotton candy of a thicker nature. I'm game. My tasters were set.

"Excuse me," I said to the lady. "How much is the cotton candy?"

She put an arm around my shoulder and said, with a sweet South Carolina accent, "Oh, honey, this in't cotton candy. It's stuffing for animals. You wouldn't wanna eat it."

I turned around to see Steve and Ambrey doubled over, laughing. I said "YOU PRANKED ME! YOU GUYS ARE SO BAD!"

I turned to the lady, who I think was holding her chortles inside. "That's my son and his girlfriend" I said to her. "They got me good."

"Oh, they're jist rotten," she said, snickering.

When we caught up to Paul and the rest, Ambrey and Steve could hardly contain themselves long enough to tell the story. They all got the biggest guffaw at my expense. I don't think I'll ever live this one down.

Hodgepodge Wednesday on Thursday with Sand Between my Toes

I'm gonna "wave" hello to the Hodgepodge host, Joyce, from the comfort of a beachside condo. Yes, I'm on vacation, and yes I'm a day late with these answers, but I have time on my hands, people. Traveling with mostly college kids does have its benefits. So, let's see what this week's Hodgepodge contains, in addition to sunshine and waves.

1. If you could work for any one government agency which would you choose and why? (if you're in the US here's a helpful list)

I had time to think about this, and in fact, called my powerful imagination into play and changed my name to Pollyanna for the duration of my answer to the question.

I would work for the Department of Motor Vehicles. Why? Because I would turn it into a place where people want to go, not a place they dread. I would set up the place with a hair salon and make-up booth so that people would never look ugly on their driver's license. I would also have movie stations : one for action-adventures, one for chick flicks, and one for kids. If you come in on your birthday, you'd get free cotton candy. There'd be a mini-library of donated books so you could take your read with you if you didn't finish while waiting to renew your tags. Currently most of us can read an entire shelf's worth while we're there. I might add animal balloons to the fun for the kids.

2. How difficult is it for you to forgive someone who refuses to apologize?

Very hard. I don't let go of hurts easily, but if someone shows remorse it helps me along a lot sooner.

3. What is your favorite meatless supper?

Stuffed shells.

4. Wednesday August 10th is National Lazy Day...will you be celebrating? If so, tell us how so we can be lazy too.

I was playing in an oceanfront pool for several hours, then I ate grilled cheese, took a nap, and went out to a lovely dinner with the family, came back and watched "Soul Surfer." Today I spent a couple hours in the Lazy River. Is that lazy enough for ya?

5. As a child did you have any special back to school traditions and if so, what were they? If you're a parent did you carry on those traditions with your own children?

My mom took us shopping for a few new dresses (we went to Christian school where there were no pants allowed and not a uniform). One year I was put in charge of the shopping bag containing sixty bucks worth of new clothes. I absent-mindedly set it down and it got stolen. Read my lips: No new dresses for us that year.

As for traditions with my kids, we homeschooled (the older boys through 12th and 11th grades, respectively, our girl all the way through) so they didn't get school clothes . I made a tradition of photographing them on the first day of each new year. Each child "got to" ("had to"?) hold up their favorite new book for the shot. I don't know who felt more tortured--me or them, but I will carry on traditions long after they cease to be fun. L'chaim!

6. Write a summer tongue twister.
Buxom bronze broads in bikinis beckon and beguile bowlegged boys on beaches and boardwalks.

7. Would you be interested in observing a surgery or do you turn away when the nurse brings out the needle?

Yes, I could handle it, but only if I turned my head for the initial cut. I can't understand how one human can cut another. I actually once watched a doctor put 27 stitches in my son's leg in the ER. (Ben fell out of a tree and landed on thin plywood which broke in half and ripped his upper thigh open.) I asked the doc as I look on, "What's that white bulbous stuff?" and he said, "fat tissue." Oh. Ew .That jagged piece of plywood sure cut in deep! But I was fascinated. My boy was on the verge of fainting, but I was okay.

Speaking of surgeries and "Soul Surfer," did any of you notice something really odd about the scene in which Bethany's dad was in surgery for a knee replacement? The doctor is about to cut into the patient (no nursing staff around, just the surgeon, but that's not the oddest part) . Suddenly a frantic nurse barges through the OR door. She says ,"Doctor, we need this room STAT! A teenage girl is coming in . Shark attack!" and the patient--Bethany's dad--sits up and says, "Who is it?" My observant husband said, "What? No anesthesia for a knee replacement surgery?"

We had a good laugh about that .

8. Insert your own random thought here.

My daughter's compassion moved me last night . Paul treated us to a swanky-but-underpatronized restaurant, and he was carrying a hefty Restaurant dot com coupon, of course. Sarah observed that our waitress was probably a single mom (she had three kids and no wedding ring). When she urged her dad to tip her extra well, he had already signed for the bill. But after hearing his daughter's perspective, he tucked some additional cash in with the credit card slip on the way out. Sarah clucked her "I'm proud of you" cluck and said, "See, Dad. Underneath all that frugality is a generous heart." He just smiled.

Ready

I'm ready to see my little boy after a week at camp.
It's too quiet here. What was good for a day or two
--uninterrupted hours to myself, to write, to work, to clean--
no longer appeals. I long for his voice asking me
questions, giggling, singing when he thinks I'm not listening.
I can't wait to hear about his experiences. Intriguing
and amusing he is, in his story telling. The words he
uses seem, at times, too big for a nine-year-old.
Like when I asked him if he'd be taking his
everyday Bible, he said, "Nah, it's too cumbersome."


I'm ready to see my big boy again, too.
My young man who turns 20 on Monday.
(Really, Lord? Will I really have three children
at least 20 years old?)
I'm ready to hear how God spoke to him, and
through him, into the young lives of hurting,
hungry kids in a remote log cabin atop a
wooded hill in a state we call "P-A." I'm ready
to hear him jam out on the drums again in
the basement, to hear him sing praises in
the shower.

I'm ready to see his girlfriend again. These
ladies my sons hold dear , I hold dear. It's
a rather unexpected thing for me. Always
wondered if I would understand what it means
to love like family someone my child falls
in love with. But I get it now.

I'm ready to witness the moment they behold
each other again after eight long weeks. If I
feel like a balloon about to burst with joy and
relief, how must they be feeling?
She was in Zambia for five of those weeks,
without no telecommunication.

She texted me from DC
when her first of two remaining flights
landed back
"home". She would've called him first,
of course, but Steve gets almost no cell
service where he is. She had not talked
to him yet. She said she's dying to see him
Saturday night. She was about to board the
next flight to Texas
for a mission team debriefing
so our texts were of the hyper-
informational type and then "See you soon!"

But I twisted her message in a very cruel
tease that only a son's mother can pull off.
During a Facebook chat a couple hours later,
I said to Steve, "I have some news from her.
"She decided to stay in Africa another month."
There was a pregnant pause. Then he wrote,
"Really? Why?"
And I said, "She fell in love with someone else.
A black drummer."

"Ha ha," he replied.

"'I had you going, didn't I?"

"um, well, I could see her staying another
month in Africa, but was trying to
figure out how that'd
work with school. The whole black drummer
thing, though? No. LOL."

We both know she is
way too smitten with my son to march to
the beat of a different drummer. Sometimes
I think her heart beats in time with his.

I am ready to go on vacation. We're heading
to the beach as a family next week. All of us,
including the white drummer boy and his girl,
minus our oldest and his bride-to-be. I am
sorry we can't all be together. Sunbathing
on southern sand. Soaking up views of the
grey-green Atlantic from
our balcony.

Ahh, summertime on the East Coast.

Coming Soon to a Blog Near You

A trip to Kansas for the past week has provided me "oodles and skads" of blog posts and pictures. My lifelong friend, Barb, put me up (put up with me) for eight days and seven nights. We had a grand time reminiscing on our youth and innocence. (Or just youth.)

I got to meet two other bloggers, Laurie and Rachel, on my journey. New memories and new friends who didn't seem new because of this delightful thing called cyberspace. You just sometimes find kindred spirit long before you meet face-to-face.

Today, though, I must put the plains behind me and start scaling the mountains ahead. I see Mt. Laundry, Mt. No Groceries, Mt. Bedroom Cleaning, Mt. School Prep....

But I also have Mt. Great News. My husband, along with Sarah and Steve, took on the kids' bathroom as a project and transformed it while I was gone. New sink, cabinet, mirror, light fixture, and paint. Pictures of that also coming soon to a blog near you.

An Hour at Chincoteague

Chincoteague was one of the places Paul and I went on our childless vacation last month. My sister Jill has a friend whose generous parents let us use their beach home in Virginia about a half hour from the island famous for its wild ponies.

I was hoping to see the creatures of Misty fame up close and personal. I got neither . Now, if my zoom lens weren't on the fritz, I could have at least pretended I was up close. But this is the actual distance from the shoulder of the road to where we saw grazing ponies. (Paul has no equine interest; he only humored me .I said , "It's for Barb. She would like pictures of these wild ponies." ) Can you see them waaaaaaaay in the distance?


Here's what they live on. Hearty eats, huh?

















The volunteer fire department
waters them.









The signs on the fence from whence I was taking pictures clearly state, "DO NOT FEED OR PET THE PONIES."
(They want them to remain wild and not attach to humans.)

Not too deep below my surface is a rebellious kid who longed to jump the fence and approach the four-legged beauties anyway. Look at the adorable little fillies with their skinny legs and swishy tails frisking about. Everything in me wanted to break the rules in the name of touching one (or all) of these ponies. Truly in all the world I don't think there is a more majestic beast than a horse.

I do believe God agrees. After all, what will Jesus return to earth riding?

On the way out, we hiked a short distance up a steepish hill on very hot sand to a closed lighthouse.

I went because it said "Art exhibit today." The art was photography of horses and wildlife on the island. Impressive to me, not to Paul. So we saved our cash for mutually enjoyable art that we might happen upon someday soon.

Friendly Americans

Paul and I went to Rehoboth Beach on Wednesday. While he was scoping out parking for less than $1.50 per hour, I guarded the meter where we parked. A white-haired, grandfatherly man with a beard approached as I was straining to read the directions on the meter (and yes, this sounds very elementary, my dear, but these are a new-fangled kind--to us, anyway) where one meter feeds several spaces at the push of a corresponding button. But the sun's glare was creating a reading problem for both him and me, and we struck up a little conversation. I asked where he was from and he said, "Canada." I asked if it was his first time here, and he said, "No. I liked it so well, this is my fourth trip down here in a year. I actually prefer America. People here are so much friendlier."

I told him my theory about that ."The farther south you go, the friendlier people are. I think it has to do with the temperatures--cold weather, cold people . Warm weather, warm people. Up north they're too busy hugging themselves to keep warm to wave hello."

He said, "You know, I never thought about it that way, but I think you're right. Where are you from?"

"Maryland," I said. "And I can tell you we're friendlier than Pennsylvanians, but I absolutely love Georgians!"


I didn't think about our easy-going society much again until being around more foreigners this week. Yesterday, I was sitting on a beach chair next to Val, one of our friends from Far East Russia. Her English is pretty good, but sometimes I am not sure if I'm making sense with my questions, so I rephrase them in ways a Russian could more easily understand them. ( I hope.) The answers never cease to amaze me.

"So, Val, let me ask you what you've been reading, studying, or what God's been teaching you lately."

"Hmm? What?"

"Have you learned something the past few weeks or days or months from God?"

"Ah, yes, okay, I understand. Yes . Since being here, in Amereeka, I see how much your nation smiles. Ze people, zay seem so...friendly . EVerybotty--man, woman, keeds--zay smile. Zat ees sumsing I vant to take back to my country. In Russia, people are so like zees [she frowns and crosses her arms]--so serious. I sink zat God vants me to smile more, too."

"Oh, wow. You mean you don't smile much in Russia yourself?"

"No, not enough, my deeah. But why not? In Yeshua vee have such joy. Should vee keep it to ourselfs? No, vee should not! God vants us to smile! Zat ess vat he has been showing me."

Good Thing I Love Him

I'll try to upload pictures from our vacation (which started yesterday). Having a good time and just stopped home for an overnight this evening and one day at home tomorrow before heading to the beach.

Yesterday, on the way up to central Pennsylvania to take my baby boy to camp, I enjoyed the conversations I could carry on with my only two travel companions--him and Paul, while I was awake. Sometimes I would get melancholy thinking of the week ahead without my youngest. But he has a way of snapping me out of it when I least expect it. Good thing I love him. Otherwise, I might have turned around and pinched him for saying this. (And, yes, it did crack me up ,and yes, I was able-- after cracking up with Paul--to tell him it's not polite to say such things, even if they're true.) Probably because we had just passed a runaway truck ramp and I had just explained about steep grades. If he'd wanted to, Joel could have remarked with one of his spot-on analogies. Sure glad he stopped while he wasn't too far behind.

It happened at a fork in the road in the old industrial town of Cumberland, Maryland.

Here's what he said.

A Vacation without our Kids?

It seems surreal. How has life gone by so fast that my youngest is now eight and we are letting him go off for a week of summer camp in Pennsylvania? (The condition for this decision was that his brother, Steve, would be his counselor and keep a protective watch on him all the time.) Sarah will be his chum whenever she has free time, I'm sure. Ben is 22 and rather eager to have the house to himself for awhile. Just the dog and him.

Selfishly I want a week at the beach, but Paul cannot get time off Monday or Tuesday because of "going live" with a new computer system at work. But from Wednesday through Saturday we are planning a mini trip. Ideally we will get a full day at the beach without anyone saying, "Dad! Dad! I'm thirsty! Can I get a lemonade? Mom! Mom! Let's go back in the water now! Dad! Dad! Will you help me make a sandcastle? Mom! Mom! I'm bored now. Can we go?"

Instead, Paul and I will have our tall iced teas and no Capri Suns. He will have his stash of Guitar Player, Kiplinger's, and Cook's magazines. I will probably have a murder mystery that's caught my interest from a book review by one of my fellow bloggers. (Suggestions, anyone?) And I hope I will have found a pile of cast-off shelter magazines that someone or some library wanted to unload. (Let me know if that's you. All my subscriptions have expired.)

Our plan is to meet up and stay with my sister and our two missionary friends from Russia. Jill' has a friend whose parents are letting us use their beach home in Chincoteague, free of charge! Our Russian friends, Andrey and Valeria, want to put their toes in the Atlantic and get a couple days of sunshine--true heat they don't experience in Birobidzhan--amidst their two weeks of a heavy-duty speaking schedule.

A second day, I hope, will include some trail riding for me and maybe the others. (Paul's a no-go when it comes to riding.) It's been 30 years since I straddled a saddle, and so I'm thinking I might want to do this on the last day of vacation. If I am crippled by stiffness from two hours atop a lazy mare, I surely don't want it to impede some exciting shopping in a quaint seaside village .

A third day would include a boat ride. A fishing boat or a speed boat. Nothing too big or too fancy. Just something we can do some fishing from, for a couple hours. For me, it's more about the solitude and relaxation on the water, in the sun, with the man I married. I have no desire to eat what I catch. (A mentality that the fish also favors, I'm sure.)

The fourth day, Saturday, we might head back up to camp to get Joel, or let him stay over with Sarah at the Kurtzes'. My guess is that he'll be exhausted and ready to see his parents again. Maybe not, but it's my hope, too, I suppose, that he missed us a little but didn't get homesick.
If we go up Saturday, I would love to stay again at the Iron Corbel Inn in Altoona. It's a lovely
B&B run by a young widow with two small, adorable kids. She and her husband had bought the manse as a dream home to fix up as a B&B. They moved there and, when the younger child was 18 months, the husband got very sick, was admitted to the hospital, and died from being given a wrong medicine. The woman continues to make a living at the Iron Corbel, and has my deepest respect. When we visited last summer, she served a cheese frittata and some tea, then walked her children down the street for children's choir that Sunday, then came back and cleared tables.
All the while battling what sounded like bronchitis. I was humbled and amazed and more than glad to support her with our night's stay.

So, that's that. Today I am knee deep in organizing things that came off a bookshelf I can't stand anymore. It was fine when I had three homeschoolers, but now it collects far more than books and art supplies and junk than any soul needs in one room. There is also more laundry (goes without saying) to wash, dry, and fold. Bathrooms that need to be cleaned. I'm so glad for the capacity to dream and plan while doing such mundane things.

Vacation, here we come. I'm trying to contain my giddiness and keep my expectations low enough to accomodate flexibility, yet high enough to make some special memories.

My class is studying China right now, and I'm
having them build a replica of a section of the Great Wall, using shoeboxes, cardboard "walls," and gift cards cut up like cobblestones on top. We will be painting it tomorrow.

Searching for pictures, I came across this waterpark ride. Oh. My. Goodness. What I wouldn't give for tickets to this place. I could spend all day at a waterpark. Doesn't it look cool? Wow.

I thought this was a really cool photo. I don't remember
which one of us took it. They are Sarah's flip-flops, so maybe
she did?


Myrtle Beach, 2009.

Myrtle Beach Memories 2009

Pictures are forthcoming, but I wanted to record my memories of our vacation while they're still fresh. Because, as we all know, at MY age, things are slipping fast. Here are the bullet points from the beach.

1. The van's problem was diagnosed and fixed the same evening, and so minor it embarrassed Paul. It was a dead battery. Though he had charged it plenty, Paul thought it was something else since the battery was only bought 8 months ago. Ron swapped it out; the new one cost nothing as it was under 12 mos old. Ron only charged us $25 for his time. Hallelujah! Paul was feeling "a thousand percent" after his fever broke the day before we left. As for my hairdresser, haven't heard back. I need to call again. IF I don't get her, I'm calling the dog groomer. I coudln't stand my bangs in my eyes, so I trimmed them myself; my hair has gone from Llaso ApZo to ShihTZo.
2. We had perfect weather. Left Sunday morning and had nothing but sunny skies in the upper 80s/lower 90s till our return trip Thursday, and only then it sprinkled in the early evening.
3. It was great to be able to leave the house and dog (who seems just fine now) in the care of our older boys. Ben and Steve couldn't go (or didn't really want to) because they had to work and had already taken time off for their own beach fun back in the early summer.
4. Joel made a bracelet--er, watch--out of gummi bears he stuck together on his wrist. He used only the yellow ones and called them the Golden Brothers. Got a picture of it on Sarah's camera phone. Such a proud jeweler.
5. Our room at the Caravelle was on the 15th floor directly facing the ocean. Splendid views of the Atlantic. Nothing like seeing and hearing God's great majesty on display while trying to concentrate on His Word from the balcony in the morning.
6. For the third year in a row, we got to spend the week with our friends, the Grants. They had just their three youngest kids with them (ages 6-12), whom Joel adores. This year their condo was only 9 blocks from ours--superb for making get-together plans on short notice.
7. Sarah surprised us with an unexpected blessing. She offered to babysit all the kids so that John, Renee', Paul, and I could go out on a double date.
8. We took her up on the generous offer Tuesday night and went to the Key West Grille at Broadway on the Beach. Ironically, it had been recommended to us by a hostess at a different restaurant who told me on the phone that it's quieter and a better atmosphere for a double date. It was sort of my pre-birthday birthday dinner.
9. Had a very sweet but very bad waitress at that restaurant. Maybe she was just new, but it took 4 requests for sugar before she brought John sweetener. He said "sugar, not sweetener" and she ran around till she found some. She told us the chicken satay appetizer fed six, but the little lean-to presentation of kebabs had only five skewers. John asked her what the 6th person was supposed to eat, the rice?-good thing there's only 4 of us here. I asked for a Mai Tai. She didn't know what that was, but I knew the bartender would, so directed her to him for the contents thereof. It was good but not especially pretty. I like pretty drinks. Renee' ordered a pineapple/ham pizza without cheese. The pizza came smothered in mozzarella, so she had to send it back. We were nearly finished before her remake arrived. Thankfully her husband and mine found plenty to talk about; they both love guitars and music in general. John had just invented a microphone for drummers to use in tight spots, and had the starry eyes of a mad scientist the whole night. Paul, who is usually a man of few words, asked him question after question. During dinner, we spotted our friend Seth from church. His wife Crystal, was with him at a nearby table. What a wonderful thing. Made me wonder what heaven will be like, saying "hi" to brothers and sisters we knew from another context in a place of feasting and friendship. We also talked about our kids, but what a mixed blessing it is to be at this stage of life. Our youngest can swim well and so we're not panicked in the pool--we can actually relax, but our oldest are in college and able to choose whether to join us for vacation. It's a bit sad that they declined. But it's happy for the younger ones who have more of their parents' attention (and money) and aren't lost in the grown-up world. It felt really good to get all gussied up with lip gloss and jewelry and shiny sandals, and have three solid hours of uninterrupted adult conversation and not be a parent on the clock for a change. Thank you, Sarah!!!!! The evening ended with a fireworks display over the water, a spectacle that beat the 4th of July hands-down. In my egocentricity, I kept thinking how special it was that they'd shoot off this fantastic show to usher in my birthday.
10 . For the first two and a half days, we did pretty much everything Joel wanted to do. On the third day, he got angry when I told him Dad and I were going to do thus-and-such before he could do this-and-that. He pouted and then said something I had to squelch laughter about. He said, "But Mom, you've already BEEN a kid. You've already HAD your fun." Hmm. Guess at 44 you can kiss good times goodbye. You're washed up and over, all amusements are behind ya.
11. On Wednesday morning, my birthday, my sister Rachel called from Texas. She must've had to work because it was 8:10 a.m. I jumped out of bed to answer my cell phone, which by then had clicked over to voicemail. Oh well. If ya snooze ya lose. I went back to bed for an hour and, when I really got up, Paul and Joel sang the first line of "Happy Birthday" to me. Sarah rolled over on the Murphy bed and said, "oh, yeh, happy birthday." Mm, such enthusiasm, I could hardly contain the well wishes. By noon I'd heard from Steve (who'd been texted a reminder by Sarah) and by 10 PM, Ben texted me an HB wish (also reminded by the girl). My two other sisters, Andrea and Jill, called as well. I think my parents forgot.
12. Thanks to our hubbies, Renee' and I got our now-annual, hour-long, professional massage. This time we returned to a place called Celestial Spa and both agreed it was the.best.massage.ever. The lady who owns it has a Christian symbol on her signage. The therapist, Fatima, who treated me, is of Arabic descent. She asked me about my name. I told her it's of Greek and Hebrew origin. I couldn't help but think "hey, an Arab giving a Jew a massage. Only in America, right?" But I didn't say anything, of course; she literally had the upper hand(s) in the situation.
13. I got the tan I wanted, and never had a painful burn. I've grown wiser over the years. The first day I use a little lotion, the second day more, and the third day I apply Blue Lizard, a super-strong sunscreen the pediatrician recommended when Steve was going to Mexico. I wanted to be able to enjoy the massage completely, and that I did. Sarah didn't listen and Paul told me Joel didn't really need it. They all burned. How old does a woman have to be before people listen to her sage advice?
14. I learned the hard way that it pays to plan a menu down to the spices necessary when on vacation. This year I said, "Ah, we'll just buy food down there. Some shrimp and pasta with spinach, bacon, and onions. Perfect!" Well, it would've been, had we had a little SALT, and PEPPER, and GARLIC at least. How lame. The only reason we ate it was that we were so stinkin' hungry by the time I served it at around 8:30. I also had a senior moment (coming more often nowadays) while cooking. The only baking sheet, per se, was a shallow roasting pan and its metal drip pan. I had a whole pound of bacon to cook (some for dinner, rest for breakfast) so I said to myself, "Great, I'll cook all the bacon at once in the oven. " Normally that's a brilliant plan. But as I said, the kitchen was understocked on proper pannage, which didn't bother me until....um, seven minutes later... the smoke alarm blared. Paul bolted from his perch on the couch and silenced it with a swift wave of a towel. He opened the oven door to observe of my brainless act: bacon grease dripping through the holes of the drip pan onto hot coils. "How many years you been cookin?" he asked. I had to remind him that his wife is one smokin' hot woman, what can he expect? He failed to see the humor as he had to do the towel wave three more times while I, smokin' Mama, wedged a pink flip-flop in the front door to let copious carcinogens escape the condo.
15. On the evening of my birthday, we went out with the whole Grant-Zub entourage. Ate at the Texas Roadhouse and had another long, leisurely evening wining and dining, with the adults on one end, kids on the other. They sang the entire bithday song to me in the parking lot. Lovely memories.
Except for one--on day two, a kid literally put the "poo" in "pool" which meant no swimming the rest of the gloriously hot day. Other than that, we thoroughly enjoyed our R&R in MB, SC.
16. There was an ice cream every day in the adjacent parking lot that played, among other songs, Christmas carols. I found it pleasant, actually, to hear "O Come Let Us Adore Him" next to "Oh My Darling, Clementine" in August.
17. And Joel is now the happy owner of two hermit crabs whose names change daily and for which I have zero affection.

Refreshed

We really needed this past weekend. Why is it we can't always tell how much we need something until we've already had it? I knew I would love seeing Sarah again, knew I would like her host family, and knew I would enjoy a road trip with what's left of our our shrinking family numbers.

The weekend started actually Friday night when Heather G dropped off a glorious care package she and her care group had assembled for Sarah. (She had called me for things Sarah would like and I blurted out "cold hard cash" because she's not getting paid a dime till the end of the summer, and even that's not guaranteed. I also said Sarah would rather miss a meal than have bad breath, so she likes to keep gum and mints on hand. "Homemade anything" Sarah asked for since it's so rare and goes really fast when shared with other counselors. I had also said she loves cards and children's art. She decorates the area around her mirror with them. Well, Heather came through with ALL of it! I welled up with tears when she dropped it off. It wasn't just a plain old box or shopping bag. It was a picnic basket filled with assorted gum, mints, delicious homemade muffins (we had to beg off Sarah), cards, a generous amount of cold, hard cash, and a set of picnic dishes. plus a long roll of newsprint decorated by Heather and her two young children. Sarah kept saying, "Aww, aww. look at that!"

Hungrier than hungry, our first stop was lunch. We chose the closest non-pizza place in town, which means a half hour from camp. It was a beautiful quaint old restaurant called the Jean Bonnet Tavern. Not cheap, and not fast, but quite good. The waitress recommended the crab cakes. Even though I said we're from Maryland, she insisted they rivaled any Maryland crab cake around. I bit. She was wrong. It was good, but it wasn't a Maryland crab cake. I loved the quilts hanging on exposed stone walls, and glossy old pine tables with silver candlesticks and cushioned wrought iron chairs. Mostly I liked hearing Sarah and Stephen swap stories from their camps.

We spent Saturday afternoon at the camp. Sarah showed us around, starting with her room. The bunks are four high on two walls. Joel had no problem scaling the ladder to the highest one (about seven feet up) but was all kinds of terrifed to come down.

But he soon discovered it would be a day of overcoming fears, for the next adventure was the rock climbing wall. Everyone but me took a turn; I have zero upper body strength and plenty of lower body mass to compound my weakness. Besides, I'm scared of heights and youtube.

Next fun thing was the zipwire, accessed by climbing a 60 foot tower, trusting oneself to a flimsy swing with harness, and hanging on for dear life for what seems like the last ten seconds of it. When Joel got up there I was so scared for him. (We shall see if my pictures show a steady hand or sweaty palms.) I was on the ground watching as his brother and sister fastened him in. I thought he'd chicken out since he had been scared to climb down from the fourth bunkbed. Go figure. He did the zip wire four times and begged for more. Paul, Sarah, and Stephen also zipped. Did I? Nah, didn't I mention I am scared of heights? I did this same zipwire about 16 years ago and the thrill has lasted me this long; no need to repeat it. That was the day I overcame the fear of peers; the fear of heights has only, well, heightened.

I took video of all this, but it's on Sarah's camera since (I can't believe) I forgot my own.

Paddle boats came next. Sarah and Joel raced Stephen and me. They won by a nose.

In the evening we ate a the hometown favorite restaurant called The Dream. It used to be called Dave's Dream, but Dave died. Thankfully he left his dreamy recipes behind. The meatloaf was fantastic.

Saturday Evening? That's a Post unto itself.

Been to Savannah, Georgia?

I've always wanted to go to historic Savannah, Georgia, and we are actually toying with the idea of going there instead of our usual Myrtle Beach. Considering we will probably just have our 7 year old with us, we need to do something kid-oriented, but also don't want it to be a kid-driven
vacation. If you've been, can you please share your tips? Please include "must see" places, good restaurants if you remember them, and what not to bother with. (I tend to be skeptical of online reviews from travel sites. If you had three days in Savannah and the vicinity, what would you do again?)

Vignette of the Sea and Sky

Atlantic Ocean curling toward shore
White, foamy crests rushing to greet the sand
If only to say "hello!" and "goodbye!" with one quick wave.

Shells wash up, some broken, some whole
Twisted amber, fanning azure
Yet each one a beautiful remnant of an abandoned home.

Platinum sky turns milky blue
Sun puckers up and kisses the sea each morning,
Outdoing the other with sparkle and shine.

Toddlers smack grit from chubby hands,
Tiptoe into cold water, squeal with fear and delight.
Daddy, don't let go, you're all I've got.

Bigger boys with boogie boards race to their next ride
Can't wait for the tide
To come to them.

Girls in tankinis scan the water for critters
Get the jitters
When jellyfish and sharks seize their imaginings.

Mamas and pappas, depending on age
Sit on old blankets with camcorders, magazines
Sunscreen and snacks.

Lifeguard, ever vigilant, twirls a whistle 'round his finger
Shifting in his wooden throne,
Ready to rescue or wave a red flag.

Sun slips across the horizon,
Turning red like a ripening papaya,
Queen of the western sky.

Hush of night
Black sea, diamonds of the moon flickering on her face.
Gentleness personified.

Blogging from the Beach: Day 1 in Review

Since I completely forgot to bring a journal, I'm going to blog my memories of this vacation. The details are more for me to look back on and remember.

Preparing for this one took more than the usual effort. First was getting the basement dejunked (see previous post). That took a lot of time, willpower, and gobs o' grace. Second was a to-do list of significant school-related things that had to be squeezed in before I could leave. Wow. Can I say I have more respect now than ever for school teachers? I had some idea of how much planning goes into teaching a class of all same-aged kids, but NO idea how much hands-on stuff is required. My personal to-do list included attending a teacher in-service about the writing curriculum (I just know Julie and I are gonna be partners in crime), helping Cindy organize the art closet by making sure all 384 colored markers work, giving my new art supplies list to Jennie (the secretary), sending my history and geography year plans to Lisa (the principal), discussing discipline and room decorations with Cheryl (my co-teacher), helping the two of them throw out old curriculum-- a familiar theme--and watching them set up a teacher folder for me on the computer. I felt so official.

Then I came home and decided which curriculum to bring to the beach to work on. Now I know how it feels to not be able to just "get away from it all," professionally. But I also know that, besides mothering, there's nothing I'd rather be doing than teaching. It's the most pleasurable work I can imagine. (Lisa gave me a sit-down talk before accepting my commitment to the job. She said, "I just don't want you to think it's all pie-in-the-sky." I joked, "So you'd rather give me the pie-in-the-face?")

As for choosing the place to vacation, it was easy: Myrtle Beach has become a favorite of ours. Much less crowded than Ocean City, not gay like Rehoboth, family friendly like Outer Banks but with more to do within a five-mile radius. In particular, we chose to come back here to Myrtle Beach Resort because of the great amenities: Paul and Sarah did the research and I made the call to the owner. A very talkative, good-natured, Southern guy who gave us quite a good deal on this 3rd-floor oceanfront condo. It's small (only two bedrooms) but it's just our nuclear family this time (no friends) so it's cozy. The view is incredible from both the living room and master bedroom.

Play-by-play:
-Left house at 7:40 Saturday morning. I tried to get out by 7:30, but had to run back in the house for something. -OCD-about-security Paul had to go back in and make sure everything was as tight as it was two minutes earlier.
-The delay put us smack behind stalemated traffic on 95. An accident that closed the highway for a half hour.
-But we were all in good spirits--including Paul who tends to get a bit agitated when things don't go according to (his) plan. He concluded that, had we left five minutes earlier, it could have been us in the accident.
-Weather was gorgeous all the way down. Slightly overcast, perfect driving weather.
-No arguments except whether I should have coffee to speed me up (my choice) or skip it so I don't slow them down (their choice). I chose half-caf.

Having settled in for a half hour, we got a call from the the condo owner who just wanted to make sure everything was fine. I assured him it was, thanks. It was nice to have a welcome basket on the counter: a big yellow sand bucket filled with toilet paper, dishwasher soap, kitchen towels, and other goodies. It was a little touch I'll have to remember when we own a condo someday. When people are paying hundreds of dollars for a week in your place, give them five bucks worth of necessities.

Angel in a Parking Lot

Lately I've been reminiscing about family vacations, mainly because they're getting harder to schedule with adult children. Grace-filled nostalgia is a wonderful thing and I can find it in all of our trips. (The fact that we all came home without disowning one another is grace in itself.) One of our vacations, however, stands out as the one I encountered what I believe was a true angel. I don't mean just a really nice, good person, a "dear" or even a cherubic looking Victorian thing. I mean someone sent from heaven by God in human form for a specific moment with a message and/or help in a critical moment.

The year was 1993. My Granny Tola was turning 80 on September 3rd, and wanted nothing more and nothing less than to sit in the studio of one of Pat Robertson's "700 Club" tapings. She was coming from Kansas by plane and we from Maryland by car and she was paying for our two nights' stay in the luxurious Founder's Inn on the 700 Club Campus. The kids were 5, 4, and 2.

We stopped at McDonald's for breakfast. That was our first mistake. I'm sure God stations angels at their grills just to keep folks from instant cardiacs, but I digress. Paul came out feeling a bit sick and wanted me to drive while he rested in the back seat, wedged between two car seats. I think we let Ben ride up front. Twenty minutes later he wanted me to find a place to pull over. I figured it was just the usual 20-minutes-post-MickeyD's pit stop.

Within ten minutes he was almost too weak to force the issue. "Zo, please, I need help." Normally I would've laughed, "We all need help after Egg McMuffins," but his voice was not kidding. I turned around and he could barely keep his head up. He was clutching his chest. That's when I panicked. "What's wrong, honey? Paul?? !!" He didn't know. All I could think of was that his mom and brother had died suddenly of ruptured aortas and Hopkins had tested the whole family after the second death. Paul's aorta was (is) enlarged. "Dear God, no, " I prayed silently "don't take Paul." I scanned every road sign for a big H. We needed a hospital and had no clue where we were, really.

"I'm looking, babe. I don't see any hospital signs. What's the matter? Does your chest hurt? Are you gonna throw up? Pass out? What?"

He couldn't muster the energy to say.

That's when I believe God directed me to take an exit that I thought, "No way." It was either Shadyside or Shadybrook and looked like it would lead to farmland or a rinky-dink town. But I trusted God. I pulled into the first place where I saw people: a tiny church. They were milling around the parking lot. The time was almost 10 a.m. on a weekday. They were all dressed up. Maybe for a funeral, but not for a Bible study.

I jumped out of the car and asked a woman "where's the nearest hospital?" She wasn't sure there was one near. A second person knew there was one under construction, but whether it was open for business? Not sure. My palms were sweating, and I could hear my own pulse.
I raced to the basement of the church where they said the secretary was. She knew the hospital was open but gave lousy directions. You know, every landmark possible on a straight shot road?
Nearly in tears, I thanked her and felt I'd have to do the best I could but I was confused with lefts, rights, barns, fences, all that hooha.

Then I rushed back to the car . Beside us was a man in a tweed coat. He stood next to a late model dark car. I don't remember even asking him for directions. But he said, "Miss, you'll turn right out of this parking lot, go one mile, and the new hospital is on the right."

"Thank you!" I blurted. I jumped into the car, put it in reverse, turned to wave to him, but he was gone.

"Where did he go?" I asked Paul. "He just told me how to get there and was reaching back into his car for glasses. But where is he? And where's that dark car?" Paul was too out of it to track with me.

I pulled out, turned right, went a mile exactly, and there was a hospital! It was so new there was hardly a soul there, so we got right in to see a doctor. They ran a battery of tests. Nothing wrong.
During the wait, Paul was gaining strength, his color was returning, and he was handling the insurance questions despite the fact I said, "It's okay, I got it. Just relax." I felt such a peace. Even the children had been perfectly behaved and weren't asking a million questions about daddy or "when are we gonna get there?"

I remember checking into a motel (we couldn't afford a hotel and couldn't make it to Virginia Beach on time after our delay) and Sarah playing nurse. We had an ACE bandage with us (we carry them like gum or mints on vacation). She knew her Daddy was sick somehow, so she wrapped his leg from thigh to calf and "pwayed for" him. It was so sweet.

Never have I felt so encountered by an angel. Never have I doubted it was an angel in that country church parking lot.

And to top it off, not only did Granny get to sit in the studio, Pat Robertson announced it was her birthday, brought her up on stage, and gave her a big Southern bear hug! She died two years later almost to the day, a happy woman.

How about you? Got any "definitely was an angel" story of your own? If it's post-able, please post!