How is it that our vehicles are all packed to the gills for a one-week vacation? I mean, people used to be lucky if they owned two sets of clothes. Paul and I have three suitcases between us, two storage boxes filled with games and other things we “might wish we had along,” various totes with beach towels, suntan lotions, pool toys, and of course, all the electronic equipment one has to have to survive these days. I determined when slamming down the rear hatch while trying to keep things from falling out, that NEXT TIME I really MUST do better at this packing thing, as in not preparing for the apocalypse.
We had barely made it out of the driveway when I noticed the rear door indicator light was on."Stop!” I say to Paul and he dutifully pulls to the side of the road. I go to the back and warily open the door, catching things as they propel outward.
“The ice-chest is covering one of the latches!” I yell toward the driver’s seat.
“What?” I hear a muffled voice coming from Paul's direction. “I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.”
It’s not like we’re driving a fifty foot bus or anything. It’s just that we have everything packed in so tightly the sound can’t even break through. Paul comes around the rear as I am ripping things out and readjusting, hoping the occupants of the houses lining the street do not take this moment to look out their windows.
After yanking, rearranging, re-stuffing and re-closing the door, we were on our way again, the annoying door light off.
We had made it out the door by 8:00 AM, only thirty minutes later than Paul’s departure goal. I’m not sure why there must be a goal for everything, even leaving our vacation house, but Paul is nothing if not goal-oriented. And competitive. We must beat the crowds exiting the Outer Banks lest we become ensnared in a traffic jam. Because then the arrival time goal at our next destination would be in jeopardy.
Everyone else in our group had already left, some during the wee hours, some just a few minutes ahead of us. Several of us have those nifty stalker apps on our phones so we can keep track of travel progress. Kinda fun and kinda creepy all at the same time.
Looking back over the week I will have to say it was definitely memorable. Some good, some not so good. But all-in-all, a successful vacation; happiness is not the absence of complications but the attitudes of those involved. Refusing to let screaming toddlers, poopy diapers, squabbling ten-year-olds, and irritable adults dissipate our joy is a choice.
At the end of the day, those same children
are the ones who make everything worthwhile when they wrap their small, sticky
arms around your neck and tell you they love you. Seeing their eyes light up when they see the
ocean for the first time makes all the sand in their bathing suits not such a
big deal. Hearing them giggle when they
are playing together makes up for the times when they are all fighting over the
same toy. And tucking them in at night leaves everyone more appreciative of the
peace and quiet than they could ever be if it were that way all the time. We all agreed, though, that skipping a year
or two might be a good idea. Give the
little savages some time to become civilized. Or at least learn to sleep all night.
We head back to my niece’s house for the night, this
time with both ten-year-old in tow.
Along with a rack of ribs from Goombay’s for Glenn and some chocolate
for Sheri. My brother John, his wife Ruby (Sheri's parents) will be there for supper as will another niece, Gail. As I've mentioned before, I have relatives tucked in every place worth visiting and one of the best things about
our beach vacation is ending it with family along the way. Seeing Glenn
attack those ribs will hold a vicarious enjoyment right up there with taking The Littles to the beach and the generous bag of special home-made beef jerky he usually sends home with us would be worth an extra hundred miles on the road any day.
No comments:
Post a Comment