Category: Living my Life

I hated that question when I was a kid. Every first-day-of-school, grades 4-8, the assignment was “write an essay on how you spent your summer vacation.”

My dad worked retail, six days a week, before the era of paid vacation leave. What I did on my summer break was work in the garden (when I couldn’t wiggle out of it), spend a week with my grandparents (with my big sister along to make sure I behaved), Vacation Bible School for two weeks, and, occasionally, a movie. Many lazy days, playtime under the big shade tree, and sitting with Mother listening to her soap operas.

I never saw any of that as fodder for an essay. It did not compare to, say, my friend’s trip to Dallas Fair Park and Aquarium.

But, all that is in the past. This summer I have had three wonderful vacations already and it’s still 5 more weeks till Labor Day.

In June I joined with my youngest daughter’s family to celebrate her 60th birthday! She told her husband, “No surprise party,” but he couldn’t resist. I was a surprise. It was a delightful weekend with the Quade family when I was able to meet my newest great grand, Caleb Lucas, and read stories to his big brother, Noah.

A scant month later even more of us got together in Oklahoma for our annual family ‘union’ with all my kids, grands, and great-grands who were able to come. Some were missing because of sickness or work, but we had another great family time including a hilarious game of Trivial Pursuit.

Last weekend, I took heart in mouth and climbed aboard an airplane to Baltimore to visit my youngest son, Phillip, who I had not seen since Christmas. Such a good time.

I had never been to Maryland and I thoroughly enjoyed being chauffeured around to see the Harbor, historic neighborhoods, and the scenic drive to Annapolis. We didn’t tour the Naval Academy, as we had planned, but drove across the Severn River that runs into Chesapeake Bay. Though the natives complained about the heat (85 degrees), I loved the breeze off the bay as we walked the path down to the water’s edge. (There has been no breeze in Arkansas since tornado season.)

After a quick brunch with grandson Aaron who drove up from D.C. and a satisfying day sight-seeing, Phillip and I engaged in our favorite joint activity: binge-watching sitcom reruns.

Sunday noon, and time to return home. Just a little weepy at leaving him, I checked in, found my gate, and boarded my flight home. Even though I had to sit in a middle seat, I chose a place next to a nice-looking young man dressed in a Southwest Airlines uniform. (FYI, he had opted for a seat over the wing. Good for him, good for me.)

As I fastened my seat belt, the announcement came over the speaker: “We will be in Dallas in 2 1/2 hours.” I said, “What? Did she say Dallas?” The nice young man answered that was indeed what she said. I explained that I was going to Little Rock … they took my boarding pass and everything.

The off-duty pilot then told me that this was a ‘direct’ flight, not to be confused with a ‘non-stop’ flight. (I’m not making this up.) ‘Non-stop’ means you fly from city to city without stopping. ‘Direct’ means you fly from city to city without getting off the plane, though you may indeed stop to let some passengers off and take more on.

I didn’t argue with him, glad to know that eventually I would land in Little Rock without any effort on my part, though Baltimore to Little Rock via Dallas doesn’t really seem direct. And instead of experiencing take-off twice on this trip, it was three times.

And that’s what I did on my summer vacation. If I just had a chance to write about it.

Oh, wait. I just did.

The picture at the top of this post shows the Severn River with the Naval Academy and Maryland’s Capital dome in the background.

I have written before about Falls I have Taken. I don’t like to worry my kids, but when they get a little older (how many times in their lives have I used that intro?) they will find that senior adults just fall from time to time. The idea is: try to not get hurt, break your glasses, or chip your teeth.

As we age, our balance isn’t as good as it once was. Persons of all ages have these moments when they trip, dance a few steps, then recover their balance. Old people don’t do that. They do a little dance and then hit the ground.

I did that this morning on the way to the mailbox. Don’t know what I tripped on, walking down the sidewalk I have traveled most every day for the 13 years I have lived in this house. But I knew I was going down. My knees hit, then the palms of my hands, then I rolled forward to kiss the concrete just enough to bite my lip. I sat up, preparing to stand. I can get up. It just ain’t pretty.

All this took just seconds to happen and suddenly I was startled by the screech of tires. A red jeep on Center Street stopped, threw it in reverse and backed into my side street. The woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window.

“I’m okay.” I said. And, hands and feet on the ground, I stuck my bottom in the air and stood.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I just tripped.  Thanks for stopping.”

She nodded and rolled up the window. I continued to the mailbox as they slowly drove away.

I have two very skinned knees and a small bite inside my lower lip. My wrists feel sprained but I have so much carpel tunnel syndrome, who’s to know?

I keep thinking about the couple who stopped, certain I had an emergency, willing to be the Good Samaritan.

I am thankful to live in a small town where people care about people.

I was reminded this week of the many good dads I have met in my life. Some of them are loving, caring dads because they had an excellent role model. As my brothers did. I’ve written here before about my dad Monroe and how blessed I am to have been raised in a Christian home.

I am happy to say that all my grandchildren (and my great-grands) have super dads —  involved in their kid’s lives, encouraging, patient, wise when they need to be.

Last weekend was spent with the Quade family and, watching that family interact, I thought of an incident years ago — an example of Jim Quade being a sensitive dad.

On a visit to Oklahoma, we had driven to Enid to watch grandson Matt play baseball. We were driving home along a two-lane state highway, Jim driving. He pulled out to pass a car and Amy (about 12 yo) said, “Dad, you can’t make it.” And he pulled back in line!

Now, what is often a driver’s reaction when a passenger does a little back-seat driving? Isn’t it usually to prove that we after all are driving this car, we know what we’re doing, we can too make it and we’ll prove it, even if we scare the pants off everyone in the car and give Grandma, riding shotgun, a heart attack.

No. Jim just pulled back in line. He didn’t have to prove anything to his 12-year-old daughter. He cared more about her comfort and safety than about being “right.” He didn’t have time to think it through … it was instinct.

But he did prove to this Mother-in-Law that he is a wonderful dad.

Happy Father’s Day, Jim, Steve, Mike, Chris, Ron, and Matt.