As I was sitting here pondering how to begin this post, I tried to remember when this beach trip "event" started...with no luck. I do know that it used to involve me, Barbara, Kimberly, Karen, Aunt Ann, and Aunt Carolyn stuffed into compact car. Somehow this year we did pick up a few stragglers, but they were welcome additions to the crew.
The weekend as a whole went smoothly. No car trouble, wardrobe malfunctions (unless you count Beth's purse, and I'm almost certain she does), or mistaken room identities. Our only snags came when we decided on places to eat. When you're on a trip with 9 women, all of whom don't want to say where to go, but none of whom have the same tastes, you've got issues....and we did....we had issues. I'm happy to report that they were resolved without incident and everyone seemed pleased enough with our choices...or at least I think they were.
As I reflected on this weekend though, we've certainly changed over the years. We used to be thrilled to go to flea markets and beach stores, and the younger car (as we lovingly referred to it) was even balking at the Tanger outlets. Chucky Cheese used to be the first stop and quite possibly the highlight of the trip. I'm pretty sure I'd rather be tarred and feathered, and there wasn't a movie night to be found. No rousing choruses of "Norman" or "Tell Laura I Love Her" rang through the car, and not a moment was spent drifting through a lazy river.
It was a very different trip, but not any less fun, and not any less tiring. By the time we got home, I was more than ready. On another note, after my Mom died, I wondered if I would feel differently about being away from home. I've always been a homebody and I hated to be away from home. I always wondered if it was really about being away from her. Sure, I missed her...a lot, and I still miss her, but I've come to realize that I miss my actual home. I miss my dogs and my bed and everything that makes my house...me. The mess on the floor in the corner of my room is a comfort to me because it reminds me that I live here and that I'm free to be me here. No matter how old I get, or how far I go...however short a period or long...I'm always thankful to come home.
HA! If I had known how much you missed "Norman," I could have hooked you up!
ReplyDeleteFun trip, but I would have to beg to differ that Goodwill shopping isn't much different than the flea market, but I will concede your point about Chuck-E-Cheese (said while skin is crawling).
Yea...I definitely count my pocket book as a serious malfunction! :) I didn't know that you all used to sing along the way. I would have been glad to join in a round of songs!
ReplyDeleteI still would not have had a problem going to the flea market. At least there we would not have been run over when the "bell" rang!! HA!! HA!! I can't believe I never went on this annual trip though. I'm already looking forward to the next one. :)