home sweet home

Thanksgiving for us means visiting family, eating a grand feast and too much of it, slowing our pace for a few days, and giving gratitude for life's many blessings.  This year, in a move very unlike me and Papa, we planned a family vacation to Florida.  To be fair, this is our first family vacation ever, aside from trips to different states and countries to visit extended family.  But, this was our first destination-determined-by-us vacation.

The choice was obvious for our Harry Potter loving family - The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  Oh yeah, the children are 9, 7, and 4, so we should really throw Walt Disney World into the mix.  And we did just that.

This Thanksgiving was a harried, festive, fast-pace, exciting adventure for our family.  A memorable one to be sure.  I am so thankful we did it - for the magic, for the wonder, for the smiles, laughs, and good times spent with just the five of us (and 50 million others at both parks). 

The trip started with a surprise announcement - an early arrival to Florida and an extra day at Universal.  

In the Wizarding World of Harry Potter (otherwise known to us as Harry Potter world) we shopped Hogsmeade, traveled the Hogwarts Express, toured the Hogwarts castle, flew on our broomsticks, purchased our very own wands from Olivander's, flew with the Hungarian Horntail, sampled butter beer, pumpkin juice, chocolate frogs, and Bertie Bott's every flavor beans (even dirt, yuck!).  The detail in the shops, the classrooms in the castle, and the staff all led you to feel as though you walked right into the hidden areas of Hogwarts, complete with soundtrack.  John Williams will create the perfect ambiance anywhere!

Next on our agenda was Disney.  Our hotel was alive with our favorite characters and we were transported directly into the movies.  The children took turns sleeping in an anemone with Nemo and Marlin.  We were greeted at our buildings by seagulls, Mr. Ray, and Crush and the pool was alive with color.  Every minute of our stay was filled with visual and auditory stimulation.

Swallowing every ounce of the feminist inside me, I treated the girls to a princess makeover.  They thoroughly enjoyed every minute of their transformation.  Oh boy were they sweet!

We had to slip in a few photo shots with our favorite character - Goofy.  Of course, this is because Grandpa is goofy and he likes Goofy.  So we had to say hello on his behalf!

There were so many other magical moments to share, but I'll stop with these highlights.

After all this excitement and wonder, I have to admit that I am oh. so. glad. to be home.  To celebrate our final destination, I promptly poured myself a cup of coffee, baked bread, and made my traditional chocolate chip cookies.  It felt wonderful to have my family behave with as much excitement over my homemade goodness as the day we entered Hogsmeade.  It's good to know they appreciate home and all that it means.

It's good to be home!

welcome back letter

It's been so long, my friends.  And a busy, busy summer since I've last written.  It occurred to me as I sat at the computer that it was just officially summer the last time I wrote anything of substance.  Now summer is over, despite the fact that the calendar says there are five weeks left to enjoy.  (I work in higher education, so my summer ends the day the first set of student athletes arrive to campus.)

As the last few weeks raced by, I thought often of this space and my few faithful readers.  I've missed you much.  I've missed the loving and supportive comments of this space.  I've missed the understanding.  I've missed the opportunity to use words in my own process of meaning making.  I have to be honest, though.  I would not have traded a. single. moment. of my summer for the opportunity to write more.

Writing has given me the gift of considering the present: stopping long enough to ponder what each moment means and putting each story on paper so the moments take on a life of their own.  But this summer, I lived in the moment.  For. the. first. time. of. my. life...

I know this because I did not think of work when I was home with my family.  

I know this because I have hundreds of memories that keep playing on the screen of my mind - the sound of two girls arguing and solving their conflict; the mimicking of teaching in their makeshift classroom; the modeling of outfits complete with bracelets and necklaces and high-heeled shoes; the red-eyed, wet-haired exhaustion of children who spent the day in the pool; the sweet chatter of cousins at bedtime; the silly songs with lyrics made up by older and younger children alike; the snuggling; the quiet walks around the pond (yes, with all 8 children).

I know this because my heart leaps at Mr. Man impersonating his younger cousin. I feel the pang of excitement when my text tone sounds, hoping it will be a picture or a greeting or an update about the daily goings-on of my sister and her children.  I know this because I share any news with my husband and children and they are equally excited and interested.  Together, we share our goings-on with them.

I know this because I've learned so much about myself and my own children that I would have never realized without this summer.  Things like I can survive without being in complete control or Peace and Pie thrive in very social environments, while Mr. Man and I need some quiet alone time often or I may worry about choices my sister makes, but they are hers and they are made with thought and care and love, as are mine, each in the hopes of meeting the needs of our families, neither exactly right and neither exactly wrong.

So, I hope you'll understand my absence.  I hope you'll return to read my musings again.  And I hope I'll bring something different to this space because of the difference this summer has made in my real-time life.

Peace,

G

recycling memories

This post was inspired by Lady Cordelia who writes about the new passions in her life, including thrifting.

The memory popped into my mind with such a sense of familiarity I couldn't believe I hadn't made the connection before. 

For five years now, my mother and I have saved our treasures, set up tables, priced items, prepared our change, greeted strange faces, endured the rain, sun, or sweltering heat, and counted our earnings at the end of two days.  Yep, that's the annual garage sale.

We've done it each year because I have growing babies who leave behind large toys, furniture, supplies, and clothes.  Piles and piles of clothes.  Those items that will suit others quite well because they've been little used.  We do it because I love to declutter on a regular basis and so does she.  We do it because the little bit of cash we earn helps create some amazing summer-fun memories for my children - ice cream, swimming at the community pool, amusement parks, baseball games.  We do it because I can't bear to throw things away that someone else may want, need, or use in creative ways. 

I don't have babies anymore and older children don't have big stuff.  The stock has dwindled, leaving us asking each other if we should do it again next year.  We do manage to pull items together, but it is not much.  We ask this question as the crowd quiets down at the end of day two.  We are tired and hot.  

This year, my mother's response to my asking: I don't do this because I need to.  I do it because I enjoy doing it with you.

And there is the memory - my mother and her mother.  Each summer for many.  In my grandmother's driveway.  Both women, notepad in hand, on which are placed color-coded pricing stickers.  A metal lock box for their earnings and for making change.  The tables and tables of items needing a new home and hoping not to be destined for the landfill (or burn pile as was the case at Grandma's).  The chatter and buzzing from the customers.  The small town hellos and gossip.  The kids, me and my cousins, running around, playing on the side of the house, enjoying our lazy summer days.

Perhaps memories can be recycled as well.  A memory, remade into a new one.  A time shared by two women of one generation, then repeated in the next.  Isn't it funny how life somehow means more in a memory or the sharing of a memory than in the thing itself?  In this simple garage sale, I've stumbled on a real treasure - recycling moments and memories with my mother!