I Packed for Three Weeks.

Looking back on my childhood I realize I was probably what would now be considered ADHD. I bounced off the walls most days, talked incessantly and had a million things flying through my head at once. I had good organizational skills though, even as a child. My mother loved it when I organized her kitchen cabinets or her closet.  I may have been 9 or 10 at the time but I could clean those cabinets up in record time. 

Sadly for mama & daddy, as a child once the word "vacation" was mentioned at the dinner table, I was all in. Where are we going? How long are we there? When do we leave?  I'm sure mama and daddy held off as long as possible discussing in front of me. I am the youngest of three and I'm not sure how my brothers stayed so calm after the announcement. I was tripping over myself getting ready. Mama would just smile and daddy would assure me I had plenty of time to pack, it would be a little while yet. 

Daddy would caution "it's another three weeks baby". I questioned his sobriety at this point. 
I had this little suitcase not much bigger than a cereal box and I slammed the thing full of toys, little books and a couple stuffed animals. Oh, and my swimsuit. Only the bare necessities. How are they all so calm? We are going to the beach soon! May I take a Childcraft for bedtime stories? Daddy said we were NOT moving to the beach and the Childcraft was too much. Mama would study daddy for a minute, knowing she would put my favorite Volume 3 childcraft in her bag where we could read at night. 
Childcraft were a ritual at our home before google ever existed. I must have read those volumes a million times, studied the educational ones, made what would probably be considered "diy" projects in the craft ones. My brother Crant would help me with more complicated things like games. We would create the games described from empty cereal boxes, gem clips and tape. I insisted on coloring and decorating them and we would play those simple games for weeks. 

By the time vacation arrived I had repacked that bag about two dozen times. I was nothing if not efficient. It had become a daily ritual, a habit, taking something out and putting something else in. Still not a single change of clothing or underclothes, no shoes-only the single pair of sandals I wore all summer. 
My mama on the other hand packed all my necessary clothing in her bag. She carried sunscreen and a spare pair of glasses for herself. There was a paper lunch bag with aspirin, bandages, neosporin and kaopectate. Phone numbers for doctors were jotted down on an old envelope in case of emergency. Mama was always well prepared. 
The day we left I was bouncing off the walls while daddy loaded the car early with the help of my oldest brother.  

I am still amazed they did not sedate me for the trip because I'm sure I nearly drove them insane. About 20 miles from  home I started asking if we were there yet. Are we close now mama? What about now? My middle brother would get me involved in a puzzle or game. 
Those trips hold the most cherished memories. We either went to my Aunt and Uncle's home in Gulf Breeze or stayed at these little beaches cottages on Pensacola beach.
The cottages were pastel colored with screen porches and slanted roofs. They weren't much more than a hotel room w/a kitchen, you parked your car underneath your unit. They looked like pure heaven to me. The five of  us shared one unit w/me or one of the boys sleeping on a pallet on the floor. They were on stilts, set at an angle on the sand to accommodate each unit a beach view, just over the dunes. There was a huge hand built playground out back on the way to the pool. There were these life size replicas of a train and a ship just sitting in the sand for our imaginations and bare feet to traverse. You could go into the belly of that ship and climb the ladder to the top and be a pirate. The ship was my favorite. I would love to have an old photo of those cottages, they are sadly long gone. 

What's most important about our beach trips are the memories made with all five of us together. The cottages sat in a row, maybe eight or so of them, perpendicular to the road with that small beach view. We walked the beach at night with daddy while mama sat back and watched the fun from her towel. Later we would be on the little screen porch talking and going through our shells. Some trips daddy would borrow an old hand crank ice cream freezer where we could enjoy a bowl of ice cream. Because my brothers were older, sometime they would sleep on the screen porch if the nights were mild, on a pallet.
Crant would slip in just at daylight and wake me to take me out to the sand, still in my pajamas to watch the sun come up and watch for dolphin playing close to shore. The water was like glass barely making a sound as it washed ashore. We rolled my pajama legs up and I stood at waters edge letting it bathe my feet in salty warmth. 
I enjoyed walks on the beach with daddy. Strangely sometime he wore shoes. Daddy did not like the feeling of sand between his toes like most of us. I remember looking down on those wingtip dress shoes, so out of place. He hung on as long he he could manage, eventually walking with me in one hand, shoes and socks in the other.
How could those days be so far behind us? Those days were the closest to heaven on earth we will ever know, I think. 

Before we left for home I begged daddy to get boxes from Jitney Jungle and take sand home for my sandbox. I wanted Pensacola beach sand, not just regular old sand. I was sentimental even as a child. If we had room he would add a box or two to the trunk, sitting the back end of our car down from the added weight. God bless him, he indulged his little girl every chance he got within reason. 

Vacations were never dull with three children. There was the occasional "strange odor" stinging our nostrils as the ride home got underway. You know, the odor of something dead! Mama would question if daddy tied his fishing clothes up well in the bag.. I would look over at Crant as he mouthed silently, "it" got out. Oh no! He and I would begin checking every little nook and cranny we could get our hand into to no avail. 
It didn't take mama long to realize what had happened, daddy just chuckling under his breath.
Soon, from the front seat "what was it son?" Just a little sand crab in a cup mama, now dead somewhere in the car we presumed. You can't imagine how that tiny thing permeated the entire car. 
Daddy would find a nice spot to pull off the road and all three kids unloaded from the back seat while he searched for his now deceased sand crab. I can see daddy standing there w/his arm resting on the top of the car. He must have been ready to choke my brother but he waited quietly. Slight amusement came and went from mama's face, which totally confused me as a child. Steve had to explain it to me. 
Once he found it, there was a quick goodbye and we were on our way home again. For a couple weeks after, the smell lingered in the car. I always thought the car still smelled like vacation. I'm not sure mama felt the same. 

Those family vacations were such a metaphor for our life. The dawn on the beach and it's ethereal warmth, filling us with peace. The unrelenting grains of sand that work their way into everything- irritating and lingering like life's problems and disappoints, but still holding value as lessons are learned. The timeless feeling of those days long gone laughing & playing with my brothers as mama and daddy watched. Not the least of which, visiting family there. I've said it before and it's so true, my mother was never more at ease than when she was with her sister.

As we rolled back in close to home, topping the last rise coming back into town daddy would quietly say "welcome back to God's country." As a child, I didn't understand. 

Our rural, humble home was where their hearts lay. The place that brought them both complete contentment and peace. 

I am thankful for the memories of those days, long gone. Grateful for the lessons learned and the time with family most of all. Yes as daddy said, we were indeed richly blessed.