Tag Archives: memories

IT’S ALL GOOD

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It started out as a regular beach vacation day.  Plans were for all of us to spend the day at the shore, pretty much doing what every family does at a beach – sitting, talking, swimming, laughing, playing games, and anything else that can be done while watching and listening to the beauty of the waves.  Just about mid-morning, we trudged over to the beach with a canopy, chairs, coolers, towels, rafts, and more.  We popped up our tent and claimed our space for the day.  

Matt was along for this journey, so there was a bit more to the set up.   Earlier, we had put him into the beach wheelchair (which we rented the previous evening), pushed him not only down the lane to the nearest handicap accessible beach access point, but also through the fluffy sand until he had reached the family site.  It took a bit of effort, so it was nice to have his sister and a group of his cousins to help.  When Matt and those assisting him reached the tent, they made sure he was in the shade and was pointed towards the water.  All was good, as he would say.  

It was not unusual for Matt to be at the beach. That was something he had done many times throughout his life.  He had not, however, been in the gulf water for a very, very long time.  Without the ability to use his legs and with little ability to move his arms, swimming or just being in the water was quite challenging and a bit scary for him. Anything could happen. Especially when the waves moved the water in all directions.  He preferred to sit in the shade and spend time with all from a stationary and dry location. 

As time passed that afternoon, most of the relatives were out in the ocean swimming, with only Matt, myself, and my nephew, Will, in the shade of the tent.  Watching the others, I asked a question I had asked my son numerous times and assumed the answer would be the same.  

“Matt, would you like to swim in the ocean?”  

I expected him to say no.  As he always did. That he would be fine on shore if I’d like to go swimming. That leaving him in his shaded seat was perfectly A-Okay. That he could be on the shore by himself without problem.  

But that’s not what he said.

“Mom,” he said, “I think I’d like to get in the water.”  

I was a bit stunned.  Matt wanted to swim.  He gave the signal.  And in that moment, I could feel that an adventure was about to begin.  

My response to his request was ever-so-quick and as I soon found out ever-so-funny.   

“Matt, wait here . . . don’t move . . . I gotta go get more help . . . just stay here,” I mumbled.

And in a calm and cool voice with a sense of wit only Matt sitting in a wheelchair could have, and in a most humorous tone, before I could dash off he said, “Mom, if by some miracle I jump up and stand and move, please don’t stop me.”   

His classic sense of humor about himself and his situation gave us a moment to chuckle.   I smiled.  He smiled.  And he then pointed me onward.

Within seconds, I had rounded up all the help he needed to get into the water.  (Side note – it is much more difficult than it sounds for a near quadriplegic individual to get into the ocean.  Lots of logistics come along with making it happen.)

The first step was to get him and his wheelchair to the shore line which required some heavy duty pushing through fluffy sand.  Once we got him to the shoreline and after some conversation, we decided to keep him in the beach wheelchair and push all into the water.   

By that time, looking around at the rest of beach, it was clear that families in the nearby vicinity were watching . . .and waiting.  Pushing a guy in a beach wheelchair into the water draws attention. Clearly, our happy adventure was also turning into their happy adventure.   

Though we should have known it, we seemed to forget that the big bulky wheelchair tires, which were perfect for navigating sand and trenches, were also filled with air.  Which meant once the tires hit the water, they floated.  So as Matt entered the water, he was weaving up and down like a red and white fishing pole bobber.  The event looked like the funniest roller coaster ride ever in salt water.  Eventually using the collective weight of all of his family, he was pushed out into the water until he and everyone else was soaking wet and howling with laughter.

Though the entire activity probably took less than ten minutes, it was as if time stood still.  There we were as a family group, doing something together.  Something easy for the rest of us, but something that required Matt to throw caution to the wind.  He had to overcome a fear.  He had to have a level of trust that the rest of us did not have to have.  And once again, Matt prevailed and  figured out how to participate in a fun summer moment with us. He smiled and we smiled. He laughed and we laughed.  

Many times I think back to that moment.  I learned a lot about a lot that day. I learned about bravery.  I learned about trust.  I learned about family.  I learned more about what is important. And I learned that I must always be ready for adventures.  Because they are worth the effort. 







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  • IT’S ALL GOOD
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  • Adventure On
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Adventure On

					
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Though it would have been much easier for the four of us young girls to decline the offer, it was an opportunity that gave us pause. There we stood pondering. Thinking. It was as if we could feel the birth of an adventure. We were experiencing that moment that feels like it’s moving in slow motion. As if we were standing on the sideline knowing that in a blink, the tenure of our plan would be exploding into something much different than we originally thought. It became a time when talking less meant understanding more. We were barely blinking as our eyes looked from one to the next. And with four ever so slight nods, we knew that we were all in.


Adventure on.


We didn’t cheer. We didn’t yelp. Perhaps because we were equally as afraid as we were excited. We were going into the unknown. A place we liked but feared. Which at age thirteen, was pretty much a norm with every situation. But this time it felt a bit different.


We packed pretty much in silence – speaking only to affirm that someone had grabbed something the others may have not. Flashlights. Hammocks. Netting. Canteens. Rope. Knives. Matches. A flare. We knew there would be no heading back for missed items. Darkness would prevent that. And communication with the rest of our group would be severed by whatever wilderness was between us and them. This was pre-cellphone. So we were just being about our business as we sorted through our need versus our wants.


Within what seemed like minutes, but was more likely an hour or two, we were off. We trudged into and through the woods until we found eight suitable trees to hang four barebones hammocks. We set up the sleeping arrangements and quickly created a centralized rock-fenced campfire, put our canteens somewhere nearby and unpacked everything we had just stuffed into those duffle bags. The food we brought could only be described as well less than sub-standard on the nutrition scale. Potatoes wrapped in tinfoil thrown in a fire. S’mores. Maybe apples. Popcorn.


As darkness approached, we settled into those hammocks, threw the netting over us, and speaking for all four of us, were frightened out of our minds from sunset to sunrise. We prayed our flashlight batteries lasted until the light of morn.


Just hours later, we hopped out of those hammocks like four victorious warriors. Though our bravery was due to our inability to return in darkness to the nearby lodge, we convinced ourselves that we had lived a confident night rather than a fearful one. Regardless, we have always rearranged the details of this story to fit a champions’ narrative.


The march back to our origin was filled with chatter. We did it. It was over. Now what.


That’s the thing about adventures. They have beginnings. They have endings. And for me, there is always the hope of what is to come with the next adventure. It is the time after the end of the previous adventure and before the start of the future one that is most interesting.


Without a doubt, there can be a feeling of uneasiness. Which I describe as a free falling, not knowing where or when or how I will land. Will I have another adventure? Do I still have great adventures waiting for me? There is that big vast unknown. I know that I must welcome whatever lies ahead, but I am always a little hesitant. A little resistant. A little scared. Scratch that . . . a lot scared.


But that’s the thing about adventures. I do believe they are endless. Certainly they come in different shapes and sizes and durations. I can see that they are not meant to last forever, and I have a feeling that I’m supposed to experience lots of different types of them throughout my life. Again, adventures always include walking into that giant unknown.


An adventure in my life has just closed. It was one of the greatest adventures of all time – filled with the unimaginable and the incredible. There were moments of great perplexity coupled with moments of unbridled joy. My mind and my body were constantly put to the test in ways that I was rarely fully – if ever –  prepared.


It was an experience that God graced me with and I only hope that I met the challenge. With adventures, I never know. And I truly hope that I can once again experience such joy, exhilaration, excitement, contentment, and exuberance in a future adventure as I did with my previous one.


I have such great hope.


Always wanted to know what adventure my dad was on in this photo! Looks quite exciting!

					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

						
This Life is the Best Life Ever

			
						

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He turned to me and smiled.  It was a flash of a moment.  A quick grin.  In total, it probably lasted less than a second, and when it happened, I really didn’t think too much of it.  But, it was the same smile – the same welcome – the same hello – the same moment of family affection – that we have shared over the past 50+ years.


Throughout the day’s activities, I probably saw that same smile a hundred different times. . . when we loaded into the boat . . . when we jumped into the lake . . . when we prepared to eat . . .when we ate . . . when we cleaned . . . when we sat and talked . . .  when we drank . . . when we reloaded into the boat . . . when we watched fireworks.


I can honestly say that I can only recall a fraction of our topics of conversation.  We talked a lot, about a lot of great subjects.  But if pressed, I must admit that the specific details are more than a little bit blurry to me.  The smile, however, is etched clear as a bell in my mind.


And that is fascinating to me.


I find it interesting to think about what I retain in my memory and what I don’t.  It is a filing system that I have never really understood.  I have memories and the ability to remember, but I have no idea how it all comes together.


That part’s a blur.


I think I have a solid ability to memorize, which means I can actively place something in storage and bring it to the forefront when necessary.  That part isn’t random. It is intentional. Sooooooo comforting to know that the memory part of my mind is not just a vast wasteland!


I also have memories that are linked to sounds and smells and sights and tastes and touches.  Drinking lemonade brings out memories of my grandfather.  Carole King songs take me back to 8th grade backyard camp outs.  If I smell suntan lotion, I am time-warped back to every Florida vacation I ever took as a child.


My interest isn’t in the fact that there are sensory associations to my memory.  Moreover, I would like to know why these particular associations.  What clicked in my brain to forever link various everyday items with happenings in my past.


All I can say is  – interesting!


In addition, I have taken my fair share of general education courses targeting the memory topic. Somewhere in my educational background is a stream of knowledge on this very issue. I spent credit hours and clock hours of time reading books, listening to lectures, writing papers, and taking tests to expand my mind about what memories are.  The good news is that I can recall taking those classes.  The bad news is that the exact content is a little vague . . . until and unless I read my college notes as a refresher or I utilize that Scholar-Google for a little assistance.  My memory on memory is less than memorable.


I am the type of person who tends to have an imbalance in terms of positive/negative memories.  Like everyone else, I have had my fair share of not so pleasant circumstances in my life, but I only really remember the glass half full times.  Bad moments, hard moments, sad moments are in that great big filing system in the sky, but happy, crazy-funny, joyous moments are the easiest for me to recall.   I assume it is like that for everyone.  I know it is for me.


The 2018 July 4th weekend brought all kinds of moments into my life.


I will remember the outline of young Brooke sailing towards us on the paddle board in the dim of the early evening on the lake.


I will remember the laughter of Max and Cosi as they were pulled behind a slow-moving boat.


I will always see the gentle hand of Craig as he kindly moved a rope back and forth to ensure the safety of several young charges being towed behind the boat.


Without any trouble at all, I will hear the chatter coming from the cousin table – a group of nine lake-logged guys and gals, boys and girls whose ages ranged from 6 to 39 – as they sat outside together eating, talking, laughing, and bonding. And the chatter coming from the adult table – same activity a mere few feet away from the first group.


With all of these memories, I cannot recall any of the details sandwiched in between the moments. Many hours passed, so I know a lot more actually happened.  But I can barely recall exactly what we ate.  I have no idea what everyone was wearing, and I am quite sure I can’t remember who arrived first or departed last.


What I will remember of these times is much more stark and simple.


My daughter’s twinkling eyes . . .  my sister-in-law’s laugh . . .  my brother’s hug . . .  my cousin, Carl’s smile.


This life is the best life ever.


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Fireworks on the Lake

					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

						
The Comeback Moment

			
						

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I caught his eyes, and I knew it was the moment. My young, eighteen year old cousin was looking straight at me with that smile.  It was the moment we all waited for . . . the moment of excitement . . . the most anticipated moment . . . the defining moment.  He said absolutely nothing to me and I nothing to him.  But, we both grinned and we knew it.  And we weren’t the only ones who recognized it.


My sister was some twenty feet behind me laughing as she reached out for our tiny ten-year old niece who had just swallowed a bit of salt water, but was none-the-less smiling and laughing, too. My spouse, also laughing,  had tumbled back further towards shore and was intent on returning, pausing just long enough to squeeze water out of his faded yellow swim shirt and to meet up with a brother-in-law who likewise was making his way back to the group.


The teenage girls – six of them who were all nearly the same age, (old enough to be on their own, but young enough to need some watchful eyes) – were already waiting for the next round, as were the college kids – the bold, the crazy, the unabashed, the fearless – who had moved the center of the group several feet farther out into the ocean than the original position.


In all, there were nearly thirty of us, marching out from the inch deep shoreline to chin high waters in the Atlantic.  And with ocean waves crashing, we – aunts, uncles, parents, brothers, sisters, children, cousins, grandparents, and friends – stayed together.  The day was bright and the water was warm. The waves were all too often over our heads, yet for some reason their force was unusually weak, with just enough danger to make it seem dangerous mixed in with just enough safety for those of us old enough to be concerned to not be concerned.


Wave after wave, we would watch and wait for the perfect ride, the perfect catch. The waves would roll by and each of us would do our body surfing best, some with more success than others, to manage them with fun. It wasn’t the skill of the sport or the challenge of the water that interested us.  The lure was, and always has been, something else.


Vacation in my world has always meant traveling to the beach to meet up with a large assortment of family members.  For the past 45+ years, during the third week in July, we haul beach chairs, tents, umbrellas, buckets, shovels, nets, towels, cameras, toys, coolers, books, food, and now phones to the ocean shore.   Arriving mid-morning and leaving mid-evening, we pack, unpack, and eventually repack, learning to take a little less stuff and a little more food to the beach with each passing day.  As I watch my children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews carry my belongings to the beach, I fondly recall the times I helped my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles carry theirs.


Throughout these 45+ years, we have developed our fair share of family vacation traditions: take pictures Friday night, share homemade salsa, play miniature golf Thursday, late lunches and dominoes, ring the bell, get an ice cream, church on Sunday,  beach bocce winner-take-all, and evenings poolside.  Are they special, extraordinary, unique, exceptional traditions?  Hardly.  They are simple, average, common, uncomplicated, ordinary ones – with everyone included in everything and no official planning for anything.


These traditions have created a sense of ease to a vacation that could be considered a little arduous as relatives are required to pack up significant belongings and travel hundreds of miles in over-stuffed vehicles just to be together for seven straight days.  And vacations, regardless of type, time, or location, can be costly.  Gas tanks, plane rides, car rentals, maps, fun food, sunscreen, laundromats, movie tickets, and finally, the purchasing of all necessities sadly forgotten at home means vacations have a price.  But, we return every year – same time, same place – to once again carry our stuff to the sandy ocean shore.


In all honesty, over those past 45+ years, we have changed locations . . . albeit once.  And why we moved from the Gulf of Mexico to the Atlantic is a mystery to most of us, but somewhere in the 80s, we shifted east. It is clear, however, that those before me sought a quiet, remote, uncluttered, and unpopulated spot with little more to do than link lives with those in attendance.  No fast food, go-carts, shopping malls, piers, boardwalks, high rises, tourist attractions, beach bars, jet skis, surf shops, or restaurant chains.  Just a roof over our heads with sand, water, family and friends. 


As I caught my cousin’s eyes, I knew it was the moment.  I could see it.  To my right, a cousin of my cousin had locked arms with my niece.  From the shore, my brother and my aunt were snapping photo after photo. My spouse ended up circled by the six teenage girls who were holding onto the lone surf board owned and operated by another young cousin. To my left, I saw a cousin’s friend raising a lost, then found baseball cap that had left the drenched head of another relative.   Two others were holding the hands of that tiny, young ten-year old for safekeeping. Everyone was smiling.  Everyone was laughing.   


In that moment, I saw a family – 30+ strong  – dancing in the waves . . . together . . . in sync . . .with no thoughts and no cares in the world.  And I knew that this moment was the comeback moment, the one that will bring us back . . . together . . . again . . . next year.


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                         Vacationing Together in the Summer on the Atlantic