Tag Archives: Reunion

Classic Post: August — the Not-So-Special Month?

This post first appeared on August 8, 2018.

My daughter once wished for a different birthday month. I referred her to God for further discussion.

I see her point. August boasts no holidays — not even a fake holiday like St. Patrick’s Day. Nobody parties on the eve of August 1, as in January.

The hotter the weather, the more we chill. Dressing up is wearing matched right and left flip-flops.

Still, a tiny tadpole of awareness wiggles into our days.

It’s August. Something’s different.

Outdoor projects delayed till warm weather now are postponed till fall. Yards need extreme makeovers, but we’re so sick of yard work, we pay 4-Hers to release goats on our premises.

August presents an end-of-summer reality check. I purchased a “miracle” swimsuit in May. Now I realize the only miracle is that I paid big bucks for it.

August affects mothers strangely. Kids talk Mom into buying cool new backpacks, though 23 uncool backpacks languish at home. Mothers also obsess about changes in schedules: “Go to bed now so you’ll be ready when school starts.” My mother did this. As of August 1, all five of us went to bed at 4:00 p.m.

Even the sun listens to Mom and retires earlier in August. Yet during daytime, it unfurls golden rays as if leading an everlasting summer parade. Eating watermelon in the backyard, we experience a different kind of reality check: It’s been a great summer.

By August, every able-bodied Midwesterner has ridden a Ferris wheel and consumed a warm, crisp elephant ear.

We’re recovering from that gathering of DNA-related strangers known as a family reunion, when we rendezvoused with cousins who long ago sneaked into drive-ins with us. We kissed baby kin’s brand-new cheeks and gave grandmas and grandpas big hugs.

In August, homeowners stop vying for the Yard of the Year. Instead, we concede the grand champion ribbon to God for His spectacular pastures of goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace and Sweet Williams.

He treats us to evening concerts by cicada choirs. Fireflies, now veteran presenters, perform spectacular light shows at dusk with few technical glitches.

Whether we own farms or only farmers’ tans, the cornucopia of gardens, tasseled cornfields and leafy rows of soybeans reassure us: After harvest, we’ll celebrate with plenty of food on our tables.

All during August — the not-so-special month.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What do you like best about August?

Road Trip: Grand Adventure

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I missed Southern siblings and friends. I’d signed up for a writers’ retreat in Savannah, Georgia. Time for a road trip!

Why not fly?

I dislike heights. And oxygen masks. I’d rather wear a parachute.

Second, flights are delayed, cancelled and rescheduled ad nauseam. Would a camel prove more efficient?

But camels spit. Ergo, I drove.

Third, I felt old. I craved adventure.

So, I packed a huge suitcase. “Ha! No charge!”

Hubby couldn’t leave, so he demonstrated — again — how to operate Lavinia, my snooty GPS. With a goodbye kiss, I began my Grand Adventure.

I conquered a high, Ohio River bridge without hyperventilating. Kentucky and Tennessee’s hilly terrain didn’t faze Lavinia and me. However, she now refused to talk, and I nearly bypassed my Tennessee friends. Eventually, we enjoyed our visit.

Did Lavinia navigate the Appalachians?

No. We both freaked. Hoosiers shouldn’t be allowed to drive through mountains when roads under construction teem with a million semitrailers.

Whew! I arrived alive at my sister’s and celebrated a fun reunion with siblings.

Attempting to reach Savannah, though, I wandered in the wilderness. Not 40 years, but it seemed like 100, thanks to Lavinia, who still sulked in silence.

The elegant entrance to a Savannah home.

Fellow authors Gayle Roper and Janet McHenry and I at the Books & Such Literary Agency retreat.

Eventually (a key word), I found the Savannah retreat. Writing friends and I learned lots and cheered each other on.

I wanted the flattest route home — hopefully, without detouring to Kansas. Though a major storm occurred at night when every motel posted “No Vacancy” signs, the return trip proved easier. Hubby welcomed me, even with a huge suitcase of dirty clothes.

And a huge Visa bill. Given gas, hotel and food costs, driving hadn’t saved money. Semis nearly nosed my car over cliffs without offering either oxygen or parachute. I risked my life crossing bridges.

Siblings who once lived together wished each other on the moon, but now brave even miles through mountains to see each other.

Yet …

I’d embraced the freedom of the open road.

Mountains stunned me with beauty. I crossed five high bridges without needing an ambulance. Motel clerks, though unable to offer a room, refreshed this tired traveler.

Plus, the blessings of connecting with family and friends cannot be measured.

John Steinbeck journeyed with a friendly poodle and I with hostile Lavinia. Still, we shared joys he expressed in Travels with Charley. Though old, we risked adventure. I think Steinbeck would agree our journeys were grand.

But coming home was grander.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Was your last road trip a grand adventure?

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