Oh Canada

We finally made it. Canada. We've been trying to go for the past 3 years or so. But, you know, Covid! We were banned. We were not welcome. We were so sad. However, to be fair, we weren't welcome in New York either!

All we wanted to do was go camping. Or rather, glamping--in Canada. We wanted to take Fiona (our travel trailer) and Chanel (our dog) and camp along the eastern coastline of the US and Canada. Well, this year, we made it. We packed up Fiona, threw our dog in the Expedition, and away we went. 

We decided to spend 2-3 nights in each location and get to know each area better. Stopping first in Niagara Falls, we camped close enough to enjoy the surrounding area. We love Niagara-on-the-Lake and spent the day with our dog--eating and shopping. We are so happy that most of the little shops are dog friendly, we take her everywhere, and she's well-behaved. However, she's developed a bad habit. She now sits prim and proper in front of each wrap station expecting a treat for her good behavior. I don't know if we can change that particular behavior. She even did it at border control! 

As we proceeded eastward, we then went to the Kingston area, then on to Montreal. We hadn't visited Montreal before and were excited to check out their famous old downtown area. I'm sure it was quite nice at one time; however, now the "boutiques" are nothing more than tourist shops full of souvenirs, so not really my "cup of tea." 

Finally, we were on our way to Quebec City. I love old Quebec, and I also love all things French. That's one thing I can say about the Quebec province--it's so French! Once over the Canadian border, we started seeing signs in both languages. When we arrived in Montreal, all signs were in French, with many people speaking both languages. However, it took more work in Quebec City to find English speakers. I loved it. From then on, it truly felt that we were in a different country. The food, the shops, the architecture-- everything was wonderful. We drove out to Ile d'Orleans one day. I felt like I was back in Napa Valley, where everyone spoke French. The vineyards and orchards were beautiful. We drove around the island, stopping at fruit stands and getting coffee. The weather was perfect, and I could practice my French as no one on the island we encountered spoke English. 

We both agreed to revisit Old Quebec and Ile d'Orleans one day and spend longer than 3 days! More like 3 weeks!

As we camped our way toward home, we stopped to visit the parliament buildings in Ottawa. They were gorgeous. In my opinion, they rivaled what we've seen in London. Absolutely wonderful.

Was it worth the three-year wait? I think so. It made us appreciate our country to the North. It made us realize how much there is left to see and visit. We are truly travelers and explorers. We love different cultures and cuisines. And, once on the road heading back home, we were already planning our next big adventure. 

Glamping for us is perfect. Imagine taking your "tiny house" with you everywhere you drive? We have our coffee maker, smart TV, comfy bed, and a great shower. All the comforts of home--that we pull behind our huge Expedition. Talk about first class! Most nicer campgrounds have wonderful laundry facilities, and we can take our dog and plan our stays--just how we like it. It's perfect for us. I just wish there was a bridge to Europe; wouldn't that be awesome! So, while we travel North America, we are all set. And, when we do our European travels, we just have to get over missing Fiona; we know she'll be waiting for us when we get home.

Hello Ireland, We Are Back

My love for travel started when I was about 6 years old. I didn't realize then that little one-and-a-half-hour ride to my grandma's house would change my life. Sitting in the back seat, looking out the window, seeing blue skies, big puffy white clouds, and cows. We'd then drive by orchards, rice fields, and olive trees. I was hooked--I'd see birds perched on wires, old-time gas stations, and cafes. Travel soon became a goal. I just didn't know it then. So when my parents would tell us--we were going to grandma's house, I was ready in a flash. Adventure became a part of me.

So, my love for travel was birthed at an early age. When I became an adult, my husband and I planned weekend trips up and down the west coast--from Mexico to Canada, hotels to camping, we just wanted to explore. That eventually turned into international travel, and we looked for any excuse to travel.

We drug our kids with us for as long as we could, and now long after they've all flown the nest, we get to kidnap our grandkids. We take them camping as much as they'll come. And when they've outgrown that--we take them to Europe. Last year we took our grandson to Amsterdam and Paris. He chose those cities for his high school graduation gift. This year during her spring break, we took his sister--she chose Ireland. The land of many of my ancestors. We were just there in 2019, pre-covid. So, to be able to show her what we had discovered and then, in turn, discover new things with her was fantastic. 

First, before I begin the story about our adventure, let me share a bit about our oldest granddaughter. We were visiting our daughter and son-in-law when my daughter's labor began. I was so excited to be with her during that time. Unfortunately, she had to have a C-section, so we waited until our little granddaughter was delivered, and then the nurse came out to get me. She said, come on, grandma, you get to be the first to hold her. Your daughter is still in recovery. I looked around, wondering if this was OK. Me? First? OK!

What a joy. I held that little baby girl and rocked her and thought right then--we're going to have a special relationship. And we do. She's almost 18 years old now. She's graduating this weekend from high school and is ready to take on the world. She's got several ideas of what she'd like her future to look like. Ireland, for her, was the first step. I was excited. I knew that traveling with her was going to be a blast. And it was. 

I learned a lot about Sophia during those two weeks abroad. For one thing, she's fearless. She could have made that trip solo and would have been just fine. She's highly independent and very easy to travel with. We drove all throughout the country, staying in five different hotels. Our hotel rooms were, for the most part, pretty nice. Some were better, and some were bigger than others. Upon traveling with her, though, I learned a few things--she loves hotels. One of the first things she noted was the lobby. She made us laugh--as she walked into each one, she would immediately rate them. Nice lobby, or where's the lobby? And next? The bathrooms. We'd walk in the door and into the bathroom, she'd go! A rain shower! Then, she'd sit on her bed--soft, big enough, her own nightstand, USB ports, water? She was our own private room checker. Another thing I learned about her was that she is very tidy. From her bed area to her suitcase to leaving the bathroom nicely--she made traveling with her a breeze. Her OCD grandmother was relieved and thankful for this newly discovered attribute! 

Sophia was also our free entertainment. She is hilarious. She made everything funny. She kept us laughing, from our small rental car to the tiny winding Irish roads, the baby sheep, and the castles. She just made everything fun. There was no time to get grumpy from jetlag with her around. Nope, we laughed our way through it. I would travel with that girl any time and any place. 

Hopefully, we have ignited the travel bug within her. She says we have. She's ready for another trip! And while it won't be Europe--how about a camping trip with grandma and grandpa to the Michigan shore? Yep, she's up for that. She's flying up to our house to go camping with us. It'll be her first time in our travel trailer. I'm looking forward to her "review."  It's not Ireland, Sophie, but it's fun, I promise. So let the adventure of your life begin!

Granduations and Europe

My husband and I came up with a plan. Since we could not swing it financially to take our children to Europe for their high school graduations--we'd take our grandkids! All eight of them. One at a time, of course, and as a gift for graduation. We thought the plan was ingenious. First, however, we had to let them know that these trips depended on our health. So no promises were made, only dreams. 

So, we made plans for our oldest grandson's graduation in June 2020. We bought airline tickets, train tickets, made hotel reservations, and dreamed--until March. And then Covid 19 hit, and all plans were canceled. So, it wasn't until two years later that we finally grabbed Jack, boarded the plane, and took off for Amsterdam and Paris. 

Excitement doesn't begin to describe how we all felt. So many emotions. We finally got to travel after 2 years of being stuck at home. Unfortunately, everyone else on the planet (at least it seemed that way) had the same idea that we did. Let's travel! We did not let that dampen our spirits, though. We boarded that plane, and away we went. Amsterdam, here we come. I did feel the need to warn Jack--we'll be tired, jet lagged, homesick, hungry, needing a shower and a nap, and just a little bit grumpy. I didn't lie. That's just how it was. Especially since the room wasn't ready until 3:00pm that afternoon. I'll admit something here--grandpa and grandson did lie down on park benches for a bit. I was embarrassed but totally understood. When you're tired, you're tired. 

Traveling with a grandchild all to ourselves was an experience to be savored. We got to know Jack in a new way. Sadly, by the time we left for Europe, he was already 21 years old; however, I was so thankful that he still wanted to travel with his grandparents. He's an "old soul" like me, an INFJ, so he has always been very easy for me to read. As we walked through Amsterdam, going into thrift shops, riding slow canal boats, and eating fantastic food, I knew he was happy. And, by the time we took the train to Paris, he was already an old pro at traveling through Europe. I had the feeling this would not be his last trip. 

Paris, as many know, is my favorite city. I've been many times. There isn't one thing about Paris that I do not love. So, when it was a city that he chose to travel to, I was so excited. I was going to get to show him my city. Again, a slight turn of events--a heat wave hit France, and it was horrible. Walking through streets that usually sparkled--they simmered in the heat instead. Also, it was mobbed because people had yet to travel over the last couple of years. I felt like I was visiting Disneyland. Tourists, children, traffic, long lines, humidity, dirty--so disappointing. However, I am the type to make lemonade out of my lemons. I was determined to show him that all was not lost. We made the riverboat rides, museums, and fantastic food as fun as possible. We stopped at many cafes, drank coffee, and just meandered. We were in Paris, after all. 

My husband and I have a goal. We want to infect our grandkids with the travel bug. We want them to think of nothing but travel when they get home. We want them to experience other people and cultures and be fearless. For me, the more I travel, the smaller my world gets. The more I travel, the more I want to travel. The more I travel, the more I learn and grow. It's a never-ending gift. And we want to share it with them--our grandchildren.

I hope they will never forget these trips and that, in the future, they share their stories about our European adventures with their children and grandchildren. I'm praying for that. Because in the giving of these trips, they are giving us so much joy. We love them so much, and we are so proud of them. They are all unique and have taught us about themselves and us. Seeing the generational sameness and yet also their differences as young adults--it's an amazing thing to experience. 

So, while they are thanking us, we are the ones who are thankful. Our children have done a fantastic job raising their children. We are so blessed. We are so thankful. We are so appreciative. We will be forever grateful.

Slowly Fading Away

She is losing her memory of me. It is quickly fading. She tries hard to pull them out of the shadows, those memories. She complains that something is wrong with her brain and will bat softly at the side of her head. It infuriates her. Why can't she think or put two words together? Why can't she remember our names or where she lives?

Who are you again? What is your name? Where do you live? How old are you? Why can't you come to visit me? These are the questions she asks me. These are the tough questions that I find myself answering over and over again as she sinks deeper and deeper into the ocean of forgotten memories.  

The phone calls become harder and harder to get through without breaking down in tears. I feel such grief. I am slowly losing her. Very slowly. It's like having my heart ripped in two. She sometimes begs, like a child. Please take me with you, why can't I come, are you my sister? How do I, as her daughter answer these questions without crying? I cried today while on the phone with her. She asked me--are you crying? And when I said yes, she began to cry. Why are you crying? She asked. I didn't know how to answer. Do I tell her how sad I am? That I am already grieving her death? The death of her memory? And soon, her final death? And will it be easier? The final death? Or harder? I guess I'll find out soon.

I wonder now if I will lose my memories? My sister and I talk about it. Will it happen to us, we wonder? Both of our parents suffered and do suffer from dementia. Both. Our father died a few years ago. It nearly broke our mother; she would call out for him in the night. I could hear her crying. Even now, in her demented state, she knows who he is. She knows of him, not his name or who he was; deep down inside her psyche, she knows she is connected with this man in the picture. She likes the photos of our younger father. He's cute, she says. When I show her the oldest version of him, she pushes it away--no, the other one, she says, holding that picture close to her heart. This is the one I remember, she says. Interestingly, she remembers him from long ago, when they first met. I'm glad she has this imprinted on her heart. 

Will I be that way? Will I call out for my husband? Will I remember our lives together? Will I know my children's names? Will I recognize them when they come to visit? Or will I say--who are these strange people? It scares me. I don't want to live that way. Anything but that. Memories are something that I treasure. There are huge photo books in my home, along with many pictures in every room. Children, grandchildren, dogs--will I forget who they are? Will I forget my mother? 

Some days sadness overwhelms me. I can go for days or weeks and not dwell on her and her disease. However, when I talk to her, it all comes back. Slow death. Memories lost. 

God be merciful. Take her soon. Please. Hear my prayer.

Spoons

There was a knock on my bedroom door. Everyone wants you to come down and play--said my oldest son. It was one of the best requests ever made to me. Come down and play. My son and some of his friends were playing games in the basement. And they wanted to know if I'd play Spoons with them. That was something I'd never ever turn down. I got up, got dressed, and headed for the basement. Spoons it is.  

When your children are teenagers or young adults, you never turn down a request to hang out. You are well aware of the shortage of time. It's ticking loudly in your ear. The clock of clocks, tick tock, tick tock. I lived in dread of the last alarm going off. I feared the day that there would no longer be anyone to ask me to--go down and play.

So, down I went. For a couple of hours, I played Spoons and laughed with a bunch of loud teenagers. I had the time of my life. They all called me mom, laughing so hard they snorted and made great, long-lasting memories--in my basement. 

For them, most likely, they've forgotten. Me? I'll always remember it. It was spending time with my children, who really were no longer children. It was that feeling of being wanted and of feeling included. I've always thought of myself as being close to my kids, and that was a time that made me feel a part of them. Of their friends, of their lives, and of their memories. All over a game of Spoons. 

I've often wondered-- what if I had been the type of parent who had said no--I'm sleeping or too busy watching TV. However, my husband assured me they would not have asked me in the first place. They knew the answer. They knew that they were important to me and that I loved spending time with them, and still do. Even now, as adults, when they call us and ask--hey, do you want to ...we say yes. Even when we don't. 

My prayer is that I've passed that on to my kids. I pray that they play Spoons with their kids and friends and make memories--silly ones, important ones, memories that will last them until the clock stops ticking. I pray that they learned from us the value of not just being parents but the value of building relationships. 

We will always say yes. We love spending time with them. So even when we're busy, even when we cancel plans already made, we try hard to always say yes. Because when your kids ask you to play Spoons, you do.

Taught By a 7 Year Old

I now have 8 grandchildren. Varying from ages 2 1/2 to 21 years old.  I've learned a lot from them over the years.  Basic things like how to love deeply, protectively, and longingly.  They've kept me humble and teachable and ignited my imagination. I love being with them. I always want to make myself available--to babysit and take them places. I love taking them shopping, camping, out to lunch, and sneaking them little treats. All those grandma things that parents shake their heads at. 

However, I mostly love sitting and asking questions. And that's where this story begins. I learned yesterday that I do not know everything. Even in my ripe old age of grandma life--I have much to learn. I was taught this very thing while sitting with my 7-year-old grandson. 

I must give a little background on him. He is the second son of my second son. He looks like his uncle-- my oldest son in stature and height. And yet, oh and yet...he has the same personality as his father. In other words, I can read him like a book. Each facial expression I have seen before, each gesture, each shrug of the shoulder, they are all familiar to me. I'm sure he's not too pleased with that revelation. I am constantly one step ahead of his mischievous shenanigans. I believe the word imp came from him. He's adorable.

I was with these grandkids yesterday while their parents were at an appointment; I made it a day of asking questions and learning more about what makes them tick. Just what do they think of this and that? The 7-year-old and I had a fascinating talk about twins. He did not know that there were two types of twins. I mentioned that one type was identical in every way. Even their DNA. He listened intently. learning about the two types and asking questions--leading to triplets, and so on. Finally, after he'd heard enough, he had something he wanted to teach me. So, he very seriously rested his hand on mine and said--grandma, they aren't identical in every way. Not exactly. They have different fingerprints. God made them unique. Each person has their own fingerprints. Then he held his fingertip to mine. Tears sprung to my eyes.

I had forgotten about the fingerprint part. So much so that I had to google it. And, of course, he was right. We are all uniquely made in the very image of God. Each one of us, and it took a 7-year-old to remind me. 

My prayer is that I am always young enough to learn. Learn from anyone at any time. Even from a 7-year-old. And especially from my grandchildren.