Bucket Lists, Memories and More

French Quarter – NOLA 2016

Do you have a “Bucket List?” Are there places you dream about going, experiences you imagine having?

I have one – and though I’ve come to realize some of the places are out of my reach, I’ve been blessed with opportunities to  accomplish so many – I’ve walked around Devil’s Tower in Wyoming (Close Encounters of the Third Kind). I’ve stood on the Continental Divide in Colorado; been in two states at the same time in the Smokey Mountains (North Carolina and Tennessee).  I’ve swam (or walked in) the Atlantic Ocean, Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean.

In my teen years I had the opportunity to fly to Washington, DC and New York City for my senior trip.During college I went to Florida for the first time during spring break with an old friend. I saw the Atlantic Ocean and Disneyland.  I took my first solo road trip to Chicago in my early twenties and saw Wrigley Field and the beautiful homes along Lake Shore Drive.

My memories of all those early travels –  staying up all night to see the sunrise over the ocean (Beach Blanket Bingo relived),  blistered heels from walking in stylish shoes – because who would be caught dead in “practical” shoes? – the seasoning on my younger self.

More important than the places are the loved ones I’ve shared these moments with.    Sneaking out of hotel rooms in Washington, DC with my high school friends; sleeping on the beach in Daytona; horseback riding in the Rockies with my fiance.  My husband introduced me to the beauty of nature and wildlife.  He introduced me to both the Rocky and the Smokey Mountains. His love of the outdoors taught me the beauty that is all around us.

Marriage and three children later – I spent much of my late 20’s, 30’s and 40’s with my  family of five driving around the states – Kansas, Illinois, Iowa, South Dakota, Wyoming, Arkansas, Colorado, South Carolina, Florida, Tennessee and of course, Missouri.  The greatest loves of my life – experiences shared on the road – rocking chairs for giants, waterfalls, chipmunks and attack sea gulls….the list could go on forever.

Someday I thought  I’d cross the pond to experience many of the historical locations I’ve read about.  Life, however, seems to have other plans for me.  My desire to travel across the ocean is not one shared by my spouse.

Last year, I discovered our idea of “vacation” had reached a crossroad. We traveled to Nashville with friends – my enthusiasm for this trip was not shared. While I reveled in the music, the Grand Ole Opry (another bucket list item thanks to black & white TV and my grandparents) ….enthusiasm was not shared by my traveling companion.

New Orleans, another of my bucket list places I thought might not ever happen, was offered to me this summer.  I was  invited to go with a friend who just happens to be from NOLA. My daughter was thrilled with the prospect of visiting this historical city.  Together she and  I rode the trolley through the Garden District and walked down Bourbon Street in the French Quarter.  We shared hurricanes at Pat O’Briens.  I drank chicory coffee at Cafe DuMonde  (she had water) and bravely tried crayfish (nope, not for her). The visit was too short and NOLA is one of the places I vow to visit again.

Aging is inevitable but growing old is not.  When I am a visitor in a new city I am filled with a sense of adventure and anticipation. I am energized and transported back to a more carefree time of my life. I am once again that young woman who was humbled by the vastness of the ocean and the majesty of the Rocky Mountains.  My imagination runs wild and scenes from books I’ve read and movies I’ve seen run through my mind.

Suddenly I am a younger version of myself. I am no longer that overweight old woman I see in the mirror who has to hobble around on two bad knees. I am living one of my dreams.  And when I return home to reality – the face that looks back at me from the mirror smiles with the memories created and my heart is filled with the anticipation of the next adventure.

 

Sunday Dinner

When I was growing up, Sunday was the end of the week.  It was the Lord’s day.  You got up, got dressed and went to church.  You came home, changed your clothes and went to Grandma’s for Sunday dinner.

In my family it meant going to my Grandma’s house and waiting for the “men folk” to come home from playing golf.  My grandma and the other adult women would be in the kitchen making dinner – a roast, chicken & dumplings, pie.

When the men got home they’d put their golf clubs away, have a cocktail while the kids (that would be me and my cousin) set the table.  Then we’d all gather, say grace, and eat an early dinner.

After dinner we’d help clear the table, Grandma would wash, my cousin and I would dry.  My younger sisters never had to help – they’d be out back playing with the neighborhood kids.

When the dishes were done and put away everyone would gather in the living room around the television and we’d watch The Ed Sullivan Show.  After that we’d pack up the leftovers grandma has put together for us, pile in the car and head home to take a bath/shower and go to bed.

The new week started the next morning……

My own mother wasn’t the type of grandma who took pride in having her family gather around her table.  Not that she couldn’t cook – in her younger years she was quite the chef. But for mom, her children weren’t really a priority – so it’s no surprise she never set store by Sunday dinners when her grandchildren arrived.

My family life changed – for reasons best left for another blog. And my mom, and many women of her generation, no longer spent hours keeping house and raising children.  They left the kitchen and went to work.

Family dinners became sharing cold cut sandwiches and chips around the television. Sunday dinners were made by the “Colonel” and eaten off paper plates.

Sunday became the day to get ready for Monday – no more day of rest.  Just another day.