I’m pretty sure that myself in 1985 would be happy to know that even when I grew up and moved away from home, I’d still spend some Christmases in my hometown. Myself of 1985 would be a little disgusted, though, to know that at the dawn of 2015, it still took us two days to drive there because nobody has flying cars yet.
I have every intention of writing about our trip South, mostly so we’ll have a record of it in years to come. But if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, there’s a little blue sign dedicating an entire two-mile section to me.
However, I’ll state for the record that we had a great two-week visit with my family — including too much food, a lot of fireworks (the smell of gunpowder on a cold night always makes me think of Christmas), and coffee at any hour of the day.
I also got a few pictures to keep with me once I left home far behind me again.
The house where I grew up:
The front porch swing where DJ proposed to me:
Bookgirl and Ranger at the creek where I swam:
And the flat land where I grew up. “And here,” DJ announced as we neared the end of our drive, “we observe the highway version of February.”
The holidays were full of cousins, aunts, uncles, sisters, mothers, brothers, nieces, nephews.
We spent the vacation in a travel trailer outside my mom’s house — my sister-in-law’s brilliant solution to the problem of housing our family of six for two weeks. It worked very well, but on our way back home, we realized that we sure had experienced a lot of cozy together-time. To the point that Bookgirl decided this was preferable to sharing a hotel bed with a sister:
Introverts: We Suffer for Space.
Back home, the Christmas tree is still up, the house is a little messy, and it’s dang cold outside. I want to say that I left half of myself back in the South; but the last time I wrote that, my sister commented, “Whew, you realized you left half of you here! Really startled me when I walked out this morning and saw it on the couch.”
And I’ll end with a remark of Ranger’s, who got to see a baby cousin and is now trying to figure out how the world works:
“Do mamas have babies?”
“Well, it takes a mama and a daddy to make a baby.”
“So mamas have girl babies, and daddies have boy babies.”
No. Actually, not. But I’m thinking of submitting a ticket to God’s tech department.