NAVIGATION
Welcome
Family Destinations
Parental Get-a-Ways
Senior Mementos
Reader's Stories
Events / Activities
Restaurants
Weather/Fire/Roads
Resource Links
Writer Queries
Advertising
Writer Biographies
Newsletter Sign-Up
Contacts | October Reader
Stories
BUMP
IN THE NIGHT
Almost
40 years ago, my family went tent camping in Yosemite National
Park. All seven of us
slept in one large tent in
sleeping bags. It was a bit cramped but it kept
us comfortably warm at night. One night my mom heard
someone rummaging around outside in our campsite. My dad was
a husky man, mechanic by trade,
and immediately grabbed the only working flashlight, unzipped the tent,
and
went outside to investigate. My mom of
course stayed inside and quietly called out inquiries while we moaned
and grumbled about being woke up and
wondering what was going on. I could
hear my dad walking around the front of the tent and then my mom heard
some movement
behind the tent. Mom stuck her head
out the front of the tent and quietly called out to my dad that someone
is
now behind the tent. A few seconds later, I
could see the light moving along the side of the tent and then go
out. My dad whispered a cursed, and I could hear
him clicking the flashlight switch on and off as he started around the
backside
of the tent quietly swearing at the flashlight when suddenly he
yelled. The light suddenly came back on and started
waving all around as my dad then started hollering “Get outa
here! Go on Get!”
A few moments later, he came back inside the tent and said that he had
literally
bumped into a bear. My mom looked at him
in horror as he stated laughingly, “I don’t know
who scared who more, me, or the
bear!” Mom sat up all night and we ended
up packing to leave before breakfast.
---Mike
W.
FAMILY
REUNION
On
our trip to Italy,
we spent a week visiting the little town where my wife’s
mother was born over
82 years ago. It was a wonderful trip,
and I am still amazed at how easily we were pointed out as Americans
regardless
of how we attempted to blend in. I was
even more amazed at the unplanned, instant, on the spot family reunions
created
by just hobbling slowly down the street with grandmother in
tow. Individuals sitting on park benches and in
stores would throw up their arms and call out,
“E-h-h…your family!” and after repeated
hugs and cheeky kisses, that person would end up being a first, second
or third
cousin. Some of these individuals
grandmother had never met, while others remembered her from her visit
twenty
years earlier. I can only assume the
small town was tipped off that we were visiting and they were all like
patient
cats, lying in wait, and ready to pounce as we hobbled down the main
street. These chance meetings would
instantly initiate a robust emotional conversation and we would end up
in a
local café for an hour sharing family stories over coffee,
iced tea, or
wine. The family history and stories
spanning generations passed down word-of-mouth were
priceless. Each enchanting story initiated tears of
laughter or sadness that chased each other along the aging wrinkles on
grandmother’s
face.
---Ciao,
Pat BAD
WINE BRUISES
Traveling
with a
multi-generation group can be somewhat challenging at times.
High-energy youths and slower paced geriatric
instabilities mixed with forty-something-year-olds that refuse to age
gracefully do not always blend well.
Take for example, not a minute into our rented condo, the kids are
running in and out of everything excitedly while I’m playing
weekend warrior huffing
and puffing as I haul in all the luggage.
Then suddenly 77 year-old Grandaunt christens our vacation home with a
face planting
fat-lipped stair tumble. Luckily, besides the fat lip, she
only bruised her knees, elbows, and pride.
So, as not to shadow our light, we blamed the three glasses of
“bad” wine she had for
lunch, and we quickly modified our plans, tours, and activities to
accommodate
the new bruises and varied life styles.
---Rip
Roarindrunk
CHICKEN
FOR THE SOUL
In my many travels, there is one incident, which stands out as
exemplifying the
finest qualities of the human spirit.
It was 1977, and I was walking alone
through the windswept dirt of the village
of Majengo in Tanzania.
In the distance was Mount
Kilimanjaro, rising 12,000 feet above me like a beautiful mirage.
To my
right was a tiny mud hut. Outside the hut, two stalks of
withered corn
stood in their last throes of life. As I approached, a Kampa
farmer about 40
years old left the hut and came toward me.
“Jambo,” I said in
my modest
Swahili. “Habari yako?” (Hi,
how are you?) "Mzuri," he
answered, shaking my hand with both of his. “Asante
sana." (Well,
thank you.) He then invited me into his
hut and offered me the only stick of furniture inside - a spindly
stool.
For the next hour, he told me how over
the past several years he had lost his
wife and four children, mostly to diseases related to dysentery.
His crops used to be plentiful, but the recent
drought had made them hardly worth planting. Life had become
an exercise in waiting for the
world beyond. When it came time to say good-bye, the
farmer pulled a live chicken out of
seemingly nowhere and gave it to me. I
told him that I couldn’t possibly accept it - that he needed
it for his own food. Nevertheless, he was adamant about this
gift, so I took it with me and bid him a soulful farewell.
I often think of this man, and of how I
might emulate him with my own actions
through a simple philosophy: “Pass it
on.”
---Stuart Rawlings
Back
to Top CRUISE
BLUES
Now I can't say
our cruise stateroom was that small, because
small is traveling hundreds of miles in my folk's 24-foot motor home
with a family of
seven! Our little piece of the ship was really kind-of cozy and
intimate in a way, as we had to rub up against each
other to move around the bed, closet area, and bathroom. Then there
were the times that my wife would burst-out of the bathroom
door and send me head over heels into the closet. Thank goodness all
ten pairs of shoes she brought on board broke my fall!
The
bathroom was really small and the shower even smaller. I
found it easier to soap up the shower
walls, step in, and spin clean, as opposed to trying to bend over
without
falling through the curtain and onto the toilet. My poor wife
had to shave one leg at a time
standing outside the shower. Somehow,
she managed to not come out looking like she belonged in a bloody
horror movie
after shaving goose-bumped legs on a swell-swaying ship.
Our room also had a somewhat square
porthole,
which was nice as an extra light source.
However, on the other hand, it stays light outside the end of July
almost 18 hours a day in Alaska. The almost water
level room we were in on the
bow of the ship allowed us to hear pleasant meditation CD rhythmic
wave-like
sounds of the ship cutting through the 3 to 4 foot swells.
Sadly, the misty spray from the churning foam
outside made our porthole view a bit fuzzy, which was no big deal as it
wasn’t the best view anyway
with the ocean rivering by at over 21 knots
creating instant queasy vertigo. But then again, who in their right
mind
stays in there room on an
Alaskan cruise anyway!
---
Pat
|