People in Las Cruces thought I was nuts to move back to the midwest. “Are you ready for all that snow and cold?,” several asked.
If it was about the weather I’d be on Maui.
It’s about family and Labor Day Weekend was Christmas for me. Friday afternoon I drove a quick 130 miles to spend time with my sweet niece Lindsey, my brother and his wife. We laughed hard, went to Cracker Barrel and laughed more. I had a great time and didn’t want to leave. But I had told my sister I’d be home for her family’s Labor Day cookout, and got back to Crown Point to find six of her seven grown children and at least a dozen grandkids sprawled all over the living room watching family movies. (Apparently hard rain and wind closed the pool and forced everyone indoors.)
Later that evening my niece Connie invited me to join a bunch of them the next day at Great America. Awww, thanks, but no. Then later I remembered why I moved home. Three vans carried 15 of us ranging from seven to slightly-more-than 57.
I’m sure I had the most fun. I rode roller coasters where you had to “be at least this tall,” ate pizza and french fries, shared a hot fudge sundae with three girls, tried on and bought silly hats. Some of us got
to the karaoke stage just in time to see Julia singing “Copacabana” and vamping through 54 measures of musical interlude. Drew did a great job with “A Boy Named Sue,” and Jake wowed the crowd rappin’ to Justin Bieber’s “Never Say Never.”
The biggest treat for me when, after riding her third “little kid’s” ride, Sally said she wanted to ride “a real roller coaster that goes upside down.” Let’s see … how tall are you? “46 inches.” OK, how about The Demon? “Yeah. I wanna go on The Demon!”
What a kick. Mya agreed to sit in front of us and neither of them showed any fear. “I’m feeling a little anxious but not nervous,” she said. Me, too, Mya. The Demon took off, dropped, did a couple of spins, I found myself taking off my glasses for fear of losing them, and before we knew it the ride was over.
“Wow! That was so awesome! I wanna go again,” Sally said, sounding so pumped, fun, happy. How could I not feel the same. That was a memory maker.
Fifteen of us and we all got along well, watched out for each other, laughed, talked, sang, danced and rode the big rides. We dropped a chunk of change, ate enough carbs to last until next Labor Day and I recorded several more hours of memories. Call me a happy camper. Oh no, camping THIS weekend. Save that moniker for Why I moved home, part something else.