Most of my time had passed at my sister’s home and there were still things I wanted to do. I’d seen in the paper that the lowest tide of the year would take place the next day and I was teeming to go to the beach. The paper stated there were treasures galore to be found at low tide and I wanted to see it in person. Sad to say, I was the only one who was interested and the trip never materialized. On the appointed day, we (as our mother was fond of saying) dunced around and did little to nothing. My sister had introduced me to Bailey White and I sat on the couch much of the day reading Mama Makes Up Her Mind. It immediately became one of my favorites. It did much to soothe my disappointment at missing low tide.
The next day was Sabbath. We spent it quietly at home. It was nice to have a rest day when we didn’t have to feel the urge to do anything exciting or go anywhere. I would have liked to visit an area church but I didn’t say anything.
On Sunday, we dressed up and went to the Presbyterian church my sister and BIL attended. It was a magnificent structure that housed an equally magnificent pipe organ. The music was beautiful and after the service was over, we sat along with a number of other people and listened to the postlude.
It was still early in the day. There was another favorite restaurant, this time on a canal, that my sister wanted to share with me. The setting was beautiful.
The company was pleasant.
The food was lacking. I don’t remember what I ordered but my BIL had salmon that he sort of picked at and had the waiter bag it to take home. When we got to the house, he immediately chucked it in the garbage can at the end of the carport. My sister asked him why he did that and he said, “It was mushy.” “Why didn’t you send it back?” “I don’t like to do that.” So…the fish lost its life only to be badly cooked and my BIL wasted his money—quite a bit, I might add.
Two days and I would be leaving to fly back to Tennessee and home. My sister was already crying until her eyes would be red and swollen. I would have thought, by then, that she would have had enough of me but it wasn’t so. I told her to let’s enjoy the time we had left rather than spending it in mourning.
On Monday, my niece and her family came over again. I hadn’t gotten any pictures of them except when they were out playing in the yard so it was time for a family portrait.
There were hi-jinks going on in the first attempt.
Everyone was looking circumspect except for my niece and she didn’t like the preview of this one.
My great-nephew’s patience was wearing thin. All the others were getting into the spirit of the picture-taking but he decided to (once again invoking my mother) “make a mouth”. I decided to let that be that.
That evening, my sister was in her favorite spot—in front of the computer.
My great niece was keeping me company while I was packing my suitcase. It was a bittersweet moment. She saw a picture I had in my laptop bag and asked what it was. I told her my granddaughter made it for me. She said, “I am your granddaughter. My brother is your grandson.” I couldn’t say no, that wasn’t true. I figured you can’t ever have too many grandchildren and decided my immediate family had just grown.
After the young family had left, I finished packing what I could do without and we all went to bed. The next day would be a long one.