One of George’s teachers told me before we left for Utah that in our childhood homes we can be our true selves. She is right if and when our true selves align with our childhood ones. I guess that is true for me now.
Annie, Dellie, Lizzie, Georgie, and myself travelled to Huntsville, Utah, without our baby daddies to live large and relax and drink cold wine in the ditch. Along the way, people grew up, such as Della, who now refers to her family members as “Mom,” “Dad,” and “Babe.” She even introduces Duckie as “Duck.”
Noses started running the minute we touched down. Because if you don’t get sick, was it really a vacation? We weathered congestion, coughs, chills, burning mouth syndrome, an ear infection, skeeter bites, and many, many invisible boo boos and fiery soul fevers.
Della was well behaved except for wasting tons of Band-Aids.
Camp dancing in Kamas to the music of Flew the Coop.
The concert was so compelling, George started crawling. He also pulled up to standing for the first time on this trip and is now quite a handful. Today he got into a glue trap we set for catching spider crickets.
Our first night in Utah, we slept in tents and what Annie referred to as the “camper van.” We sang ABCs and Choo Choo Ch’Boogie and ate pancakes shaped like letters.
Swimming at Pineview.
Ice cream socializing. George ate his first ice cream cone at Nanny June’s.
Gardening and garden gloving.
My mom gave the girls scissors to cut flowers for hair wreaths. I said, Della doesn’t know how to use scissors. My mom said, too sharp? I said, she just doesn’t know how. Here she is a few seconds later attempting to cut her hair.
Dinner eating. Those are the Goulets, second and third from right. French Canadians – naturalized! At far right, our house-calling massage therapist, Gwen.
Camp firing. Girl overboard.
Love you guys. I’m ready to come home.