In June we returned from a family trip in northern New Mexico. I come from a fairly large family, it all started with Jerilee and Ken, my parents. They have been married now for almost 50 years. If you know them then you understand when I say that they are “one of a kind”. I am sure that future posts will contain humorous material that might give you a glimpse of these amazing folks that I have. Currently, we have all managed to stay married, and each of our families have over 3 children each. Add it all up and you get 14 grandchildren, 10 adults and the need for large plots of land and a truckload of groceries when we all get together.
As we all departed this summer, I sensed that we were all ready to get back to our little cities and beds and bathtubs, but there was also the feeling of loss. Sad that we would not be able to eat breakfast together in out p.j’s or meet fly fishing down at the stream at sunset. We all experienced a larger sense of family that we were used to.
During this trip, I began writing again. I took my camera, intending this to be my creative outlet. I did take photographs, documenting our kids with their cousins and some special events that took place. However, I took a journal and found myself being drawn to write.
I began writing songs and poetry in the seventh grade, this seemed to work well with my theater and vocal hobbies. In college, to my parents dismay, my brother and I quit school to join a vocal band that was made up of another brother and sister. The sister was Lydia, who is now my sister-in-law, but that was not the end of the story. So, there we went, four fairly tall people traveling the country in a 1983 honda accord, blue cloth interior with a kick’n little sound system. Oh, I left off the part that we pulled a small trailer with the car, this allowed us to personally pack in backpacks and keep our goods in the trunk. The tiny trailer held our newly recorded cassette tapes and rag tag sound system. This chapter will be continued, because I know that writing about this experience might be a little too much for me on my lazy Saturday.
Since I have returned form New Mexico, I have found myself using words to help me gush about matters. I like to write again, that was my point. Today, my daughter and I will see Wicked. She has bought her own ticket, with her own money (she makes our lunches for a living) and I cannot wait to see her be taken over by a performance.