Tomorrow is the last day of the epic Michigan Vacation of ’07, which is very sad. Kathy showed me a few photos of today’s excursion to the pool … as you can see, they are holding up well in the midst of their sorrow.
It will be good to have everyone safely home, assuming that the snafu with seating assignments on the flight home is resolved. If not, some members of the family may become more intimate with the Cincinnati airport than they prefer.
It is always nice to be reminded of the many friends we have left scattered around the country as we have moved from place to place. Over the course of this vacation, Kathy and the kids had the opportunity to visit with four families: Russ and Nancy (three boys, two girls), Amy and Bill (two boys, two girls), Bruce and Laura (three girls) and Dave and Jen (two boys and a girl). It has been fun to stay in touch with each of them, off and on, over the years.
What a delightful treat to fellowship with old friends and their growing families! Even so, several old friends were out of town or otherwise busy; it is often hard to make time for friends without neglecting family.
David apparently convinced the older boys that he was a marshmallow in urgent need of roasting, but this innocent misunderstanding was eventually cleared up. It reminds me of the two main schools of marshmallow-roasting thought, which are as follows:
- The ‘golden-brown’ school:
This philosophical position requires the patience of Job, as the marshmallow is gently toasted, evenly on all sides, rotated high above the coals. Some maintain that this is the only proper way to eat a marshmallow, and that it results in a uniformly warm interior, melting the chocolate in a s’more with great efficiency. Golden-brown roasters view disciples of the opposing school of thought as barbarians, and will snootily discard a marshmallow with even the slightest evidence of charring.
- The ‘flaming blob of goo’ school:
A system of thought firmly held by many young boys, this roasting method involves plunging the marshmallow into the hottest part of the fire as quickly as possible, and then waving it about wildly to extinguish the flames. Adherents of this school hold that a marshmallow without a thick carbonized shell is no marshmallow at all, and that golden-brown toasting is for sissies.
A little-known advantage of being a pastor’s kid is found in some rather surprising perquisites. One hot day after they returned from upstate Michigan, Kathy’s Dad made a phone call:
Kathy’s Dad: “Hello, Del? How are you doing? Good, glad to hear it. Say, I was thinking of making a pastoral call on your pool today, and I wondered if that would be convenient?”
As the son of an Army Chaplain, I thought I’d heard all the ecclesiastic angles, but this was a new one for me. Apparently Kathy’s Dad felt that calling it ‘baptism research’ was a little too deceptive, but it worked like a charm, and the whole family was invited over for a pool party. I guess being a pastor isn’t all late night hospital visits and last-resort marital counseling.
Tomorrow my family will say their goodbyes and head for home, glad to have enjoyed such a fun vacation and sorry to leave. Hopefully we can persuade Mamie and Grandad to come and visit us soon.
Thank you, Mamie and Grandad, for your kindness to our family!
Project 365, Day 183