Just back from 4.5 days at the beach. It was heavenly. I couldn't believe I could go with 4 teenagers and not slit my wrists by half-way through. Other than being messy they were perfect. Go figure.
On the ride down and back we talked about different vacations we took as kids and I remembered eating at a Furs cafeteria with my grandparents in Kansas--Wichita I believe. Papa M's nephew was a manager and he paid for our meals. He had a son name Shelly and a Viatnamese wife. I remember that being so exotic. I did wonder if they wanted a girl, thus they named their son the wrong name, but I was too afraid to ask such a crazy question as that.
We also would go to the minor league baseball playoffs in Wichita. I got a neon orange baseball and a plastic display case for it and got it signed by any man in a uniform I found wandering around the park. Who knows where that baseball is now...
Coming back home from vacation is always so hard. I resist going back into the routine even though I miss it when I'm gone.
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