The Wal-Mart Chronicles

Wal-Mart, love it or hate it, for me it's a weekly event. It's a study in human behavior and I try to make my shopping trips as painless as possible.  Today's trip, though, was a test of my patience.  I generally go to Wal-Mart early on Saturday mornings. I know and accept that there will only be a couple of lanes open for those that can't use the express or self-checkouts.  I typically get in a line, browse the magazine covers, drool over the chocolate bars, and wonder why people stick meat and dairy products that they've decided not buy in the candy rack (go figure).  If I'm super bored I will get my phone out and peruse Facebook until it's my turn to unload my cart.

This morning, I realized when I pulled into the parking lot at 7:45 that the store would be much busier.  There were a lot of cars and I chalked it up to the weather forecast.  I grabbed a cart and my list and went to work (I'm not a browser or impulse buyer at Wal-Mart.  I treat it like a job - just get this done!).  I had a lengthy list that required me to visit most departments and I did notice that there were more stockers than usual and they were busy stocking items that most people buy when there is an impending ice storm.  The employees were courteous and moved their carts out of the way for people to get the needed items. 

I checked the last item off my list and headed for a checkout.  There were four open and there were long lines at each one.  I figured that any one lane was as good as the other so I pushed my cart in to the closest one and settled in to wait.  This lady (with a sour expression) pulls up behind me and says to me. "Can you believe this?"  I thought maybe she was talking about the weather and I commented that I was tired of the bad weather and she says, "Oh I'm from Mass and lived in Colorado for years.  I can drive on anything.  I'm talking about the fact that there are only four lanes open."  I just nodded, thinking to myself that four is more than normal.  She then leaves her cart and stomps off looking in all directions and mutters something about looking for a supervisor.  While I was waiting I got a text message so I pulled out my phone and answered it.  Then the lady says, "If I had my cell phone I would call the manager."  I got a sinking feeling that she was going to ask to use my phone or for me to call (panic set in - I don't like confrontation).  Luckily about that time a former student walked by and yells "Hey, Mrs. Ledbetter, How are you?"  I told him that I was fine and asked how his classes were going and he asked me how school was.  After he left, she asked me if I was a teacher.  I told her yes and she says, "Well you better hope you never meet my daughter.  She would have a few things to say to you about teachers and the state of public education."  I asked her if her grandkids went to school in this area and she said "No, they go to school in Garland, Texas."  (I made a mental note to send the teachers and staff of Garland ISD a sympathy card).  Finally - it was my turn to check out and I ignored her from that point on.  When I was finished I turned to her and said, "I hope you have a nice day."  She replied, "I probably won't after the day starting out like this."  I thought to myself, "There are some people that you can't please, no matter what."

Ironically, as I was leaving, guess who was pushing her cart up the center of the aisle so that a car couldn't get past her?  I slowly followed her (thinking evil thoughts), then I tooted my horn.  She jumped and whirled around.  I just gave her my biggest smile and waved, and chuckled to myself as I drove off.   
 

Kids caught doing good.

I have to be inspired to blog.  I could never be a "blogger on demand."  This morning I read two Facebook posts that inspired me to write.  One was the shared story "1 + 1 = ♥" and the other was a post by a friend about a former student whom she had encouraged to overcome adversity and accomplish her goals.  This got me thinking about my own students and classroom so I decided to share some of my stories about "my kids."

I teach in a very small rural school.  Our ENTIRE COUNTY doesn't have a stoplight, a Wal-Mart. a movie theater or a hospital. We have one fast food establishment (Subway) so the kids here don't have a lot of options for entertainment.  Yes, some do get into mischief but most of the kids play sports, ride horses, four-wheelers, go fishing and hunting, or just spend time at one another's houses.  Most of them are good kids.  Kids that will grow up to be good parents and good citizens.  Many will go on to college and pursue their dreams. 

I spend my days in the company of 7th and 8th graders.  I see them when they are going though all the awkward phases of puberty.  Their first crushes and heartbreaks, the growth spurts and the ones who get upset because they haven't had their growth spurt yet, the acne, the braces, trying contact lenses - all of the typical pre-teen woes.  But this is what I don't see.  I don't see our students making fun of other students, being mean to anyone OR ignoring those that are at a disadvantage.  I see clothes that range from your typical stores from the mall (yes it's an hour's drive away) to clothes from the Goodwill Store but I don't see anyone passing judgements on those less fortunate or bragging about what they do have.  I see those that need braces or acne treatments but again I never see or hear negative comments about it.

We have special needs students and it never fails to warm my heart when I see the students helping them.  We have a wheelchair bound student and I watch daily as our students carry her books, open the doors for her, happily let her be in their science lab groups.  Another special needs student receives their encouragement to try hard and they joke around with him and get him to feel a part of their student community.  Our science club was competing last week and the students had built mousetrap launchers with the objective of knocking over bottles of different weights with "super bounce balls."  I watched these kids help the special needs student set up and fire his launcher, all the while cheering him on as he competed and offering advice. 

In my classroom, I have a system I have used for several years to assign students to groups.  I have a fish bowl for each class period.  In the fish bowls are laminated fish with each student's name on them.  I draw for lab groups, cooperative learning, anything that requires a group.  This makes it random, fair, and forces the students to constantly work with kids they don't normally spend time with.  They never complain - they dutifully go to their assigned group and get to work.  If there is someone in the group that struggles I see the other students helping them.  It never fails to warm my heart.

I don't want to give the impression that we live in a fairytale world.  We don't and I witness the occasional episodes of hatefulness, but it's the exception rather than the norm. I have not written one office referral this  school year and I hope I won't have to.  Generally you can pull a student aside and talk to them and that will take care of any negative behavior.  The kids here still care about what the teachers think and they still fear disappointing their parents.

I hope that I never witness the types of behaviors and violence that seem to be in the news daily.  I hope I never see one of my student's pictures on the web or tv for anything other than their positive accomplishments.  If you get the chance to read the share "1 + 1 = ♥" please do so.  If you are a teacher or anyone who works with kids, get yourself a system for assigning kids to groups so that no child is left out or picked last.  It will make a difference and you will see so many good things start to happen.

So you think you know me.....

I've been reading a lot of recent Facebook posts where you are assigned a certain number and you list things that people might not know about you.  It was fun and interesting to read them and realize that maybe we don't know our friends as well as we think we do.  I didn't get one of those numbers (not sure if that's good or bad), but it caused me to stop and think about things that those who are not in my inner circle may not know about me.

I'm a thinker.  My brain is always in overdrive - that's one of the reasons that I sleep so little.  If I wake up in the night my brain shifts into high and away we go.  I wish I knew how to change that but at this stage in my life, I don't see it happening.

I'm a list maker.  Lists are everywhere and I check things off as I go. My lesson plans for the entire year (both 7th and 8th grade) are in two giant 3 ring binders in the order that they are to be taught.  I color code and label everything.  If you came to my classroom you would find everything neatly color coded, labeled, and filed.  I never want to look unprepared in front of my students so I make sure that I can grab what I need without a frantic search.  I also require that my students keep binders and we number and file everything that we do.  If an upset parent comes in and asks why their child's grade is low I hand them the binder.

When I go to Wal-mart I try to always park on row 6. If I cannot park on row 6 I write down on my ever present list what row I parked on.  I know that's probably OC but that's just another layer of Shelley.

I  don't eat poultry (or any kind of fowl).  I never have and unless I'm dying of starvation and that's all there is, I never will.  I don't eat eggs either.  I don't know if there's a connection or not.  Another thing I don't eat is gravy and the thought of gravy, especially white gravy, initiates my gag reflex.

Seventy-five percent of the clothes in my closet are black.  I own 7 "little black dresses" and at least 10 pairs of black shoes.

I am allergic to yellow gold.  It gives me an itchy rash.

If I could bring anyone in the past back to talk to them it would be Amelia Earhart.  I love how gutsy and ahead of her time that she was.

One of my favorite authors is Jean Craighead George.  I love her books, especially Julie of the Wolves.  Her life experiences fascinate me.  I traveled to Barrow, Alaska once because her stories about Barrow inspired me.  I would love to go back there some day on a research project.  On a side note - wading out into the Arctic Ocean was one of my most memorable experiences.

I am far-sighted in my left eye and near-sighted in my right eye.  Because of this I have very poor depth and distance perception.

I have a degree in Nuclear Medicine Technology and get frustrated when I hear people pronounce nuclear as nuke-u-lar (thank you George Bush).  I also hate it when people ask me if I know how to make a bomb.  No I don't.

There is so much that makes me who I am and these are just a few little snapshots of who Shelley is.  So do you think you really know me?

Story of A World War II Veteran

When I was growing up it was common for most kid's dads to have served in the military.  When I would go visit my friend's homes there was usually a picture on a wall or mantle of their dad in his uniform.  Kids of the 50's were proud of their dad's military service.  Our dads taught us to be respectful of the flag and all that it stood for.  I would watch my dad place his hand over his heart for the pledge, remove his hat for the National Anthem and salute when the colors of a parade went by.  He also told us to respect our President, even if we didn't like the man, respect the office that he held.  He is in fact, Commander in Chief.

My dad didn't talk much about the war when we were kids and we were somewhat timid about asking questions.  We knew that bad things had happened and in our calm, quiet family way we didn't want to upset Daddy.  In later years he began to talk about the war - he seemed to need to talk about it.  I was privy to some of these stories but my Mom, Lou Ann Ott, told me much of what I am about to tell.

My Daddy was a Marion County, Arkansas farm boy.  He had four older sisters and was born late in life to Blufford and Ella Ott. His Dad died when he was 9 years old and so it was mainly he and my Granny.  My Dad was extremely smart and he told me once that he wished he had gone on to U of  A and become a lawyer.  But World War II happened and a lot of lives were forever changed.  Daddy graduated from Yellville-Summit High School in 1943.  He had gone to North Dakota to work the wheat harvest when he received his draft notice.  He told me once that he was only a short distance from the Canadian border and the thought of stepping across that border did cross his mind - but my Dad was an honorable man so he came back to Arkansas and said goodbye to his mother and sisters.  He boarded a train at Summit, AR and went to Camp Robinson at Little Rock where he was processed into the Army.  He then went on to San Antonio, TX to a training Center, The next part is a little confusing for me, he somehow went to Fort Hood because he has a diploma that says "Killer College" Killeen, TX.  (I have more research to do on this)  After his training in Texas he was sent to Ft. Meade, Maryland.  It was during his time at Ft. Meade that Franklin D. Roosevelt died and my Dad marched in his funeral procession.  He told the story of how they soldiers were not allowed to smoke for many hours and once the procession ended they all lit up and huge plume of white cigarette smoke went up into the air.

After Ft. Meade he left on a train and traveled to San Francisco, CA where he boarded a ship bound for the South Pacific.  It took 31 days to reach Lingayen Gulf, Phillippines.  Over 200,000 soldiers, many young farm boys like my Dad, landed on Palo beach over the course of a few days.  Daddy said that they were being fired upon when they reached the beach and they crawled on their bellies - many of them died on their first day of battle.  While in the Philippines my Dad fought in the Battle of  Leyte, Luzon and Mindanao.  These were horrible, bloody battles.  From here the 19th Infantry marched on for 17 days and 144 miles on foot, in the never ending rain - The Long March of the Philippines.  Daddy said that they were never dry.  They ate, slept, walked in the rain.  He said that the jungle was so thick that they used machetes to clear the way.  It was dark most of the time because of the canopy of trees.  He said that one of the Japanese tricks was for soldiers to hide up in trees and wait for the US soldiers to march under them.  They then would jump onto the last soldier and cut their throat.  The routine was that every few hours the lead man would move to the rear of the line - no one wanted to be the last man.  One night they were sleeping in their tent and a monkey got in the tent - the soldiers fearing it was the enemy were scared out of their minds. When my Mom was telling me this story I asked her if the soldiers killed the monkey and she said that they didn't and it followed their march for a while.  My Dad received a commendation and a medal (among others) for his part in the Long March.  He developed "jungle rot" on his feet while he was there and it plagued him for the rest of his life.  One of the many horrors that he experienced in the Philippines was during a battle he had to drop into a fox hole to keep from being shot.  When he got in the fox hole there was a dead soldier covered in maggots.  It was horrible and terrifying for him.  He would never eat rice because it said it looked like those maggots.

Following the Philippines Daddy was shipped to Japan.  The bombs had been dropped and the Allied Forces were occupying Japan.  At his point in time Dad's nerves were shot and he was sent to a rest camp in Nagasaki and later to Hiroshima.  He worked as an clerk/typist and earned the rank of Corporal.  It was during his time in Hiroshima that he got reunited with his first cousin, Fred Ott.  He and Fred were very close and they were both fighting in the South Pacific and were not able to communicate with each other.  Since Dad worked in an office now he learned that Fred was coming to Hiroshima but Fred didn't know Dad was there.  When Fred got there they almost didn't recognize each other - they needed haircuts and to shave - but when they did recognize each other, they hugged and cried.

Daddy was discharged from the US Army 24th Division, Company M, 19th Infantry on Nov. 20, 1946 at Ft. Sam Houston, TX.

 My Dad saw unspeakable horrors in the South Pacific but he didn't dwell on that.  He came home, met my Mom, and built a life and a family.  The war affected him though.  His hands always had a tremor and he suffered from nightmares.  Once he was dreaming that he was fighting a Japanese soldier and he hit my Mom while they were sleeping.  As kids we had questions but we never asked (though I think Bruce might have tried a couple of questions that were off limits).  This is what I came to realize.  War is Hell.  The things that a soldier sees and does are part of that Hell.  Men, like my Dad, who would never lift a hand to hurt another, outside of war, are forced to become someone else during battle.  Then it depends on the mettle of the man as to how they deal with that once they come home.

In spite of all he went though, my Dad was never bitter.  He served his country proudly and never asked for anything.  We went to the Branson World War II Museum shortly before he passed away and I held back tears the entire time.  He showed me a machine gun like the one he carried and used - it was nearly as big as he had been during the war.  I asked him how could he carry that gun and he said simply, "It was do it or die."  He called the Japanese "Japs" and he had some swords that he brought home as "souvenirs."  He talked about wishing that he could travel back to Japan to see how Hiroshima and Nagasaki looked after they were rebuilt.  He didn't mention wanting to return to the Philippines - too much horror there, I think.

When Daddy died his funeral was a military service with the flag, taps, and 21 gun salute. He would have liked that.  There are so many stories like Dad's story that need to be told.  If you have a loved one that served in the military, get them to tell you their story so that you may pass it on to your kids and grandkids.  They need to know how those before them served and honored the USA.

Saluting you Dad.

Daughter of a Soldier

Is it Sumac or Shumake?

Those of you that know me personally know that I am pretty country.  If there were a scale from 1 (being least country) to 10 (being most country), I would probably be an 8 (that college education helped bring that number down somewhat).  I am unashamed to be southern country, or as I refer to it, hill folk.  I make no apologies and when I see people that I grew up with "get above their raisin'" it makes me kind of sad.  It's okay to be successful but I don't think you should forget where you came from and how you got the grit to be where you are.

Being an educator though, has forced me to try to be more conscious of my vernacular.  I have learned that there are just some things that will lower IQ points when your are dealing with people and country or hill speak is one of them; and I am a master at both.  I watched a documentary about the origins of hill speak and now I understand why my family and the folks in the area where I grew up use(d) hill speak.  When you have an area populated with a mix of cultures and origins a certain dialect just evolves.

When I was a kid, I was blissfully ignorant of my hill speak and country ways.  It wasn't until I was in junior high that I figured out that there are kids who LIVE IN the country and there are kids who ARE country. I am the latter.   A few years ago some of my Mom's family from out West came in for a visit.  We hadn't seen them in many years and one of my cousins, who I had only met once as a child, said to me "I remember you because when we came to visit, you said "howdy" and I had never heard anyone say that before."  That offended me at first, then later she told me that she lives in Missoula, Montana now and I think cowboys say "howdy."  I'm glad I introduced her to that word.

Another phrase that gets me in trouble, when I'm not focusing, is "I reckon."  I reckon when I get tired or stressed I forget to watch the vernacular.  Then there's the BIG one. I say y'all, have always said y'all, and will continue to say y'all.  It is a way of speaking that I refuse to change.  That's like telling a Southerner to stop drinking tea - won't be happenin'.  I was scolded once by a principal for saying y'all at school.  The principal said that it would just sound more professional if I didn't say it.  I smiled politely and said that I would try but in my head I was thinking "All y'all at this school can kiss my southern country behind (pronounced beehind). 

Another southern country give-a-way is my lack of g's.  My words tend to end with n's.  I'm workin' had on fixin' that though.  A few months ago I was at an educator conference and the facilitator read my bio stating where I teach.  A man, in the workshop, asked me if I was a hillbilly or a baldknobber.  I smiled and told him that I prefer hill folk. I don't think he knew how to respond.

There are times though when I try to sound a little less southern country (I know my place), and I hate those times when I hear someone (usually a student) say "get her to say (insert certain word here), usually ones that end in -ice or -oil.

 JC was born in Wichita, KS but grew up in West Plains, MO.  We grew up about 75 miles apart but our manner of speaking is different.  We've had rousing arguments over word pronunciations.  Yesterday an incident (that prompted this blog) occurred while we driving around looking at the fall colors.  I was relaxed and let my school teacher persona fall aside.  I asked JC if the really red leaves were "shumake" and he cracked up laughing and said "Do you mean sumac?"  I told him that my Granny called it shumake whick got even more laughs out of him.  When we got home we googled sumac (yep that was the bush with the red leaves), then we googled shumake and it said "pronounced soomack."  I won't live that one down for awhile.  Sometimes "Country Shelley" just takes over and gets me in trouble.

Even though my manner of speaking gets me in hot water sometimes, I'm proud of where I came from and what I learned being a country kid.

Signed,
A girl from Yellvull!!  (Gotta have grown up there to get that one)

Ferry Me Across the Water

Ferry Me Across the Water

Christina Rossetti

"Ferry me across the water.

Do, boatman, do."

"If you've a penny in your purse

I'll ferry you."

"I have a penny in my purse,

And my eyes are blue;

So ferry me across the water,

Do, boatman, do."

 "Step into my ferry boat,

Be they black or blue,

And for the penny in your purse,

I'll ferry you."

I have always loved the water. I grew up "just up the creek" from Rush and we lived at Blue John, named for Blue John Creek.  My childhood was filled with stories about my mom, grandparents and many relatives living along the Buffalo River.  Where we lived was also just a few miles from Crooked Creek and the White River.  Our weekends were filled with trips to the river to fish, play, and during the drought season, haul water back to our house.  In Psyche 101 I learned that your personality is 50 percent genetic, 50 percent experiences so I'm not sure of the cause but I need to live in close proximity to a large body of water.  The mere thought of being more than a few minutes away from water causes me to break out in a sweat.

We always had a jon boat so getting from one side of the Buffalo or White to the other was no big deal.  My world was very small back then and I didn't get to spend any time on the area lakes.  This was something that I discovered and fell in love with later in life (sorry - I am bird-walking here).  Occasionally, my Aunt Lessie Bryant, who lived in Black Oak, AR would come for a visit.  She didn't drive and the closest the Greyhound or Trail Ways  bus depot to our house was in Hardy, AR.  My mom would go get her and I would jump at the chance to go because you got to ride the Lake Norfork, Highway 62 Ferry.  Until 1984 the only way across the lake to Henderson was by ferry.  I just couldn't wait until we got to the ferry landing and I hoped we would be the first car to load.  These trips were my only experience with ferry riding until I was older.

When I became an adult and began to travel more I got the opportunity to ride the ferry across to Henderson, AR and Gamaliel, AR.  It was as an adult that I first crossed the Peel Ferry into Protem, MO.  Each crossing filled me with excitement.  I loved the gentle chug of the boat, the smells and the rocking motion.

Until a few years ago the car ferries were my only ferry experiences.  Then JC and I traveled to Mackinac Island, MI and I rode my first passenger ferry.  There are three or four ferry companies to choose from and they have both traditional, slower moving, ferries and jet boat ferries.  JC wanted the jet boat but I held my ground for a traditional ferry.  I was elated -- 40 minutes of ferry riding to reach the island!  It was a cold, rainy day but I insisted that we sit on top for the ride.  It was amazing.

My next ferry boat ride was crossing from Port Aransas, TX to Aransas Pass, TX.  We had come to Mustang Island, TX for vacation and had entered via the causeway bridge from Corpus Christi.  I didn't realize there was a ferry until we had been on the island for a couple of days.   I began to look for excuses to ride the ferry and finally the chance came.  It was the first ferry ride for my grandkids and I don't think they were nearly as excited as Nana.  This past summer we returned to Mustang Island and I made sure I got in plenty of ferry riding - just in case they build a bridge some day.

My most exciting ferry boat ride was from Long Beach, CA to Catalina Island, CA.  I had gone to LA to visit my son, Ryan, and we drove down to Long Beach and caught the Catalina Express to the island.  It was supposed to be a one hour ride to Avalon but we missed that ferry (my fault) so we caught the next ferry out.  It had to go to Two Harbors first so we were on the ferry for about an half.  It was so much fun.  At one point I looked around and for a full 360 degrees I could only see the Pacific - no land.  I don't think Ryan was as thrilled as I was.  On the return trip the sun was setting and then darkness fell over the Pacific.  It was breathtaking.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about what's in store for our retirement days and I keep adding to my Bucket List.  I have a plan.  I want to travel the US and ride every ferry.  Why not?  The San Juan Islands are on my list - great ferry there; Martha's Vineyard, the Outer Banks, Dauphin Island to Fort Morgan..... the list is endless.  I want to take pictures and write a book about the great ferry rides of the US.  A little odd...maybe, but I've never marched to the beat of anyone else's drum.

I'm not sure what it is about the ferry rides that I like so much.  Maybe because I love the water, but that could be satisfied with a simple boat ride.  I think maybe it's because a ferry ride forces me to slow down.  I can't go any faster that the ferry boat pilot travels. I might as well enjoy the gentle rocking motion, the smell of the water and the wind on my face.

Summer Reflections

By the seasons, summer is in full swing.  By my work schedule, summer is nearly over.  Where has the time gone?  This is the first summer that I haven't taught a workshop or camp somewhere in many years and I have thoroughly enjoyed my leisure time.  I highly recommend it.

Our school year ended in mid-May so I was able to travel to McKinney, TX while my grandkids were still in school.  I visited Lily's school and had lunch with her, saw her classroom and met the infamous, Mrs. B.  I made Misty take me all over McKinney, Frisco and Allen shopping (it was a lot more looking, than buying).  I had a lot of fun spending time with her.  Misty and I have a very close mother/daughter relationship and I cherish the time that I spend with her.  Reid and I worked on his letters and numbers.  He is such a funny kid.  Drew is at the age where he spends most of his time in his room on his phone or laptop but I still managed to steal some time to have conversations with him.  We discussed his life over McDonalds food while Lily and Reid played in the McDonalds Playhouse.  I hope he never gets to mature to have conversations with Nana.

Much to soon my week in Texas ended and I had other functions on the horizon.  First up was my 40th class reunion.  We had quickly put together an informal reunion and thanks to Facebook we were able to contact most of the Class of '73.  We met at the Yellville City Park, had a potluck/grill meal and a wonderful time.  It was so good to see everyone.  We made some plans for future reunions and are now actively working on a fund raising endeavor to replace our senior sidewalk.   Many of our class members attended all 12 years together and it seems as if we are more family than just friends.  Sadly, the week of our reunion we lost a classmate.  We have lost 7 guys and no girls, as far as I know.

The day after the reunion brought another event.  My stepson, Curtis', wedding.  The wedding was a lot of fun.  I don't know when I've laughed as much as I did at the reception.  JC has a big, fun-loving family and we danced the night away.  We love our new daughter-in-law, Heather.  She is so down-to-earth and "real."  We also gained a new granddaughter, Joi-Lynn. Curtis has two kiddos, Christian and Julihanna.  They live in Odessa, TX so we don't get to see them very much.  We have enjoyed having them here this summer.  Christian is the "spittin'" image of JC when he was that age. It makes me laugh just to look at him and Papa JC together.

Once the kids got back from their honeymoon we had a bbq for their family, JC's brother, Donald and his wife, Sue, and their kids and grandkids. We smoked ribs and just had a great meal.  It was the night of the super moon so after dinner, we all headed down to the water to watch it come up over the lake.  Thanks to technology, Donald was able to use his phone and pinpoint the exact location and time that the moon would come up so we could be ready with our cameras.   Since we wouldn't be with JC's grandkids over the 4th we shot off fireworks early. Such a fun night.

Two weeks later we had a second wedding to attend.  JC's neice, Audrea, got married at Hammond's Camp.  This is a very old camp that has a church, a meeting room/kitchen, and cabins.  It's a really cool place out in the woods.  They had a nice wedding and once again, we did a lot of laughing and dancing.

Our vacation took us, once again, to Port Aransas, TX. This is the second summer that we have vacationed with Misty's family.  This year, prior to meeting us in Port Aransas, the kid's went to San Antonio to Sea World, the Alamo, and the Riverwalk.  JC and I spent two days sightseeing around Texas and happened onto Ledbetter, TX, population 76.  Once we all arrived in Port A we unloaded our stuff at the rental cabana and headed to the beach.  My grandkids love the beach - they love body boarding, playing in the waves and sand.  Our days were spent just having fun on the beach, eating great seafood, and watching fireworks.  All too quickly our time at the beach ended.  We are already making plans for next year though.

We had bbq number 2 after we returned home from TX.   No ribs this time, chicken and burgers.  We had a great visit and Papa JC took the kiddos for a jeep ride in the dark.  The kiddos have to return to Odessa this weekend so we won't see them again until Christmas.

All too soon I have to return to school and there won't be as much time for fun.  I hope to rent a cabin in Oklahoma on an October weekend so that Misty's family can meet us there.  If not, it will be Christmas before we see them again.

I hope everyone enjoys their summer.  Pause from your busy schedules and take the time to light a sparkler, kick off your flip flops, and enjoy the moment.