A Three-Generation Vacation

As I write these words, it’s day five of our three-generation vacation in Maine, and amazingly, we’re still talking to each other. If you’ve experienced the phenomenon, you’ll understand it has been both glorious and challenging, but at least so far, the glory has outweighed the challenge. I’ve been privileged to rock the delightful Elizabeth Holiday to sleep, and to walk hand in hand with the lovely Madelyn Simone as we’ve searched for seashells, counted the sidewalk squares up the hill to our rental house, and jumped the waves of the mighty Atlantic. Together, the six of us have eaten fresh seafood, strolled Old Orchard’s pier, and tracked enough sand back from the beach to build our own castle.  

The challenges of a week together have been manageable, helped along by the rental house with two bathrooms and a washer and drier. We came close to running out of toilet paper, but a quick trip to the store by the grandparents saved the day. Madelyn managed to get herself wedged upside down between the upper bunk and the wall, but the superhero tag team of mother-in-law and daughter-in-law came to the rescue, pushing and pulling her to safety. Car keys and house keys have gone AWOL for a time, but we’ve been able to discover their hiding places without too much angst. And I even managed to haul myself out of the Orient Express roller coaster after its fourth loop without too much damage to my bones or my pride. Over the years, our family has auditioned for roles in the National Lampoon Vacation series, but so far this week, Wally World hasn’t been closed.

Having the maturity of a Golden Buckeye card-holder, I’ve learned to moderate my expectations over the years, smoothing out the rough edges of our time together. Author Donald Miller has helped me in that regard, for he reminds us, “When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.” It’s tempting to believe we’ve raised the perfect children, but being up close and personal with their adult presence for a week serves as a reminder that they’re nearly as flawed as we are. But it’s also an opportunity to admit that I like who they’ve turned out to be.

This week has been a blessed time for claiming and creating memories. We’ve vacationed in the same seaside location for at least twenty-five years, so as we’ve walked the streets, we’ve told stories about what daddy and the uncles did as children, of tattoos from Gregory’s Supermarket, late nights at Toby’s, hikes to the inlet/outlet, and perilous climbing adventures at Two Lights. Now, as Madelyn tosses the cold French fries to the seagulls or Elizabeth curls her toes into the wet sand, we’re capturing these new moments in both our smart phones and our memory banks.

Yes, in a sense I will need a vacation to recover from our vacation, as I’ve yet to sleep in this week, a long-time pleasure that seems to be less possible as I age. But I’m not complaining, at least out loud. The year-old Elizabeth has awakened with the dawn, which comes quite a bit earlier than it does in Ohio, and I’ve chosen to spend those early morning moments with our precious little girl-grandbaby. It wasn’t all that long ago that she spent her first twelve days on earth in the NICU, and I’ve often whispered a prayer of gratitude over her curly head this week, grateful for her chunky thighs and her appreciation for Nana’s singing. As for Madelyn, my first-born granddaughter who so captured my heart six years ago, late night cuddles bring the oft-repeated words, “tell me a story, Nana,” and I’m glad to respond. “Once upon a time . . .

As I lift my eyes from the computer screen to stare at the plethora of shoes scattered near the door, I am grateful for this time, this place. Harold Atteridge and Harry Carroll say it best in their 1914 song: “I love to be beside your side, beside the sea, Beside the seaside, by the beautiful sea.”