Author: Easin' Along

The story I am about to tell to you is not the whole story because I was only on the periphery for most of it.  In the beginning, I was a babysitter; in later chapters, I was just a facilitator on the way to becoming a strong advocate.  Forty years ago, six lovely ladies went on a special trip to a happy place and have returned every year since. Their most recent trip wrapped up last week.

What I know about the story is limited to what is shared with me every year—most of what happened in Hilton Head stayed in Hilton Head.  Nevertheless, I can tell you that the framework of the story centers around six busy ladies wanting to get away from the demands of making life easier for husbands and young children and go to a place where life moved at a slower pace.  I am confident that they let their hair down a bit, but, as you can tell from the pictures, they are mostly a short-haired bunch.

 

In 1980, Anne, one of six young Moms living in the same neighborhood, was offered the use of a beach house in Hilton Head, SC, owned by her parents.  Her mother said she would babysit Anne’s three children while she and her husband, Ralph, went away for a long weekend.  For reasons long ago forgotten, Ralph didn’t want to go and, Ralph never got another chance. Not one to waste an opportunity (or anything else for that matter), Anne invited five Moms to share the house, and, thus, a tradition was born.

I remember well that first trip.  The moms gathered in Posey’s driveway all a-twitter with excited anticipation.  Anne’s well-traveled Volkswagen van was filling quickly with luggage and “supplies” (code for wine). Standing alongside were several husbands and young children, some not yet informed that Mom was about to disappear for a few days.  The Moms moved quickly lest a disgruntled babe cast a pall over the departure. Husbands held their breath—cancellation was not an option. The van pulled out.  I’m not sure I even got a wave goodbye. I do remember what happened next.  Within ten minutes, my youngest fell and received a cut requiring stitches.  I spent the afternoon in the pediatrician’s office with a three-year-old screaming for Mommy. As a footnote, the van died every time they stopped and the ladies had to push it off before they could continue on their merry way.

After that first trip, I learned that Hilton Head was declared an annual event. I asked if this was open to discussion.

“Only among the six of us,” came the rapid reply.

Since that first pilgrimage, the only decision was not if Hilton Head was on, but when. The hard and fast rule was that the departure date became established once every participant had a clear calendar in the same week, usually in the spring. Over the years, many girl’s nights out were necessary to nail down the date of this event. The trip dates ranged from October to April. 

There was one constant in all of those trips—lots of fun and lots of laughter. One of the stories I’ve heard often concerns the time that a generous soul paid for dinner at one of their favorite restaurants.  Suddenly, there were funds in the budget for another bottle of wine. I learned many years later that it was Helen’s turn to drive home that night and mistakenly drove down and through a grassy median instead of the proper access to the other side of the highway. Howls of laughter filled the rear of the van. Thankfully, Uber has taken Helen’s place at the wheel.

There was the day when all rode bicycles to lunch. A sudden downpour threatened to soak everyone to the bone on the way home, so the restaurant owner gave them each a plastic bag to wear in place of a raincoat. I have a picture as evidence.  They still comment on how cute they were.

Many birthdays were celebrated on those trips. One year, they celebrated Conni’s birthday by hiring two young, handsome, kayak guides to lead them on a kayak expedition through open water to a house owned by Anne’s brother. When they arrived, Brother met them with a tray of glasses filled with champagne.  Hours later, the float trip home was a lot more fun.

This year, they decided to add a small amount of levity to the seriousness of the coronavirus situation and decorate face masks should they be necessary. Here’s the picture of that undertaking—cuteness reigns.

There have been many changes in forty years.  At first, the event took place over a long weekend. Not surprisingly, it has now stretched to a full week. A new rental replaced the Volkswagen van…still filled with luggage and supplies. Husbands are not required to babysit any longer. In the beginning, they always rented bicycles. This year, they rented tricycles for the first time.  The word is, the trikes were a hit.

The changes didn’t affect every aspect of Hilton Head. Helen continues to take a jigsaw puzzle every year. Anne paints and shares her skill by giving classes to all who want them. Posey and Beth keep everyone in good spirits, and Priscilla remains the resident authority on sports and sends out an alert if a game or tournament is on television during the stay. Everyone contributes their favorite recipes and demonstrates their cooking skills on nights spent in the beach house.

I don’t know much more than what is shared here except that as soon as one trip ends, planning for the next one begins.  I consider that a beautiful tribute to friends and friendship and the love, regard, and respect that each has for the other. Forty years is a long time, even for the happiest of habits, and I think each would agree that time sure does fly when you’re having fun.

Typing at random…

I wasn’t sure I would post this week. Our weather in East Tennessee has been dreadful.  We have had cold rain and foul weather conditions for days on end. Situations like that don’t lend themselves well to an active lifestyle, and I found myself dealing with a case of the blahs. I don’t write blog posts when I have the blahs.  Thankfully it doesn’t happen often but, since it did, I wanted to shake it off. My exercise classes at the YMCA provided some motivation to get moving. Next, I picked up my camera and decided to focus it and my attitude on the bright spots around me.

The grounds crew that takes care of our neighborhood showed up to begin mulching the flower beds and trimming the shrubs. These tasks usually are a signal that spring is not far away. The sound of the lawnmowers reinforced that signal. I’m ready. The smell of freshly mown grass is a powerful antidote for the foul weather blahs.

 

Laughter is strong medicine as well.  Helen is away on a gal-pal trip with friends from our old neighborhood.  I’ve introduced them to readers in previous posts about our annual meatloaf dinner and Helen’s surprise birthday party.  They have taken this trip every year for forty years. At some point during their adventure, the husbands try to get together for dinner and some fun.  We have a good time in a very relaxed setting, usually at someone’s home, and share a lot of laughs.  Laughter goes a long way in easing symptoms of the blahs.

Lucy came home from the shop.  After our trip to Florida, I had to take Lucy to the dealership for a few minor repairs. Unfortunately, the shop manager suddenly retired, and Lucy got caught in a backload of work orders. She has been in the shop for over a month, but finally broke out this week and followed me home.  I get a big smile thinking about the trips we have planned for later this year.

Feeling better by later in the week, I decided to check out the daffodils that always bloom in high numbers in the run-up to spring in East Tennessee.  I heard that there was a massive field of them a little to the north of our home and close to the storage facility where we keep Lucy.  After I dropped Lucy off and tucked her in, I went daffodil searching.  It was impossible to miss them. In one spot near the highway, hundreds, if not thousands, of white and yellow daffodils filled a hillside with color. This sight would cure most anything, including the blahs.

The Camelias are blooming as well. I found this lovely specimen in my back yard.  I love Camelias and especially so because they usually arrive as winter is breathing its last gasp. The hot pink variety is the only one we have now, but others will follow. Hot pink doesn’t erase cold weather, but it helps.

 

 

On the one sunny (though cold) day we had this week, I brought home Smoky, the trailer that we won last October.  We have not used Smoky for camping yet, but we’re about to take him on a trip across the country and give him to our grandchildren living in California. Helen worked hard to clean the inside and I spent the whole day removing the promotional decals and glue from Smoky’s exterior. Smoky is ready to go.  We leave in two weeks. Helen’s ready, I’m ready, and really excited.  I can think of nothing better than a road trip to cure the blahs! I hope you’ll join us.

Feeling better already…