Monday Memories: More Vacation Memories

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: More Vacation Memories

Vacations are pretty much synonymous with summer. So many people take off to their favorite fun, relaxing spot at some point during the summer months. Not this family. We don't take vacations (except for the one I took to the mountains.) I don't think it was that big of a deal when the lovelies were growing up since the beach is a mere 3 miles from our front door. Closer if we draw a straight line from our backyard to the shore. So we pretty much spent every summer day at the beach, the lovelies and I.

When I was growing up, we did take vacations. And I loved them! Our recurring vacation was the annual trip to the beach. This one was the one we took with everyone- grandparents, aunt, parents, kids. We all went and we all had a blast. We stayed in the same house every single summer and we left at 4:00 AM every single year. By the time we arose, the car was packed. All we had to do was get in the car and fall back asleep for the three and a half hour trip to the Myrtle Beach area.

We never stayed in Myrtle Beach- it was just too commercial even at that time. We stayed at Crescent Beach which is now considered North Myrtle Beach. In all the years we went on this trip, we always stayed in the same house. It was a huge house right across the street from the ocean. It was a two-story monster with a row of wooden slat enclosed showers lining the back separated from the house by a wooden slat walkway. We always stayed upstairs as it was big enough for our family. The downstairs was divided into two, smaller apartments. We only stayed in one of those one year and it was the last year we went. Most of us were up in age and couldn't make the trip.

We spent every day of our week at the beach, on the beach. We awoke to a fully prepared breakfast- eggs, grits, bacon, homemade biscuits and sometimes pancakes and then headed off across the street to the ocean. After waiting the traditional hour following eating breakfast, of course. We would come back across the street, rise off in the outdoor showers and back up the stairs for lunch- usually sandwiches and chips- and then head back to the beach. Again, waiting that hour after eating to enter the water. We built massive sandcastles and had fun riding the waves on those canvas floats with the nylon ropes around the edges. Remember those? And wearing the t-shirts due to the sunburn from the day before?

Nights were spent eating a big family dinner and playing games into the night. There was not a television or radio to be had. No cell phones back then either. Just a fun, family filled week without the stress of everyday life and technology that was created under the guise of making our lives better. What in the world was better than spending time together like this?

To this day I cannot smell Noxzema without thinking of Grandmother. She smothered us in that stuff every night as it took the burn out of our sunburns. It really did help and the smell does hold memories for me.

 One night of our beach vacation was always reserved for going to the Pavilion riding rides and another was reserved for standing in those mile long lines at one of the hundreds of Calabash seafood houses. The food was so worth the wait. I still remember my Granddaddy always sat at the head of the table and, if you sat next to him, he would reach over with his fork and take a bite of your food. I loved it and never could figure out why no one else wanted to sit beside him. No matter where we were, if it was a seafood place, Granddaddy always had fried catfish. And Grandmother always started off with shrimp cocktail. I was a perch or flounder girl.

We never left the beach at 4:00 in the morning. We always left in the afternoon. We were always just a little sad to leave but we knew there would always be next year.

Until there wasn't because we all grew up and outgrew family vacations. Or moved away and the miles led to distance separation. Luckily, we never let the distance in miles lead to distance in our hearts. We always visited and called and wrote letters---actual letters with actual pens and paper. And now, we know that Grandmother and Granddaddy were the best ever at creating memories. Memories that are still cherished today.   

Monday Memories: A Vacation Memory

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: A Vacation Memory

I've posted this vacation memory before but I just realized that it took place quite close to the very spot of our latest vacation! I'm glad I didn't realize this before we went. Ha!

When I was growing up our family took the usual annual vacation to either the beach or the mountains but we also got to go camping sometimes just for the weekend. These camping trips were so much fun! We would go to the mountains and just have a nice relaxing weekend of camping. One weekend we went to a campground in a town where friends of our parents lived. It was only an hour or two away and a couple of other families came along as well. My parents friends had one son and a daughter much younger than any of us and the rest of the crew all had sons. Basically, it was going to be a weekend of boys what with my three brothers as well. But this wasn't a terrible thing as I was a tomboy. When we got to the campground it was practically deserted --as it was the off season—with only 3 campers in the whole place. Not a problem since there were plenty of us to have fun and go exploring. Once we were set up, it was time to explore so we headed out for a walk.

Once we hit just the right spot in the dirt road, we saw an old house looming ahead on the left.  There has never been a better haunted looking house in a Hollywood movie. This place was two stories high with a widow’s walk on top. The siding was old and gray looking with some slats hanging down at an angle from the rusty old nails that could no longer hold them in place. There were steps leading up to a porch that spanned the front of the house. Several of the boards curved up at the edge of the steps and the porch and there were holes where the wood had given up and rotted away. There was a porch swing hanging at one end of the porch and it creaked, just a little, in the breeze. Most of the windows had been broken, leaving half panes of jagged glass and, those that were intact, were covered in a film of dust and age. Through the windows, we could see old, tattered curtains hanging limp. The walkway leading up to the wide steps was no longer level and was cracked in places with weeds growing up through them. The front yard was overgrown with weeds and dead bushes and was surrounded by an old, gray picket fence that swayed in places and had more leaning slats than straight up and down ones. To enter the walkway leading to the house, we had to pick the gate, that was hanging by only one rusted hinge, up and place it to one side. Several old trees that had already shed most of their leaves were on either side of the house reaching out with their spindly arms. It was coming on dusk; there was a slight breeze; and not a sound was heard other than the ever so slight creaking of the porch swing and the occasional rustling of dead leaves.

My fearless brother

There were seven of us kids altogether and we decided that perhaps going up to the door and going inside that house was not the best idea we’d ever had. We discussed this in quiet whispers all the while keeping our eyes sharply focused on the house. Finally, my brave brother, Tony, said- in his best 11-year-old manly voice, “I’m not scared. I’ll go in.” The rest of us stood statue still in a bit of shock at hearing his words and Tony had an expression on his face that clearly indicated he, too, was wondering who the hell said that. Mere seconds passed as my courageous brother realized that it was indeed his voice and that now, because of his big fat mouth impulsive bravery, he was going to have to go into the haunted house. His steps were shaky and slow as he proceeded up the worn path to the first step. He slowly and carefully placed one foot up on the step and looked back. We were all still standing there with wide eyes and opened mouths. Tony walked up each step with uncertainty and paused to look back again when he stood, nervously, on the porch. We had not moved a muscle.  Tony took small, careful, baby steps all the way to the front door and stopped. He gingerly reached out his hand to open the old door. At that very moment that insignificant breeze that had caused only slight movement of the porch swing and a gentle (albeit creepy) rustling of the leaves became a wind. And that wind was strong enough to blow the curtain hanging at the broken windows. that ran vertically beside the front door, out just far enough to brush my brother’s arm.  

To this day I do not think that my fearless brother’s feet touched any part of that house or the earth as he spun around and took off! He was beside us and then past us within a millisecond and there was dust behind him as he flew down the dirt road. The expression on his face illustrated scared shitless terrified quite well with the eyes bugging out and the extreme paleness of his color. As soon as we realized what had happened (and it took a few seconds), we laughed hysterically- half from my brother’s reaction to the curtain and half from sheer relief. Of course we had to go off after him because he was running in the opposite direction of our campsites. Along the way we met our parents’ friends who were driving out to visit- complete with Tony on the hood of their car.     

My fearless brother and his lovely wife, Christmas 2014.