Vacation part 4

600 miles to Texas, bluebonnets and sunsets, four generations, Biblical generations, being remembered

We arrived in Milton on a Friday evening and the kids coming from Arkansas arrives the next evening – Saturday. The following Thursday they returned to Arkansas and we took my daughter, her husband and the two grandchildren over to Chappell Hill, TX; six hundred miles away.

My parents live there and they had not met the great-grandchildren. They are both octogenarians and though they are in good health and still travel frequently, it was a good opportunity to show off my lineage. Besides Mama and I hoped the bluebonnets would be out so we could get some pictures with the grandchildren sitting in a field of bluebonnets – a sort of family tradition.

We did manage to get some pictures of both the bluebonnets and the incredible Texas sunsets. My grandson was less that thrilled by the staging of the photos since the flowers were as tall as he is while sitting, but we did what we could. My son is becoming a good photographer and since he is more technologically inclined, he knows more of the camera features than I have mastered. (More or less like operating the TV remote more efficiently.) Some of the pictures came out great.

I only thought about it later, but as we sat on my parent’s porch, there were four generations represented – my parents, us, our daughter and her husband and their children. It made me wonder what it might have been like in early Bible times when people lived to be several hundred years old. How many generations would you have to invite to a family reunion, or a birthday party? How would you remember all the names, all the different family groups?

Speaking of remembering, I was taken aback when we walked through tiny Chappell Hill. As we walked up to Lesser’s General Store the man there looked very familiar. Like someone the town had always had. He knew me right away. “You look like someone who used to live here.” I told him we were visiting my parents whom I mentioned by name. He then called me by name and asked questions someone would ask who has plenty of time and an equal amount of interest. We talked for some time.

It was unusual, living where I do now, to spend that much time with someone so unfamiliar, but there it seemed natural, meaningful. For my part, it was great being remembered, especially since his memories of me were pleasant and humorous. It was as humbling as it was uplifting – just to be remembered.

It made me think. Maybe this is more important than I realize. Writing, that is. Leaving some type of record may last beyond my grandchildren – which is about as long as any of us are remembered. I really enjoy the thought of being remembered.

What about you? Your life is worth being remembered too.