Because the girls had a 9am flight on Saturday morning, we decided to take it easy on Friday morning, pack, and then start our day. After getting things situated mid-morning,
Dear Diary, I probably had too many Coronas last night. And I probably should have eaten something. I definitely should not have stayed out until three when I knew I had to drive to Orlando early this morning. Also probably I shouldn't have worn a sport coat and tie with shorts. But the company holiday party was so freaking awesome. I got many hugs, and had great times with company peeps. And their plus-ones. And some of their dogs. So despite feeing kind of shit after four hours sleep while starting the drive, I think I'd probably make the same bad choices again.
So I’ve been pretty quiet here lately. One post in seven months.
I don’t want to spend a whole post on introspective emo shit, so let’s just say that this hasn’t been the rosiest period.
There have, however, been plenty of things to celebrate and share in that time period, so I’m going to catch up on some of those instead.
My dad died yesterday.
What better to start off with than this adorable picture?
While the wildflower pictures I was seeing drove me to GSMNP for the weekend, the rivers, cascades, and waterfalls were among my favorite memories from my 40th birthday trip there two years ago, so there was no way I’d miss those on this trip.
Last weekend, I drove up to Great Smoky Mountains National Park for the weekend. I follow the park on Facebook and Twitter, and I’d been seeing lots of pictures of beautiful wildflowers, so I got the itch and decided I had to spend the weekend in the park. On Friday, I left work and headed up to Maggie Valley, then took the Blue Ridge Parkway into the park.
As I mentioned in last week’s post, my parents “got” me in July 1974, and then headed off to Walloon Lake two days later for our annual two-week summer vacation. This year, the typical three-family core was sharing the cottage: Goudies, Bakers, and Dunns.
Let’s get one thing out of the way:
I was a damn cute baby
First, a note about the series. I spent last weekend in Rochester at my parents’ house and discovered more than a thousand old family photographs – several boxes of photos that belonged to my late Grandma Goudie (Fran). And oh by the way, there are also boxes with rolls and rolls of print film negatives from my Dad’s early life. And then the front hall closet and chest of drawers full of print film from throughout the course of my life. So I may have to revise my numbering system at some point. For now, though, onward!
Warning: this post turned out to be long. Sorry, Betsy.
We spent some time talking about the early cousins in the last post, and we’ll continue that in this post, along with the appearance of a brother. I guess he wasn’t my brother when he was born? So confusing…anyway.