Adventures with Geannii

 Robin, my daughter-in-love, invited me to join them and her brothers for the Stardew Valley Symphony. I’ve never been to a symphony before. I had questions — lots of questions. In my mind, a symphony is pure elegance: white-gloved ushers guiding guests to velvet seats, soft golden lighting warming the room, formal gowns and tuxedos drifting through the aisles, and music that promises sophistication before the first note even plays. BUT — and I do mean a big but — these are gamers. Do they know what a real symphony is? Do I know what a real one is?   I’d seen symphonies on television and once attended a very proper choir performance in Cincinnati. We dressed nicely for that. Shoes were involved. So naturally, I wondered if we should shop. They arrived all the way from Hobbs, New Mexico, and we all met at their grandmother Shirley’s house. The kids didn’t even take time to unload at the motel — they were starving, we were starving, everybody was starving. “Just follow me to Hef...

Why is it that the moment pipes freeze or the electricity goes out, my entire body decides it has a broken arm? Or a broken leg. Possibly both. Suddenly I am incapable of doing anything. Cleaning mirrors? Absolutely not. Sweeping the floor? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have water. Well… I do have water. Just not in the bathroom. And the hot water is frozen solid, which feels personal. This whole saga began when a wild animal crawled under my house and tore out the insulation like it was auditioning for a home‑renovation show called Extreme Makeover: Rodent Edition. Then my washer sprang a leak. I didn’t notice until the carpet and the cheap particle‑board floor under the dresser had turned into oatmeal. When I pulled the carpet back, the floor had melted away. I could see the ground under my house. That is not a “feature.”  That is a horror movie. I called Rick, my handyman. He said he’d get to me soon. Not wanting a critter to stroll into my bedroom like it pays rent, I slapped a ...

  The Kitten Chronicles: How I Accidentally Became a Cat Landlord We have two darling little kittens — outdoor cats, feral cats, “don’t touch me, human” cats. Their older brothers survived last winter outside like tiny Viking warriors, so I figured these two would be fine. But I still bought them a heated cat house. A whole tiny Airbnb with a warming pad specifically designed for feral cats. Because apparently I’m running a luxury resort for animals who won’t even let me pet them. One morning I was playing with them through the glass window — my version of “interactive cat parenting.” Jimin looked over his shoulder, froze, and bolted. I stepped outside to see what scared him. Mama cat screamed — a sound that could summon demons — and she was standing over little Jimin’s body. No life left in him. A strange feral male cat stood there like he owned the place, challenging me. I grabbed a shovel and ran him off like a furious pioneer woman defending her homestead.. Well. “I am NOT havi...

   This year I’ve been invited to go with Pamela and her family to the World’s Largest Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor Show in Portland, Indiana. Last June, Pamela had invited me along to Tybee Island, Georgia, with her husband John and their adult son Calvin. We’d only met a few times before, always with my husband by my side. That Tybee trip was my first time traveling with them after losing my husband in February 2022. I remember sitting in the backseat of their pickup with Pam, crossing state borders at ninety miles an hour, when she leaned over and said slowly: “You know we are basically strangers.” I hoped it was just a friendly reminder, not a threat. Should I ask her to drop me at the nearest bus station? Instead, I smiled and nodded. By day two of Tybee, Pamela had food poisoning. The bathroom became her best friend. She pointed toward the door and said, If you want food or fun, it won’t be here. Go with John and Calvin. So off I went, awkward and hungry. ...

  The long Covid really messed up my vacation plans this year. My grandsons were supposed to spend the entire summer with me. Instead, I got them for the last week of summer vacation. Better a little time together than none, right? I dragged them—kicking, screaming, and clutching their laptops like they were life support machines. “We’re going to do something FUN!” I announced. Their blank stares said, Yeah right, Mema. e got up early and headed to the aquarium. It was a Tuesday in July, which I thought was perfect. People should be busy working, or vacationing somewhere nice like Branson. Wrong. We pulled into the parking lot and were greeted by about ten school buses. Why? School isn’t even in session! And then I spotted the senior citizen buses. Great—kids wired on sugar and retirees running on coffee, all in the same building. What could possibly go wrong? At least the ticket line was short. Maybe the buses were just parked for decoration. (A girl can dream.) We turned the cor...

  I was on my way home from my friend's house two hours away. Van always drove us, now I use my GPS.    I called my sister to visit while driving home, as I talked to her, I mentioned, I don't remember Road construction on the way down here.     My GPS was strangely silent, not saying a word, like she was gagged and thrown in the trunk I poked the button... Apparently someone forgot to put in an address... no wonder she wasn't yelling at me!    Valerie: "Sounds like you're lost."   Me: "Nope I'm still on the road heading north, I'm not lost, know right where I am... IN ROAD CONSTRUCTION."    Dustin: Sounds like you might be lost.    Me: Nope, I know where I'm going! I can't be lost! I might end up in Kansas... but I'm not lost."    Dustin, (her son):"you want us to put out an APB on ya?"   Valerie: "Why would you put out an All Peanut Butter tracker on her?"   Me thinking, you really are special.  ...

I traded the soft Atlantic sand for the plush basement carpet, but the 'peace and quiet' I expected didn't quite make the trip home with me. Instead of crashing waves, I found myself watching Zak crash onto the sofa—literally.         Rob, my son-in-law is very entertaining, I’ve heard him described as a white Chris Rock, I can see it.  For instance, one morning, the youngest Grandson crawled up on dad’s lap. (Z was 9 at the time.) Suddenly we had a ventriloquist.  Rob put his hand on the back of Z’s neck and told him to just open and shut his mouth while Dad did the talking.      Entertainment with our coffee.      Bedtime, I am in the basement. (Yes, they keep Mema in the basement and toss her crumbs. Rob’s comment at one point.)     The family lives in the basement. Big screen TV, gaming computers, Karaoke machine. ( I was told DO NOT to touch the Karaoke machine without them present. They wanted to laugh.)  R...

 Just when the Tybee trip was hitting its stride, the universe (and some questionable seafood) decided to intervene. Pam went down with food poisoning — the kind that makes you want to negotiate with a higher power just to stop the room from spinning. Her selfless advice? “If you want food and fun, you better go with John and Calvin.” I had two choices, neither one my kind of fun: hold Pam’s head while she vomited and wished I would disappear, or feed my grumbling stomach and swallow the rising panic of going off with two men I barely knew. My stomach made the decision for me. Off we went to find food and then toodle on down to the beach. So there I was: a woman who had just lost her husband in February, standing on Tybee sand in July with two men who were essentially strangers, trying not to leak tears like a broken faucet. If you’ve never tried to “just relax” on a beach while your heart is breaking and you’re surrounded by The Boys, let me tell you — it’s a special kind of perfo...

  Tybee Island Light house   The Lighthouse in Heels Pam wasn’t feeling great that morning, so John, Calvin, and I went off in search of breakfast. The line was long, but worth it. Calvin ordered a burrito the size of a football, with some mysterious brown blob on the side that looked suspiciously like… well, not food. Neither of us knew what it was until Calvin braved a bite. Salsa. He smeared it on what was left of the burrito and made a show of loving it. I had my doubts, but hey—more power to him. When we got back, Pam was feeling better, so off we went exploring. I was feeling mighty stylish—new white shorts, new sandals with a one-inch clog heel. I don’t do heels, but this was a golf cart vacation. It’s not like I planned on walking anywhere. Famous last words. Our first stop: the lighthouse. At the ticket booth, the guy charged me full price until Pam chimed in: “She’s a senior!” Excuse me? I’ll happily pay full price if I’m passing for under-55, thank you very much. Bu...

   The Quest for White Shorts “You need white shorts,” Pam declared, giving my outfit the kind of side-eye usually reserved for fashion emergencies. Black yoga pants. Black shirt with white flowers. Yes, technically tropical. But also… “Woman in Black” vibes. On a sunny island, I looked less like vacation and more like I was attending a beach funeral. So began The Quest. Every souvenir shop had shorts—tie-dye, camouflage, hibiscus flowers the size of dinner plates. Twenty-four bucks a pair, and not a single plain white option in sight. Then we learned the secret: the thrift store would be open Wednesday, 10 a.m. to noon. Two hours only. That was our window. We rolled up in our golf cart right at opening. An elderly woman waved. “Headed to the thrift store?” she asked. “Why yes, we are,” I said, full of hope. Pam asked, “Why such short hours?” The woman smiled. “Well, our volunteers average eighty-five. Youngest is eighty. Oldest is ninety-five.” Mystery solved. Inside, t...

     Golf Cart Chronicles: Tybee Island   Our official first day at Tybee Island meant one thing—golf cart time! We checked in at the rental office: “Your cart is T258. Make sure you know your golf cart’s number. You don’t want to drive off in someone else’s cart.” (Actually, that sounded like more fun. Oh well, maybe not.) “You’ll need a map with the No-No Route in red. DO NOT drive on that road. The penalty is $1,000. Only cross at traffic lights. Seatbelts on—police do seatbelt checks.” Alright already. We got it. Just give us the keys! Pam slid behind the wheel, and we took off like… a turtle on the sidewalk. “Uh, are we supposed to be on the sidewalk?” I asked. Pam hopped out, “You have a CDL—you drive!” (Note: You don’t actually need a Commercial Driver’s License to operate a golf cart, but I kept quiet.) So, I buckled in, shouted, “Hold tight, buckle up, shut up!” and floored it like an Indy 500 racer. The lady at the rental desk had warned us this might ...

Going to the beach at Tybee Island, one thing was clear—we needed hats. Wrinkles and laugh lines are fine, but no need to invite new family members to the reunion. At a flea market in Anderson, IN, I bought a huge floppy monstrosity of a hat. Not my style, but it would keep the sun at bay. Then, on the very first day at Tybee, I realized I hadn’t packed enough shorts. Off I went in search of new ones and instead discovered it— the perfect hat. White straw, black band, just the right shape. This was me. Twenty dollars later, I was the happiest Professional Tourist on the island. The only problem? A little loose. No worries—I had a sewing kit… somewhere. (Key word: somewhere.) Pam, ever prepared, came to the rescue with hers. A few stitches inside the lining, a few experiments with the breeze, a few more stitches—success! Proof? I never lost that hat, even riding in the golf cart. Fast forward to our last morning on the beach. Coffee in hand, sundress flowing, faithful hat snug on my he...

  Royal Palms Resort  We have arrived! It’s dark, so the real exploring will have to wait until tomorrow morning. For now—we settle into our very unique motel. The first thing I notice? The TV is hung over the sofa. Interesting angle for watching TV—you’ve got to tilt your head just right, like you’re birdwatching. Then I see it: a turquoise refrigerator with a matching microwave, next to a little sink. This place doesn’t just whisper “retro”—it screams it.      The layout is… creative. One queen bed sits right in the living room, while the other queen bed is in the bedroom, which also happens to contain the only door to the bathroom. Translation: anyone sleeping in the living room has to tiptoe through the “master suite” in the middle of the night if nature calls. It could get interesting, but hey—we’ll survive.         Calvin popped the sofa out into a bed, piled cushions around like his own private fort facing the tv on the wall. Out ...

    Driving past Dollywood, the Maze of Mirrors, Beyond the Lens, Pirate Cruise Dinner Show, Dolly’s Stampede, Pit Stop Go Carts, Ice Cream Palace, Crave Miniature Golf, live sharks, live alligators, amusement parks, and bumper boats… We ignored them all. Why? Because we had one mission. One very serious, very festive goal: ✨ Unique Christmas Square. ✨ Step One: Santa, of Course 🎅 The sign said it plain as day: “Santa is in for pictures today.” Well, you can’t come to Christmas Square and NOT see Santa. It’s like going to Paris and skipping the Eiffel Tower. I plopped down next to him and—ouch! I’d sat on a set of really long, old-fashioned keys. I shifted, laughed, and said: “I better not sit on these. I really don’t wanna be magically transported to Santa’s sleigh and end up at the North Pole. We’re headed to Tybee Island!” Santa chuckled, moved the keys to a safer spot, and smiled for the camera. Pam bought me the photo for my birthday (yes, it was my birthda...

The Professional Tourist (and the Back Seat Bellyacher) I’ve only met Pam and her family a few times over the years. She and I actually started out as pen pals — a mutual friend asked if I’d write to a girl in Indiana. Pam had asthma so bad, they didn’t think she would live very long. “Sure, why not?” I said. Well, here we are 50 years later — and she’s still living. (Miracles are alive.) When her kids heard the story, they instantly nicknamed her “the pity friend.” Can you believe that? Fifty years of letters, laughter, and friendship, and she’s still the pity friend. We tossed all our bags into the back of a pickup. The tonneau cover had blown off previously, so everything was riding naked in the open air. Our stuff had better hang on for dear life. John, ever the planner, brought along trash bags in case it rained. (Classy luggage covers, right?) Calvin climbed behind the wheel, John took shotgun, and announced, “I’ll be the back seat bellyacher.” Shouldn’t he be in the back se...

      Mom said “No more watermelon for Jacob. He’s had watermelon the past three days and it will give him diarrhea,” (or maybe he already had a bad case of it, I wasn’t paying much attention. You know how young mom’s can be slightly overprotective of their young.)    Two year old Jacob had a bowl full of cut up watermelon. I went to take it away when I looked at this kid's face. His eyes are closed in ectasy, his head is swaying back and forth gently as he enjoys the sweet watermelon juice sliding down his throat, his fingers strumming an imaginary guitar or whatever it was that went along with his pure enjoyment of watermelon.    I grabbed my camera, looked around for mom to pounce and jerk the fruit of happiness from the child. No mom in sight. Camera rolling.    He popped another piece of watermelon into his mouth, eyes closed, hand strumming as he chewed slowly head swaying to imaginary music.  Chewed swallowed.  No mom. C...

              Visiting my daughter and her family is always an adventure. We never plan anything—just chaos with a GPS. We went to Union Station. Gorgeous building. They’ve restored it to its original grandeur. People were taking graduation photos, quinceañera photos, prom pictures… Meanwhile, I’m standing there like, “We need a family group.” We ate at Harvey’s. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans—$14 a plate. Gigantic portions. I’m like, who eats this much .” My son-in-law Rob—he’s a natural comedian. I asked him to take a family picture. This man turned into Ansel Adams on crack. He’s crouching, rolling on the ground, twisting the phone like it’s a Nikon with a $5,000 lens. Even the security guard came over, staring like, “Do I arrest him, or just get in line for headshots?” Later at home, my grandson Zak wanted to play Sequence. After three games, he loses focus. I said: “Hey Travis, Montana Michael—whatever your name is, kid, your ...

  Spring Break. I thought I’d be working—bummer. Then my coworker goes, “Hey, if you wanna see your grandsons, I’ll cover things.” That was all I needed. I grabbed my pre-packed bag—because yes, I keep one ready like I’m in the witness protection program—and hit the road. On the way, I called my daughter. “Hey, surprise! I’m coming for the weekend!” Now, in my head, she was going to squeal with joy… instead, there was a long pause followed by: “…Thanks for the warning, Mom.” I had forgotten—she works full time, has two boys, and a husband who counts as the third. She was imagining me walking in, judging her messy kitchen like an undercover HGTV host. So I said, “Don’t worry about it, honey. I left MY house messy too.” And she goes, “But don’t you have a housekeeper?” “Yes… but she doesn’t live with me. And I’ve left the dishes all week.” Meanwhile, my car decided to become part of the story. I hit the car wash—suddenly OnStar is in my ear. “We need to set this up.” H...

   So my friend Pamela asked me, “Have you ever been to Tybee Island?” I said, “No, what’s that?” She goes, “Wanna go?” And of course—I said yes. I’m up for any adventure. But here’s the thing: it’s not just a weekend. Oh no. This is a full week with her family. I’m excited… but I’m also quietly praying we’re still friends when we get back. You guys remember Oprah and Gayle’s road trip, right? Yeah—besties when they left, but by the time they got home… awkward silence. Gayle wanted the radio ON, Oprah wanted it OFF. Next thing you know—two separate cars, two separate hotel rooms. I’m just saying—if Oprah can’t survive a road trip with her best friend, what chance do I have? Now—this trip lands on my birthday week. it beats crying into my Dr. Pepper because Van isn't here to celebrate it with me. I won't be alone, I'll be hitting the Beach, thrift stores, Gatlinburg, and… a Christmas shop. Nothing says “Happy Birthday” like buying a Christmas Ornament in Augu...