Adventures with Geannii

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...

    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...