Adventures with Geannii

                          The exact moment I realized my breakfast consisted of exactly 32 calories."   Camping is the life—especially when I’m the guest and others are responsible for all the work. We woke up to the sound of high winds rocking the camper, then… a huge crash! The awning. Yes, the awning. We had left it up, because why be sensible when the night is warm and balmy? It had been so hot that we hated following the “no generators after eleven pm” rule. We suffered in… not silence exactly, we were having a major flopping competition, twisting and turning to find some relief, drenched in sweat, like we were sleeping in a sauna. Finally, a bit of relief as the wind quickly cooled everything down. And then—the huge crash! Oh no!

    The World’s largest Tri-State-Gas Engine and Tractor Show in Portland Indiana with one of my best friends, Pam.   I did not know the woman had a secret desire toward me.... yeah... that's right... To KILL me.    First we go to the Dollar General all is well until I round a corner and have a giant spider dangled in front of my face!! I screamed and jumped back; my brain tried to reason with my heart... it's a fake spider!     She just had to buy it to go on the front of our golf cart. It is NOT FALL... it is NOT time for Spiders to be in season.  I didn't question her, she is my friend, it is her golf cart and now her spider.   She let me drive I think she likes having a chauffeur.    All is going well, until someone we passed said, "Hey did you know you have a spider on your windshield?"  I was looking to kill me a little spider on my windshield... ARGH. Then I realized he meant the big hairy one. Yeah, that one.

 World’s largest Tri-State-Gas Engine and Tractor Show in Portland Indiana. Forty acres (at least) of flea markets, tractors, and engine exhibits. If you don’t know you need it, you’ll find it here. I kept reminding myself: I need nothing. I am downsizing. I am only window shopping. See what treasures other people once thought they couldn’t live without… and are now hoping to unload on someone else. Then I found it.

Reality check: No cape, no paparazzi, and I'm pretty sure I heard the cat groan during the second verse of Yankee Doodle.  Who doesn’t dream of playing on a Baby Grand Piano? In my imagination, the paparazzi were snapping photos, fans were fainting in the aisles, and a spotlight followed me like I was a rock star. I imagined myself in a sleek black dress with a dramatic cape. I’d flip it back, glide to the bench, and sit down ever so gracefully. The audience would hold their breath, waiting for the first note like it was the unveiling of the Mona Lisa. What would I play? Mozart? Beethoven? Or the William Tell Overture —because nothing says “heroic entrance” like the Lone Ranger theme blasting through a recital hall. Heart racing, fingers poised, I prepared to unleash a symphony the world would never forget. My six childhood piano lessons—yes, six!—had finally prepared me for this moment. Then I struck the first note.

 Pam’s adult kids always make me feel welcome when I visit Indiana. Really sweet. This last trip, her son Spencer—invited us to dinner at Texas Roadhouse. Which is already funny because Texas Roadhouse is where you go if you can’t afford therapy. Unlimited bread rolls? Yes please. I came for the cinnamon butter, but I stayed for the accidental kidnapping confession. Now, before dinner, Pam casually mentions, “Oh yeah, we stopped by your house earlier. Took a little self-guided tour.” Spencer dropped his fork. “ YOU went inside my house?”

                                       "Last known photo of me before my organs moved to Ohio"  This year Pam invited me to Indiana for the World’s Largest Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor Show. Yeah. Because nothing screams “bucket list” like antique carburetors and old men in overalls. Forget Paris, forget Rome. Portland, Indiana—baby, that’s the dream. I went up a few days early to hang out with Pam. She loves shopping… unless it’s Wal-Mart. Every time John and I said, “Let’s go to Wal-Mart,” she groaned like we’d suggested a colonoscopy. “NOT WAL-MART.” So, instead of shopping, Pam decided: “Let’s get Calvin to take you for a spin in his ultra-fast race car.”

"The Tybee Trio plus their tag-along. Proof that I survived the 'stranger' phase and actually got invited back for more chaos."    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:

  "The face you make when Mema shells out $65 and all you get is a shark's-eye view of your own misery." 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. We 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?