Mom Dot Memorial Vacation May 2016

Dear Nancy,

On the way to Mom Dot's memorial service, Spence,Ellen, and I waited in line for an Alamo rental car at Savannah airport. A tall, hefty woman with waist-long dreadlocks dealt with customers quickly. When our turn came, I said, “I'm glad we got you. You're the fastest.” She grinned and glanced at the other two clerks. Because she didn't have keys for an economy car, she called Joe in the lot. He found a red Ford Focus. Papers complete she said, “Janet, you made the reservation so you are the principal driver. If any of you others want to drive,” she paused to look Spence then Ellen in the eyes, “that will be an additional $11 each." I said, "I'll drive." The woman walked

Dear Uncle Jim and Julie,

Saturday at 10 a.m., my brother Bob, his son Robert, Spence, our daughter Ellen, and I gathered at the columbarium outside the First Presbyterian Church of Hilton Head Island. Sunshine lit an azure blue sky, a cool breeze tousled Spanish moss dangling from live oak trees, and the swish of cars on William Hilton Parkway sounded like waves on the beach. Pastor Susie Cashion led the memorial service for Mom Dot. In addition to prayers and other readings, she read Psalm 23, my suggestion, and Mary Stevenson's “Footprints in the Sand” poem, Bob's suggestion. The only hymn was “Be Still My Soul,” my sister Anita's suggestion. Pastor Susie sang all three

Dear Sister Julie,

I debated packing Wells Wood forget-me-nots for Mom Dot's memorial service, but visions of squashed petals deterred me. Instead my daughter Ellen drove me to Kroger's early Saturday morning to buy cut flowers. Plain or combined, white or vivid colors, roses, daisies, carnations, baby breath, mums, tulips, and alstroemeria were lovely. After much pondering on my part and patience on Ellen's, I finally chose baby breath and pinkish-purple alstroemeria. I'd bought Mom those Peruvian lilies when I visited her around Mother's Day last year. New to her, she'd oohed and stroked the petals. Ellen chose white rose buds with purple mums. My brother brought yellow roses, and my nephew brought white. We stuffed all four bouquets in a tippy plastic pitcher for the service. Afterwards,Pastor Susie arranged

Dear Lori and Eliza,

Saturday afternoon after Mom Dot's memorial service, the five of us changed out or our good clothes and gathered by the Red Roof Inn pool. My brother Bob brought his trunks by didn't get in because the water was too cold for him. Ellen dangled her feet, and I swam short, curved laps in the thirty-foot kidney shaped pool. Spence worked on a review of Coming of Age in the Other America for his online magazine, Nonprofit Quarterly. Robert, my nephew and your second/third cousin, drove to a store to buy cards. When he got back, I got out of the pool, dripped, and played Hearts with Bob, Robert, and Ellen. Spence kept working. "This is appropriate," Bob said. 

Dear Jeanette,

Sunday, Spence, our daughter Ellen, and I went to Folly Field Beach–an activity we'd done many times when visiting Mom Dot on Hilton Head Island. Sunshine baked us, the ocean breeze cooled us, and waves filled our ears with soft crashes and swishes. We waded by the ocean dodging cannonball jellyfish beached in an irregular line beyond the water or rolled by waves near shore. We gathered washed in shells. Our feed sank when the undertow took sand from beneath us, a phenomenon Spence called “an old man's roller coaster.” Spence took a nap while Ellen and I made sand sculptures. Unlike Mom's Port Royal Beach for residents only, this public

Dear Sophia, 

At Folly Field Beach on Hilton Head Island, I baked in the sunshine and built a sand sculpture. Since I didn't have a bucket or a shovel, I didn't try to make a castle. Instead, I started a sand cat. I used a one by one and a half inch bittersweet clam shell to dig. I made a big oval for the cat's belly. My daughter Ellen sprinkled sand over it. I switched to forming a sand snowman. Ellen slapped its second circle with her hand making it look like a bird's wing. I changed to creating a startled bird. The former cat sprinkled-tummy and sand snowman bottom became the bird tummy. I made a third circle which Ellen obligingly smashed for a second wing. Together we made

Dear Robert,

At Pirate Island, Spence, Ellen, and I played eighteen holes of miniature golf on the challenge course. Pirate music mixed with sounds of splashing water. Tree shade kept us cool. Nearly every hole was a dog leg with a barrier. The dangling chains in front of a tunnel opening looked hard, but my ball slipped right through. Each hole had a story of a pirate, Captain Kidd being the son of a Presbyterian minister, for example. Holes also had pirate decorations like cannons, stocks, or caged plaster animals ready to carry on board. We played one hole inside a cave. In the dark balls angled off furniture, and a talking parrot commented on our strokes. We tried to stay

Dear Phil and Jane,

With a soy allergy, dairy intolerance, and multiple food sensitivities, eating out is a challenge. But, the first night of our Hilton Head trip for Mom Dot's memorial service gave me hope. Spence, Ellen, and I ate at Nick's Steak and Seafood. I had amberjack with steamed vegetables instead of buttery rice. We sat at an umbrella table under palmetto trees and watched the sun set behind white pines. The next night, I wanted to eat by the water so picked a buffet restaurant in Shelter Cove. Mistake. Neither Spence nor I could eat anything there so we drove back to Nick's. Breakfast was a different story.