My grandmother turned 90 on valentine’s day. We were supposed to be there for her 90th birthday party, but an uncharacterstic snow storm (one of 2 or 3 this winter) hit the Baltimore area a couple of days before and the party was postponed. So we’re heading down this weekend to celebrate a month late. I’m beyond excited, not just for her birthday but also because we are driving down.
I grew up taking driving vacations when I was younger. We lived in Colorado and my father dragged us all around the west anywhere from a weekend to week long or even two. I know some people have no tolerance for being in the car for long periods of time, but I loved those trips. Since Delia was born, we’ve been on one driving vacation. We drove down to Virginia to visit my best friend and then went to Chincoteague with my other best friend. Delia got sick in Chincoteague and between having a 103 degree temperature and some sort of stomach virus ended up throwing up all the way home…11 hours to be exact.
Needless to say we haven’t been in a hurry to drive anywhere, but we are going to drive this weekend. Taking the scenic route, my husband assures me. Staying in a hotel with an indoor pool, the one request Delia had. I’m working on a scrapbook for my grandmother (and by working I mean I finally got the pictures printed, and there is an empty scrapbook on my desk downstairs, which will be magically transformed before the trip…and hey, 10 hours in the car, can’t forget that extra time just in case I’m running behind) and my father sent me this picture for it. I just love this picture…I’ll let it speak for itself.
