That year, Grandma’s new car was a lime green Oldsmobile Delta 88 with a white vinyl top. Later, it would be called the Green Bomber, but when it was new, the car was Grandma’s pride and joy.

Every six years she got a new car—this time she’d outdone herself and ordered what she considered to be the perfect automobile. The Oldsmobile was so long that the garage refrigerator had to be retired to make room for it.

That year was also the year my son was turning two and the five of us—Great-Grandma, Grandma, Grandpa, my almost-two-year-old, and I—took a cross-country road trip from Indiana to Utah. I can’t imagine why we didn’t fly. I guess it was because Grandma really loved that car! The trip actually went really well. We stopped every two hours for potty breaks and spent each night at a Holiday Inn. At that pace, it took us three days and two nights to complete our journey.

Stopping every two hours turned out to be a great opportunity for potty training. And it worked! I’m not sure that I would recommend a cross-country trip for everyone, but it sure worked for us . . . and it was quite an accomplishment for an almost-two-year-old. The rest of the drive was uneventful. I don’t remember any mishaps or things that stood out. However, I do remember the packing up.

Grandpa was a genius when it came to organizing a trunk. We weren’t limited to a certain number of bags; we were just instructed to place the bags at the foot of the car, NOT in the trunk. When all the bags were assembled, he went to work with a tape measure in hand. He always fit every single bag into that trunk! He filled every nook and cranny. It was like solving a puzzle, which makes sense, because the other thing my grandpa loved to do was the crossword. I’ve never risen to his skill level when it comes to packing, but I do love the challenge.

When the kids were younger, we loved to go camping. I loved all the gadgets: the tent, the cots, the cook stove, the lantern, and the special skewers for roasting marshmallows. I wanted to make sure that once we got to our camp spot, we had everything to make our trip comfortable and fun. My husband, on the other hand, liked the convenience store.

He was never a fan of camping and would say, “You spend more time planning, shopping, and packing than you do camping!”

He just doesn’t get camping. He’s from New Jersey, as you know. His method was to make trips to the camp store every time he wanted something. He made friends with the proprietors, and spent hours shooting the breeze . . . inside the store with the A/C blasting away. Well, I say “YUCK” to that approach. I’m not interested in Bob and Betty’s black Labrador’s hip surgery. Then, at the slightest hint of rain, he would pack us up, and we’d go home.

In retrospect, I think it was his plan to get out of the family camping trips—and it worked. I finally figured it out and many times we did go without him. The kids are now grown and gone, and there’s been no camping for years.

Recently, we had company in town and planned a trip to the beach. It’s not much of a trip since we live less than a mile from a beautiful spot. But I was determined to be the best hostess. I made a list, shopped, and began to pack up the truck . . . chairs, check, towels, check, sunscreen, and umbrella . . . check. I added in some games and a cooler full of cold drinks. My husband’s idea of going to the beach is to grab a towel—ONE towel. And then he announces that he’s ready to go.

This makes me crazy on so many levels, but no bother . . . nothing is going to spoil my perfect beach day.