The what I forgot before list...

Packing for a lengthy trip has become a marathon event.
I start thinking about what I might forget the minute I make the plane and lodging reservations.
Once I miscounted my sleeping tablets and had to rob Peter to pay Paul to make the nights and sleep come out even.
Lately I failed to check the amount of insulin still left in my Pen so Marc had to make a midnight run back to home from Midway.
Over the years we've forgotten things like our temple recommends (which we had to have air-mailed to London) and rain jackets (because, for some reason, it rains a bit in England).
This time is a bit more complicated because there are three of us heading to middle England and then two of us going on to Spain and home again.
We are trying an airline that's new to us and they're British and everything is a little different.
(I have to read dates backwards and already, more than once, I've panicked a bit thinking it said our flight was on 2/8 instead of 8/2.)
And our travel needs have changed.
Instead of just packing a travel pillow and a small blanket, I need my headphones and my aux cord and my Smartphone.
We need recharging cords along with our power adapters.
I have medical needs that go with being a senior citizen. (And a letter from the doctor explaining to the TSA why I need needles in my carry-on.)
We need our passports, our ticket vouchers, our phone confirmations of passes to things like the Alhambra and Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.
I am more forgetful now so I have lists everywhere, and lists of my lists.
It's arduous.
Now, for Marc, it's not such a process.
He calls up his list on his phone and Voila!..
It's all there from before and he packs light. Everything in a backpack.
Plus, if he forgets anything, he buys another in whatever country we're in at the time.
And he has me.
I bring the cash for the country we're in, the sunscreen, the bug repellent, the emergency cookies and the treats.
It's always fun. We like traveling together.

But I can't wait till I get on the plane to find out what I forgot this time.

Honk!

I'm sitting quite comfortably in my car in the parking lot at Market Street Grill waiting for Marc to arrive.
He's coming on his bike from American Fork to meet me for a birthday dinner.
Never mind that it's 103 degrees outside and the journey from our house to the restaurant is more than 20 miles.
As the time ticks by, I start to recognize that it's a reckless thing to attempt.
I had just watched a TV report on a kid who died hiking in the heat, a report that noted that it's too late to stop an episode of heatstroke once the symptoms have shown.
I began to fret.
At 5:45 I went in and told the reservation desk girl that we better make the reservation for 6 p.m. instead and let her know I was probably going to have to go hunt for my husband.
Then Marc called.
He'd had a couple of flats and the tire was still losing air despite his repeated attempts to pump it up. Would I come get him and his bike?
He estimated he was somewhere in the 12600 South area but nowhere he could recognize as an address to give me.
I sighed and started the car.
Marc said just head down the road in front of the restaurant heading south and I would come to 12600 and see the park where he was waiting.
That was good advice except the road ran out after a bit.
I came to a big sign and concrete blocks. The sign said, "This road will be finished in the future!"
So I turned to the west and kept looking for a way through.
"Private Property! Keep out!" said the notices I found.
I went up the hill some more.
And some more. Further west.
Finally I came to 1300 West and found 12600 South.
Marc called again and said he could see the car.
I could see the park he was in but there was a barrier in the road.
I slowed and looked and tried to find my way over.
Cars behind me didn't appreciate it.
They honked.
Marc said he could hear the honking all the way over to the park.
I'm sorry if I delayed any of you.
I did eventually find my husband and we got to dinner without injury or serious trauma.
I have figured out the secret to having a good bike ride?
Have a working car and a willing sidekick.

Movie mob...

For the past three summers, some of the grandkids and I (sometimes Grandpa) have been loading up the car and heading to the Summer Club movies.
We sit through endless commercials and an assortment of day-old kid's movies together.
The kids like it because they get an adventure — out of the heat and with popcorn and drinks.
The mothers like it because I take all of their young ones for several hours every week.
I like it because I get to see them each week and share time laughing, gasping and groaning.
We're on week 7 now and I thought I've take a poll.
"Which movie did you like the best?" I chirped.
There was a big silence.
The 4-year-old finally said, "One was stupid!"
The 7-year-old said she enjoyed the Smurfs' movie and sometimes she liked "My Little Pony."
"Which was the worst?"

The fearless five

"This one," they anwered in unison after seeing "Nut Job 2." "The blue squirrel wouldn't have still been alive after he dropped off the building. They are just little animals. They can't take down a roller coaster! They wouldn't do those things!" said my various critics.
I never did get a definitive answer on the movies. They are realizing that their choices are limited to second-run flicks and they can't expect a blow away show.
Sometimes when we go in past the display advertising they want to know when they're going to see something new.
Sometimes they ask if we can come back to something just released.
Most of the time, though, they are just happy to spend time with each other and away from home.
And they agree on the important things. They like the top of the theater last row of seats. They like Twizzlers and Skittles and chocolate in their treat sacks. They like the little cans of pops.
They're happy with a little blanket to snuggle under.
They don't like screaming babies or tall guys sitting in front of them. They don't understand why some kids run around the theater.

And they want Grandma' Movies to go on forever.

Buying Hawaiian

Just a note: If you are in Hawaii and looking for authentic Hawaiian clothing or food, look no further than the Costco in Maui.

Meant for Kari

We had been searching the island stores for something for Marc for a couple of days. He had some white Hawaiian duds for the family wedding but he wanted something casual.
Every shirt we looked at was either too much money or not anything any different than what we could buy here at home at Kohl's.
Then a family member suggested we go to Costco to get the chocolate-covered Macadamia nuts we wanted to take back as gifts. (They ended up as a big lump of melted chocolate after a day in the car trunk. But that's another story.)
We headed over somewhat skeptically because, after all, we spend way too much time here in American Fork at Costco.
Were we surprised and impressed!
This store had everything Hawaiian and at good prices.
We found the Macadamia nuts, a pair of shorts, a shirt for Marc and all kinds of goodies.
We marveled at our "luck."
The only problem was in our limited carry-on space luggage. We had to pare down the bundle of clothes we wanted to buy.
We'll simply have to take bigger cases when we go back to replace our melted
nuts.
(Editor's note: Costco isn't paying me for this commercial although if they want to drop me some cash, I'll take it!)