My husband and I are counting down the days until our vacation. We call each other during the day to remind ourselves that warm breezes await us and breakfast on the balcony will be served every morning. Long days of walking on the beach, echoes of Spanish drifting in the sunshine and an after dinner stroll around the ship will join the memories we have of other vacations, other times together, away, relaxed. When I was a little girl my parents took a few vacations without my sister and I. These were working vacations for my father, conventions held at resorts in Puerto Rico, Arizona, the Bahamas. I remember their anticipation, their preparation with my father's suits fresh from the cleaners, my mother's outfits lightweight and coordinated, the suitcases waiting by the door. Mostly I remember when they came home. The smell of smoke on their clothes from the plane (this was a long time ago!), the smiles they had for each other, our time together as the routine of our family returned.
I mentioned these trips to my mother the other day. It took her a minute but she appeared to recall the memories. Appeared to remember. As I continue to build my memories, create times and save events it occurs to me that I not only carry my memories but now carry my mother's for her. How fortunate I am to have them.
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