A dude in Buzzy’s Country Store was lamenting having to drive several hours on Christmas Eve to go see his folks up in Pennsylvania and be “home” for Christmas. (I parenthesized home because the guy noted that while PA is not his home, he still has to make the trip up there because his folks moved there several years ago to be near his sister.)
It made me realize how thankful I am that I live where I live. With the exception of my two daughters, one in Hawaii and one in San Diego, all of my other immediate family members are right here in the Southern Maryland area near me.
My Mom at 88 has gotten to the point where she won’t venture out to be anywhere other than her home on the holidays. That means that on any given holiday I will make the Piney Point to Ridge trip to see and visit her. I don’t mind doing so. She will always tell me “Honey, you don’t have to drive all the way down here just to see me on (fill in the holiday.)”
I tell her that I drive to Ridge every day to open Buzzy’s so it is not an issue for me to also do it on (fill in the holiday.) I will joke with her that it’s no big deal because “(fill in the holiday) is just another day to me.” That is always an inside family joke between us because her father Harry used to make that same comment on a holiday. (My Grandfather Harry lived alone and had a little bit of a hangdog way of looking at life.) Whenever I trot out the “just another day to me” line to Mom, she will always laugh along with me and say “Now, you sound just like Daddy.”
All of which makes me realize that I am not looking forward to when the time comes that I won’t have to go visit her anymore on any given holiday; but, as with other life passages, I will deal with that when I have to.
Nice little tune here about driving home for Christmas.