When I was born, my dad’s parents had started the travel years – the RV, the RV clubs, every national landmark in the country on their list, plus most of the campgrounds between. Mom tells me Grandma wrote in her journal every day until recently. I read an entry once, written during the travel years. It was on August 3, 1976. It was only a few sentences – where they
This is Mr. Grubbs. He’s Grandpa to me, Pap to many, and Clifford officially. He’s loved by everyone who knows him. And apparently if you go with him to Lambert’s at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night, complete strangers will pay for the meal. She was a friendly stranger though with long, pretty reddish hair. She walked right up to Grandpa while we waited with the masses on Lambert’s porch.
So, I’m not sure it was the smartest thing to start a new job right at the beginning of summer vacation. Have I already mentioned that? I was used to sticking headphones in my ears while the boys played around me. It was easy to tune out their cartoon commentaries and frequent hunger pangs (very frequent hunger pangs) when I was listening to a physician in my head set. It’s