Last week, I intended to write a post about my Dad’s fortieth birthday, which we celebrated ten years ago. All seven of us flew to Wisconsin to visit his parents, and I particularly remember the cake we bought. We took a gorgeous family picture, all of us in black dresses and tuxedos, at a dining table in the middle of a field, with fall trees behind us. I then planned to mention how he would be turning fifty this coming weekend and there was going to be a big party in Las Vegas. My whole family was going to be there, including my grandparents, except for me and Bart.
It would have been a great post – loving, nostalgic, touching. You would have laughed and cried.
Fortunately, you were spared by my mother who emailed me on Wednesday morning to announce they had just received two Southwest round trip tickets through my dad’s credit card and would we like to fly out?
I replied, “We’ll be there tomorrow.”
And we were. We spent three and a half lovely days in Las Vegas, surprising my sisters and brother-in-law, who didn’t know we were coming, dressing up for Halloween, and celebrating my Dad’s birthday in style.
It was a fantastic weekend, and I am unbelievably glad not to have missed it.