On to Macon

I asked those who appeared to be natives of the area: RV park service representatives, the guy wearing shorts and a fishing hat, who knew those working in the Taco Bell, the big woman who took my order, a customer, who turned out to be a Columbus, Ohio transplant, Brandon the dispatcher for road service, “What was best to see in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park?” It was apparent that I had made NO research on visiting the park. Much if not most of it is closed between December and April. The “loop 411” is definitely closed because of snow. Brandon noted, “That has engine brakes”. The parallel creases wrinkled on his forehead and flinting eye movement had a “Why would you want to do that look.”

I got back on I-40 and headed for Macon.

That trip was uneventful. The 60 to 90 minute bumper to bumper 2.5 mile per hour creeping through Atlanta was NOT an event.

My record of arriving after dark was intact.

Google took me to the back gate of the Lake Wildwood community. The security guard with gruff certainty declared I could not enter. He acknowledged that if he were not standing in my way I would be there in 30 seconds. Google with Siri as spokes woman took me on an excursion around the woods and back to the same gate from another direction. With Ray’s turn by turn instruction I one handedly steered the Riata Sonoma RV to my destination 45 minutes after my arrival.

I arrived on a Tuesday night and left on the following Tuesday morning. The one week visit with my sister, Cherilyn, made the entire multi-week excursion worth it.

We talked about all kinds of things. We switched from topic to topic and reminiscence shared. We sometimes compared the perspectives we each had from those long ago days, "when we were little".

She shared her guidance from Mom . And Mom’s continued presence with her. I shared my good bye with Mom. It was at times emotional. At times jovial. It was a sister-brother bonding. One memorable and valuable.

On Wednesday we dropped in on the Wednesday afternoon crocheting women’s group of Lake Wildwood. On this day there were eight women sitting in a circle in the multiracial group. Each had busy hands. All had something to say. Two were from Rhode Island. One was from from the entire corridor of Connecticut, from Bridgeport to New Haven to New London. She noted that she heard very little from any of those places in January. The northerners were jealous of her Macon weather. I could have remained engaged in conversation with any of them for much longer. Talking and laughter continued as we made our way past the men’s group comparatively quietly placing domino after domino.

Friday was Richard’s day off. We took the 40 minute drive to Gray Georgia.

Saturday was a shopping day. We each gathered items for our respective trips, vitamins from the drug store, a few groceries from Krogers.

Mostly we sat and continued the multi-topic conversations while we waited for Terry's visit. We must have been sitting on the bench down in back overlooking the lake when he did come by. Later we learned that he had come by then kept going.

Cherilyn had been treasurer of Martha Bowman United Methodist Women. She had resisted becoming the President. After meditation, prayer, and Mom's blessing she accepted. Normally it is a two year post then alternates to a new leader every two years. Now she was in her seventh year at the insistance of the members. Mom had held every position including treasurer and president at Catalina Methodist. Mom had also held offices at the district level too.

Sunday morning we arrived early. The choir warmed up voice 30 minutes before the service. She showed me to the third pew on the right, one sitting space in. Jackie would come in and occupy the aisle seat on my left. Cherilyn and the choir would come down from the choir loft after singing, and Cherilyn would sit on my right.

During the 30 minute interval before the beginning of the service many congregants came greeted and welcomed me. I introduced myself as Cherilyn Landry's brother. All knew the nice pleasant woman.

The last time I had attended a Sunday morning service it was with Mom, one of my biannual visits to Tucson at Catalina. Now we exited down the main aisle to the front of the sanctuary. We were stopped often along the way. Cherilyn was greetedevery few steps and I was introduced as her brother from Rhode Island.

Back at Catalina Mom was greeted all along the way to the office where she always had information to give to various people in the office and for those we met en route. Here at Martha Bowman it was no different than in Tucson with Mom. Some had to be reminded of the meeting. Others were reminded to turn in the numbers by a certain date. Then and now leadership was recognized and the organization functioned smoothly as a result. Cherilyn was correct. Like mother, like daughter.

Sunday afternoon went to Scott's in High Falls, Georgia for the Sunday barbeque.