Carrying on about Avalon in the Avalon

Not long ago we took a weekend trip to Catalina Island, which was overall a beautiful time of making memories in a beautiful place, even in spite of the COVID-19 fears and precautions we had to take (in addition to our masks, shields, and hand-sanitizer, we brought Lysol wipes for our hotel room, and we skipped out on swimming in light of LA County beach closures).  On our first full day we took a late morning hike from Avalon Bay to near the top of Mount Ada.  The beautiful views and the wonderful opportunities for conversation notwithstanding, our kids complained much of the way, enough for me to mentally re-name the mountain "Mount Queja" (Spanish for "Whining").   

Near the top I even had to carry Evangelina (my little athlete?!) on my back...

Thankfully, we did have some fun and even beautiful moments on that hike...

The next afternoon we rented one of the ubiquitous golfcarts which we'd so enviously looked upon the previous day, and the kids were hooting & hollering & smiling from ear to ear as we drove the same exact route we had hiked.  I had to admit that it was pretty fun driving that buggy up the mountain so much faster than we had trekked the day before!

Back on the mainland later that day when driving (our real car -- the Avalon, Evangelina pointed out!) home from San Pedro (our first time through that port), I asked the kids what was their favorite part of the weekend.

Jadon answered, "My favorite part was the pedal boat and the hiking."

I couldn't help but be surprised, "What?  Your favorite part was the hiking?  How can that be, with all that complaining?"

Jadon had an interesting way of seeing it: "Well, because it gives me bad memories, but then because it was with my family, it gives me good memories!"

Generating numbers

Recently Jadon was doing some calculations that reminded me of how much I longed to be a father (& believe or not, how I look forward even now to be a grandfather -- obviously I'm far behind "schedule"):

"I'll have my first child when I'm 19, and they'll have kids when they're 19, so I'll be a grandfather when I'm 38.  Then my grandchild will have kids when they're 19 too, so I'll be a great-grandfather when I'm 57, and a great-great-grandfather when I'm 76, and a great-great-great-grandfather when I'm 95!  Ha-ha!  I'll be a great-great-great-grandfather when I'm 95!"

He might have gone on with the numbers beyond 95, but what struck me is that he was excited about having kids and raising a large family, and was unashamed to share it with us.  At first he used 18 as his base number for calculating, but I had to remind him that he needs to marry first (I guess when he's 18) before his wife gestates and bears the child about a year later!

It also reminded me of an obituary I wrote for myself as part of a high school assignment: while I forget all the numbers, I wrote that I would be over 110 years old, surrounded by masses of great-grandchildren (possible great-great-grandchildren, too).