by D.B. Uhlman

Created on: June 26, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

An Enchantment of Mind

I suppose everyone has a favorite childhood memory of a vacation they have been on and I am no exception. I grew up in Brooklyn, New York with the hustle and bustle that comes with city living. Most summers growing up, Mother and I would set off for Coney Island Beach with a pail, shovel, and brown bag containing our lunch. Oftentimes, the pick of the day was peanut butter and jelly but every now and again we would have potatoes and egg sandwiches. While the beach was fun it was always packed with bodies stretched out along the sands as far as the eye could see. There are only so many sand castles you can make, shells you can collect and waves you swim into over the years until those activities become stale. At the end of the day we would go home and shower find some mundane activities to pass the time. Don't get me wrong, those were good times but they were not my definition of a vacation until I found out what "vacation" should mean.

One year when I was about eight-years-old Mom and I packed up the car and set out on a journey that would take us 611 miles across highways, bridges and rural roads to our destination; St. John, Canada. You wouldn't think of Canada as being a deliberate vacation destination with all the beautiful tropical islands in the world to bask in the sun and put your toes in the sand. Grandma and Grandpa, only a few years earlier had purchased a huge beautiful summer home on an enormous piece of property in St. John. Pardon my oversized description of home and property. After all, I was eight-years-old. Everything looked huge and enormous to me at that age.

Anyway, when I arrived with Mother I found out that my best cousin, Angela, was already there. She had arrived only a day earlier than me and Mom. Grandma and Grandpa were both there too. Mom told me that I was going to be spending a month here with my grandparents and my best friend and cousin during this summer. I was thrilled. I was an only child and Angela was an only child. Since we lived fairly close to each other in Brooklyn we both got to spend enough time together playing so it was only natural that we became close like two sisters. Angela was a year younger than me and quite a few inches shorter too; I was very tall for my age.

Mom stayed the night and then drove home the next day. She kissed me before leaving and told me to mind my Grandparents and to always remember what she would tell me to do if she were with me. This was mom's way of keeping me

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