Greenville
WINTER 2025
Life
PUBLISHER
Lisa Chappell
This column counts as my summer vacation
FROM THE EDITOR
Kent Miller
EDITORIAL CONTENT
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Seems I’ m not much of a summer vacation guy these days. An understaffed office, a tight budget and a lack of energy are probably most to blame. That and the fact I’ m saving up my vacation, personal and sick days from work to splurge on … recovery time from my upcoming knee replacement surgery. Yay me!
Some people plan trips to Paris or Tahiti. I’ m planning a trip to the orthopedic wing of the hospital, followed by a weeklong stay at the luxurious Resort de Recliner with all-inclusive perks like daytime television and ice packs. Five stars, would recommend – if only because I’ ll be too sore to get up and rate it any lower.
But before my joints turned traitor, I did have some solid vacation cred.
I’ ve got fond memories of family trips growing up – a summer in Colorado where we stayed in a fancy log cabin( translation: it had indoor plumbing), multiple jaunts south of the border to visit the shops in Mexico and countless camping excursions to Mustang Island in South Texas where we learned that sunscreen is more of a suggestion than a guarantee.
And of course, every vacation had its rituals. For example, my older brother had a tradition of buying a marble chess set in Mexico. I had a tradition of accidentally destroying it. Every. Single. Time.
Funny aside: He kept buying them, like he believed in second chances. I kept breaking them, like I believed in gravity and clumsiness. The last chess set didn’ t even make it home – meeting its demise in a Brownsville hotel room while our parents were out for dinner. Funny aside to the funny aside: My brother, in a fit of rage and sibling justice, chased me barefoot through the hotel parking lot. I was six years old, fueled by fear and guilt. He caught me once but lost his grip. I darted off like a cartoon character.
Mom and dad came back from dinner to find their youngest son missing and a hotel room that looked like it had hosted a Greco-Roman chess match. Naturally, she assumed I’ d fallen into the Rio Grande and been eaten by an alligator.( Because what else would you assume when one child is missing and another is muttering about pawns and vengeance?)
Eventually, I emerged from my expertly concealed hiding spot behind an ice machine expecting a hero’ s welcome for my stealth skills. Instead, I got grounded and couldn’ t sit comfortably for two days. That was my first lesson in comedic timing: always know when the punchline is coming … and who’ s delivering it.
As an adult, my vacations have been fewer and farther between. Turns out, vacation trips just aren’ t the same when you’ re the only one singing off-key road trip songs in the car. I’ ve been to a few places but these days, it’ s mostly get-aways with Cassie and Zoey, my two spoiled rescues. They don’ t pack well and they sometimes get car sick but they never complain about my playlist and they always let me pick the restaurant( drive-thru).
So yeah, family vacations have escaped me for now. But who knows? Maybe post-surgery, I’ ll hobble my way to a new destination. Somewhere with cool breezes, soft chairs and absolutely no chess sets in sight.