Rear Window Shopping
Every spring, my wife, Leah, and I make the three-day pilgrimage to Sanibel Island, Florida, from Grand Rapids, Michigan. My favorite parts of the drive are the farms, the blue sky, and the trees just as they’re coming into bloom. For Leah, it’s the antique shops. Year after year, if we’re within 100 yards of an antique shop, a flea market, or a garage sale, her radar pings, her eyes pop wide, and I hear those dreaded words: “Let’s stop for just a minute.” On our last trip, she was asleep when I noticed a sign for a flea market, so I sped up, hoping to sneak past. I nearly got away with it. Then a voice from the passenger seat said, “Thought I didn’t see that one, didn’t you?”
—Paul Brinks Grand Rapids, Michigan
Cashing in a Rain Check
The heat was withering as we drove back to Iowa from camping in Montana. The temperature hit 97 degrees, so we rolled into the Spearfish campground in South Dakota at around 5:30 a.m. to shower. The office was locked, but we figured we could find someone to pay after we used the facilities. But the camp slumbered on.
Back on the farm, our crops suffered from 100-degree temperatures and lack of rain. It seemed every town but ours was getting soaked. But something else weighed on my husband’s mind. One morning, I found him writing a check. “I’ve been feeling guilty about not paying that campground,” Larry said. Four dry days crawled by until a glorious sound shook us awake. It was raining buckets! I said, “Honey, I think your check just got to Spearfish campground.”
—Patricia Olson Port Charlotte, Florida
Snap Judgment
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