Opening Mom’s worn journals feels like wrapping yourself in a cozy blanket of memories—her words, written in blue ink, pull you right into the warmth of our family’s road trip adventures. Each page is a little hug from her, filled with love and laughter from a life that was as unique as it was beautiful.
Our family had a special hustle going—running a little business refurbishing and selling appliances right from our backyard or parking lots. It was a labor of love, and those days shaped us, with Mom at the heart of it, keeping things humming along. Every winter, we’d pack up and head from Minnesota to California, chasing the sun, then make the return trip back north in the summer. Those long drives were our rhythm, and Mom often journaled about our trips, turning the miles into stories we could hold onto.
She starts one entry with a stop at an A&W Root Beer stand, noting a $6.18 German bratwurst. Crossing into California at 7:30 PM, jotting down $9.80 for tangelo grapefruits and $3.59 for dates. She even mentions the time shifting to 3:15 PM after driving 76 miles from San Diego, capturing the heartbeat of our journey.
On the next page, she describes the chaos we'd sometimes have, “Mama screaming at Dad & Kids,” but then she adds, “I guess we are doing OK,” with that gentle reassurance she always had. The loose battery causing her some worry, and grumbles a bit about the not-so-great food at Terry’s—though she lights up mentioning an old recipe that made it better. The weather weaves through her story too—rain in Lordsburg, New Mexico, and a playful sun that keeps peeking out, teasing us with no
Arizona crossing just yet.
Then there’s Bobby’s birthday on the road, shared with birthday spankings bent over the seat - I can just imagine her chuckling as she writes this. The trip continues with stops for $4.00 food and $3.74 gas, more rain, and a few sunny breaks as we near Lordsburg again. Her words capture it all—the little costs, the changing skies, and the love that held us together.
Mom passed away young, leaving these journals as a precious gift. They’re more than a travel log—they’re a piece of her heart, brimming with her warmth, her quiet strength, and the joy of our family’s journey, bumpy roads and all. Through her words, she’s still with us, guiding us back to those sunny California winters and the Minnesota summers we loved. - Miss you, Mom
