It was magical.
There were five of us. My two daughters, a daughter-in-law, a friend who’s a Disney pro, and me–not quite a rookie, but not as seasoned as our friend.
I wanted to make memories that would last–good memories for us to carry with us. I felt so thankful to be there with them.
We had wonderful meals, drank tea, and ate lavish desserts. We laughed. We talked. And we walked. And walked some more.
We spun around the Carousel of Progress that I’d ridden on at the New York World’s Fair in 1965. We met one daughter’s favorite princess–Mary Poppins. We reveled in the Magic Kingdom fireworks and light show.
In Epcot, we soared around the world. Europe and Asia showed us pieces of their respective cultures. America sang incredible music. My younger daughter met her favorite princess–Alice.
Magical, but not perfect.
We ducked into England to buy rain ponchos. Then we sat under the awning at France waiting for the storm to pass. I ate a crepe with ice cream that hadn’t gotten too soggy with rain as I ran for shelter. My older daughter prompted us to fits of laughter.
The rain ended and we went to Germany for caramel treats.
Later that evening, our room had the mood of a slumber party.
The next day, we met my sister-in-law who lives a thousand miles from us. As a surprise, she brought along her grown son and his wife. Cousins meeting and meshing for the first time since they were small.
We shared a simple lunch and glimpses of our lives.
It could have happened anywhere. But it happened where the vision of a remarkable optimist came to be.
We saw the magic of imagination and wonder. But there was more than magic. There was the God-gift of time and fellowship–bigger than magic, better than pixie dust.
In the simplicity of what we shared, there was a communion of love and memory. Memories we carried there and new ones to hold and convey.
Magical. But more.
Photo Credit: Pixabay
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