Years ago, when we used to “Do the Puyallup,” one of our favorite bands was The Shop whose trademark song was “You can’t have too much fun.”

I’m here to tell you, you can.  It’s Tuesday.  My body thinks it’s Monday.  As for my brain?  It’s out there on some other day, because we had ourselves quite a weekend.

Last Thursday, several kids and grandkids flew into Vegas.  We drove from Tucson and met them there.  We stayed at the Palazzo.  On Friday two of the granddaughters had Junior Olympics gymnastic meets—one at eight in the morning and the other at six that night.  They both placed 6th over-all.  Watching those girls on the bars and beam is to see a thing of beauty.  When Audrey and Celeste came into our lives through two separate orphanages in China, the idea of watching them do outstanding gymnastics performances wasn’t something that crossed my mind.

On Saturday, our grandson, Colt, had a Junior Bowling League Tournament.  He’s ten and was in competition with kids up to age 21.  He’s a handicap bowler—this has something to do with math and nothing to do with a physical disability.  Please remember I’m a Liberal Arts Major.  The Saturday tournament started at noon.  I figured we’d be out in plenty of time to make it to Chef Ramsey Steak at the Paris Hotel.  That was erroneous thinking on my part because he made it into the semifinals.  Even then, we would have been okay, had the bowling tournament not been at Texas Station in the wilds of North Las Vegas.  Getting a cab from Texas Station is not easy.  The one we got the first day made it to the restaurant but only via a hair-raising!!! ride.  And because we were tardy to the dinner, that made getting to our 7 PM Cirque de Soleil theater performance at Bellagio a real challenge.  A hike!  A sprint!  And we made it.  All those thousands of steps Bill and I have taken in the last eight months served us in very good stead.

Why Chef Ramsey Steak?  Because all the grands are Master Chef Junior fans.  Going there was our family’s way of celebrating the fact that Cold Betrayal hit the NYTimes list—thanks to all you readers out there who made THAT happen!

On Sunday it was back to Texas Station.  This time the tournament started at 10.  A couple of hours and we’re done, right?  Wrong!  Because Colt made it into first the semi-finals and finally the finals.  He finished third.  It was amazing to see him out there, cool as a cucumber, bowling with kids who were eight and nine years older than he is.

Colt had his own cheering section—mom, aunt and uncle, grandparents and cousins as well as a family of cousins from my first marriage—people I hadn’t seen in more than thirty years and people Colt had never met.  Once again, getting back to the Strip from Texas Station proved to be challenging, especially since we needed two cabs and a drunk staggered out of the casino and hijacked the first of the two cabs we ordered. The drunk got in a shoving match with a deputy on the scene and was told to get in the cab and leave or go to jail.  We had to call for another cab.

That evening we went to see the Blue Man Group.  They were hilarious.  Having purchased 8 tickets must have put me on the top of their list because, during the audience warmup, I was called out by name as “having a headache.”  The grands will be talking about Grandma’s headache cure from now on.  It’ll be right up there with my being dunked during the gondola ride in Venice.  But I’m not complaining.  After all, memories really are made of this.

Yesterday we drove home, stopping off at the new location of my favorite Mexican restaurant in Phoenix, La Piñata.  It’s on 7th Avenue, just north of Missouri.  It used to be at 19th and Osborne—that’s where it was when I first went there, but the deterioration of the neighborhood necessitated a move.  If you’re in Phoenix and haven’t tried it, go and tell Peter Bugarin, the owner, that I sent you.  But remember, you need to approach it from the south in the right hand lane because, as near as I can tell, no one is allowed to turn left across 7th Avenue at any time for any reason.

And now we’re home.  My mother used to refer to herself as an SOG with PIP—a Silly Old Grandma with Pictures in Purse.  What does that make me?  An SOG with PIB—pictures in blog?

Now having had all that fun, we’re back home and it’s time to go to work.  That won’t be easy.

I had no idea having fun could be so much work!