by Karon -

The Beauty of an Ordinary Week

This week gave me nothing extraordinary to write about, yet it has been full and rich in all the right ways.

I am currently back at my son’s place—my nomadic home base.

It has been a slow-paced week of Legos, flower picking, and imaginary play. I’ve been immersed in the ordinary lives of my three grandsons. In just nine short days, I’ve watched a jiu jitsu class and a flag football game, taken a quick trip to Palestine for lunch and a hike through the annual fairy garden trail, and simply been present for everyday moments.

On the drive to Palestine, we told stories about them when they were little, their dad when he was little, and even a few stories from my own childhood. We laughed at silly things and listened to favorite songs. It was one of those simple days that means more than you expect.

This week, I’ve also been trying to walk at least ten minutes after most meals, along with a longer walk on many days. I’ve been sorting through a few things too, hoping to travel lighter on my next trip.

And I’m loving the freedom of not being weighed down by things.

This new life didn’t just change where I lived—it changed how I live.

I now lean into things that I used to think were flaws. Like being an introvert. I savor that time alone to recharge. I used to push against that and now I embrace it.

A few days ago I sat in the sunshine by the lake and just felt the warmth on my skin and listened to the gentle sounds of nature. I no longer feel the need to rush.

With the fast-paced life of teaching as just a memory now, I can fully breathe. I am deeply content with traveling and living alone. Having the space to breathe allows me to savor the moments with family and friends.

I’ve roughly planned the next several months: Colorado, New Mexico, North Carolina, and stops in between. I’m excited for what’s ahead. I am envisioning mountain hikes, lakes, and room to embrace slow travel. There will be time alone and some visits with family and friends.

But for right now, I’m grounded in the moment, with two more weeks here with my grandsons. I’m treasuring these days of sitting outside to watch the sunrise, hearing the rain on the roof, and listening to them play nearby.

by Karon -

A Week in Bandera: All of Us Together

For a couple of months, I had been thinking about this week.

Planning it. Imagining it. Holding it quietly in my mind.

A week in Bandera, Texas— a former home. A place where my kids grew up, where school days and ordinary routines once filled our lives. I pictured the things we would do, the places we would return to, the feeling of stepping back into something familiar.

And then it came.

And just as quickly, it was gone.

Isn’t that the way with the moments we look forward to the most? They arrive with so much anticipation, and then they pass in a blur, leaving behind something harder to name.

Amy and Corey stayed the full week with the boys, while Ryan and Jackie were only able to be there for a few days. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that, for a little while, all five of my grandsons were together.

And not just them—but all of us.

There is something incredibly special about having your children and their families in one place at the same time. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you feel it. In the noise, in the laughter, in the simple act of everyone sitting around the same table. It meant more than I can fully put into words—and I know it meant just as much to my mom to see everyone together.

There is something about that—watching them run, play, eat, and just be together—that settles into a place deeper than memory. It’s not just what we did. It’s what it felt like to witness it.

We filled our days, of course.

An Easter egg hunt and picnic with my mom. Another day, we picked her up and took her with us to Wildseed Farm, followed by a quick stop at one of Fredericksburg’s many wineries. A cousin dropped in for a visit, adding another layer to the gathering. These weren’t big, dramatic moments—but together, they created something full and rich.

We walked into town, slipping easily into the rhythm of Bandera. Lunch at the OST, still standing as it always has. Ice cream from the General Store. Trying on cowboy hats at the Cowboy Store, because how could we not?

Down by the river, the little boys threw rocks and sticks into the water, completely content in the simplest of ways. Nearby, my oldest grandson and his dad went for a swim. Different ages, different ways of experiencing the same place—but all part of the same memory being made.

We visited the Bandera Natural History and Art Museum and its dinosaur walk—something added after we moved away more than ten years ago, so it was new to us. It was really fun, and honestly felt a little unexpected in a small town known as the “Cowboy Capital of the World.” A reminder that even the places we once knew so well continue to change.

And breakfast at El Jacalitos—the “little shack” that isn’t so little anymore—still serving the kind of breakfast tacos that somehow taste like both the past and the present.

It was a full week. A busy week.

But more than that, it was a reminder.

That places hold stories, but they don’t stay the same.

That time moves forward, whether you’re ready or not.

And that sometimes the most meaningful moments aren’t the ones you plan—they’re the ones you feel while they’re happening, knowing, even then, how fleeting they are.