When has anticipation been more inversely rewarded?

My sandal came off and I thought I’d never get out of the car to hug the Big Guy.

“That’s it,” I thought. “What else can possibly mess up this year?”

(Then, of course, I felt drenched in shame for whining about what really have been minor setbacks when compared with the suffering of the wives, mothers, grandmothers in the Middle East.)

But seldom has anticipation been so inversely rewarded.

What I mean is that the year 2006 was supposed to be one long delightful 50th wedding anniversary.

It wasn’t.

It started out well. I wanted us to indulge ourselves in an event that eludes many couples. For sure, as a child, I never imagined I’d reach such a far-off goal and still be on my feet.

Here’s the calendar:

March 25, 2006, exactly 50 years since we wed: A lavish reception in our church fellowship hall, thrown by about a dozen friends with over-active party hormones. About 250 people came to wish us well.

Daughter Jean actually flew down from Virginia, bringing her 2-and-a-half-year-old and 2-month-old sons. I got to show off grandchildren I never dreamed I’d beget. They spent about a week with us, and it was perfect, despite Samuel’s meltdown at the gate when AirTran inexplicably rescheduled their evening flight home to midnight.

July 9: Daughter Mary (finally) got off work at the Dortmund Opera and, with Significant Other Rainer (pronounced rye-ner, a.k.a. “the Big Guy”), arrived in Atlanta with enough luggage and camera equipment to produce a National Geographic cover story.

July 13: Boarded one of Delta’s 767s to fly nonstop to Honolulu. I sat there thinking how often I had visualized that moment. Our Adventure was beginning, and would be memorable because Dave forgot to check the two small Swiss Army knives he always carries. Used to carry.

Don’t be surprised if Hawaii shows up in future columns. Central to our time in Hawaii was a “Spirit of Aloha” cruise amongst the islands, bracketed by visits to botanical gardens, pineapple farms, flowers everywhere, historic spots, rugged mountain peaks and crashing breakers on rocky beaches.

Hawaii became the 50th state we have visited – seemed appropriate. The contrast between the big, busy capitol city and the rest of Hawaii’s mountainous geography was striking. No, breathtaking. Amazing.
We had several days for sightseeing after the cruise, and rented a car to explore the island and spend a few days on the North Shore. Rented a place sight unseen, with a bare-bones kitchen, a double bed and bunk-beds.

We knew the hostel had no air conditioning, but the humidity was less and the trade winds lived up to their South Seas hype. The rhythmic crashing of waves against the beach, the breeze clattering palm fronds – they lulled us to sleep despite the heat.

July 27: Returned to Peachtree City exhausted. Jet-lag. Washed and dried clothes, shopped and packed to meet Jean and her family at the cabins of Big Ridge State Park, Tenn.

July 31: She was on the road from Leesburg at 4:30 in the morning, got to Tennessee before we did. We chose the cabins (sight unseen again) back in springtime when it appeared impossible to need air conditioning in the Tennessee mountains. Mistake. Ceiling fans were inadequate.

The result? Precious Samuel, our firstborn grandchild and the reward I earned by being a good person for many, many years, had some mysterious rash and a low-grade fever, and was miserable much of the three days we were together. His big sister Abigail and big bro Isaac were dears, and his new baby brother at six months so sweet and easy-going.

This part of the Adventure was not so hot. Or rather, was too hot.
Imagine the clammy air and insufficient fan. Imagine how much fun for the older kids to take Samuel to the lake just 100 feet below the cabins.
Now imagine how disappointing it was when the park ranger came around and told them they could go in the water only at the “beach” where the mud and algae had turned the water to sludge.

Imagine one more thing while we’re at the cabins. Each bed had, in addition to smooth sheets and pillow cases, a crisp, plastic-covered mattress and pillow. By morning the sheets and cases were soaked.
August 3: Jean and entourage went back to Leesburg, and we turned southwest to take Mary and Rainer to visit the Jack Daniel Distillery in Lynchburg, Tenn., as well as Chattanooga and the Chattanooga Choo-Choo on our way home.

August 6: Enjoying last hours together until it was 2 p.m. and time to take the German contingent to catch the 4:20 flight to Dusseldorf.
Suddenly I, the designated driver, remembered an article saying Ga. Hwy. 74 would be closed in Tyrone on Sunday. We had no way of knowing how long the detour would take, so Dave recommended going through Fayetteville and up Hwy. 314.

“I’ve gone this way many times,” he said. “I know exactly how to do it. Just drive.”

I drove. Need I mention that we missed the obscure little right turn toward the terminal?

After which Dave said, “You should have turned back there. You’re on your own now.” We made a U-turn of sorts on Virginia Ave. and finally found Delta’s check-in entrance.

That’s where my sandal came off and I thought Rainer would get smashed by traffic, waiting for me to haul myself out of the car for a hug.

August 7: Mary called to say they had reached home just fine, except for the hour they say on Atlanta’s tarmac as traffic was rearranged to accommodate a change in wind direction.

At least the 777 had air conditioning.