Today was the Team Logan Bake Sale. Abby and I flew all the way from home in Northern CA to Orlando yesterday, and then it was on to New Smyrna Beach this morning for the big event.
It's not a confession I want to make, but I had a bevy of concerns and fears about coming, and those qualms kept me from even making travel plans until 10 days ago. I mean, what if it didn't pan out well? What if no one showed up? What if there weren't enough cookies and cakes and candies to sell? What if I left feeling like Logan had been forgotten, or worse, like no one cared to get to know the amazing person he was?
But of course, all of my fears were just that: fears. And as the worm turned, none of them came to pass. Kathy and her team of local volunteers were completely on top of every single detail. (Or at least it sure seemed that way!) The people here are wonderfully friendly and, well, delightfully Southern: kind, patient, funny. Plenty of folks showed up to buy what we were sellin', and I was truly humbled to see arms overflowing with goods headed for the check-out line. These people know what it means to be generous. Not one of them --not a single one, save Abby and myself-- ever met Logan in person, yet somehow, they knew him. They got him and his plight, and they gave cheerfully to help others. And I'm grateful for that. For all of it.
I think Logan would've liked New Smyrna Beach. I think he would've adored the car show that's held each month. They close down Canal Street and park along the sides of the road. And people stroll along, checking out car after car after car. He would've loved checking out the makes and models and telling me which ones he wanted to have when he grew up. He would've liked shaking his groove thang to the music. He would've pointed out every flame job and every Corvette.
And he would've had quite the task at hand, because I've never seen as many Corvettes in a single day as I did today. They were everywhere. On the road from Orlando. In parking lots. At stop lights. Riding along the coast. At the car show. Blue, red, yellow, black, orange, white. So many that Abby and I eventually lost count. But I took photos. Lots and lots of photos. Not because I think he was those cars, but because I can hear his chirpy voice exclaiming Look! A Corvette! every time I see one.
And if he can't be here with us physically, there's nothing better than a good memory. After all, no other mechanism can provide a glimpse of an uncomplicated past when we were simply a mom and her sunny little boy playing a game of Name that Car.