Vacations are wonderful, and the memories last forever. That's why you decided to keep a diary of this year's trip to the Oregon coast. For your edification and enrichment, here are excerpts:

Saturday: Board jet in St. Louis. Sit and sit and sit. Turns out the plane had to wait for a connecting flight from Atlanta. Surely there are other airplanes. Last passengers finally board. Husband-wife traveling from Cairo (the one in Egypt) are seated one row back. They complain and moan (loudly) about how they nearly missed the flight to Oregon and it's all the airline's fault. Then they brag about how where they live in Egypt has a swimming pool, tennis court, golf course. Even their houses were prefabricated in the U.S. They have lived there 20-plus years. Have never talked to an Egyptian. You wish you hadn't had to listen. Too bad they didn't miss the flight. Next time bribe the gate attendant.

Sunday: Wake up. Looks like you slept late, like you're supposed to on vacation. After you have breakfast you realize there is a two-hour time difference. You actually got up at dawn. Spend most of the day gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Pacific surf crashing against the rocks. The tide is out. Later you notice it is in. Your wife spots a whale spouting a couple of hundred yards offshore. Much looking through binoculars. Have dinner in the small coast town's only nice restaurant, a place where you ate 23 years ago the first time you visited. Food (especially seafood) still good. It is your official 30th anniversary celebration. Wedding, not birthday. You wish.

Monday: Wake up. Try to make mental calculation about time change. Too much effort. You walk a mile to the only grocery store, which also has newspaper rack. It's empty. Walk another quarter-mile to only other known newsrack. Also empty. Walk back. Look for whale. Younger son (personal chef for this trip) visits fish market. Prepares scrumptious dinner. Look through binoculars for whale.

Tuesday: Wake up. Don't care about time change any more. Drive to grocery story for paper. Eureka! Rest some more (driving in Oregon takes a lot out of you). Chef Brendan whips up a vat of clam chowder and a pan of cornbread. More rest after dinner (eating in Oregon takes a lot out of you).

Wednesday: Wake up. Walk to grocery store for paper. Another jackpot. Drive to nearby town with fishing harbor for more fresh seafood. Eat seafood at bookstore with fancy restaurant. Drive back. Rest.

Thursday: Wake up. Drive to paper rack. Drive back. Watch for whale. Eat more seafood. Tide keeps going out and coming in fairly regularly. Locals don't even notice, which is why their Fourth of July fireworks got flooded when you were there two years ago.

Friday: Wake up. Go back to sleep. What the heck. It's a vacation. Wake up again. Walk to get paper. Crossword puzzles are getting harder. It's a plot. Look for whales. Crossed-eyed seagull has learned to wait for handouts on the deck railing. Maybe it's the same one that flew onto the deck last year and couldn't leave. It didn't understand vertical take-off. Eat more seafood (mostly leftovers from the rest of the week). Rest. Getting to the point where resting makes you tired, so you rest some more.

Saturday: Get ready to leave. Watch for whales. Rest. Pick up paper on the way out of town. Son the chef is now son the chauffeur. Work on crossword in back seat. Rest. Arrive in town at the foot of Mount Hood where your wife's niece lives. Children are excited. Long visit. Rest. Decide to go out for Chinese -- first meal that isn't seafood in a week. Head for airport (about to learn why they call them redeye flights). Wait. Wait. Wait.

Sunday: It is 1 a.m. Plane is ready to leave. Pilot announces he won't be talking to us during the flight, because there is nothing to see out the window at night. Seems to think passengers can't figure that out for themselves. Pray the whiners aren't ready to go back to Egypt. Plane takes off. Try to sleep. Try to rest. Try to make pain in lower back go away. Cabin attendant announces the pilot is turning up the heat because there aren't enough blankets to go around. It is sweltering. Good preparation for Missouri. Drive back to Cape Girardeau. Still in rest mode. Nearly drive off the interstate. Home at last. Younger son heads off for Kansas. Older son, who missed the vacation, arrives from St. Louis airport in rental car. Locks keys in car. Locksmith uses coat hanger. Short visit. Older son heads back to Boston. Vacation is over. Need rest.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.