Most people my age have left town for a warmer climate by now. Some go for months; others, for a week or two. When asked if we'll be taking a vacation, my husband and I chuckle, saying we talk about a get-away. Talk is cheap, you know.
     Through his work, my hubby recently earned reward points entitling him to choose merchandise from an online catalog-a gas grill, luggage, even vacation accommodations. Scrolling through the site, a feeling of wanderlust came over me. We could head east to the Big Apple or Chicago's Miracle Mile. But the Gulf of Mexico, with its fresh sea food and Dillard's department store, called my name. We had enough points for five days in a Florida beach hotel.
     "Let's go," I suggested, as we perused the website.
     We'd acquired enough airline miles for one free ticket and the accompanying passenger fare was affordable. A rental car would be needed to visit far-flung Florida relatives. The dog would have to be boarded, too. After hours spent on hold, gathering information and corresponding costs, I was exhausted.
     "That's enough for me," I said. "Planning a trip wears me out. It feels like we've gone and come back already." My spouse agreed it made more sense to stay home, reasoning our weather had been so mild, going south wouldn't be much of a change.
     Then the storms hit, bringing piles of snow, harsh winds and biting temperatures. We needed a pick-me-up, after all; someplace tropical with bright blue water, flamingos, and lush foliage. Palm trees. With this in mind, last Sunday we made our way slightly northwest to the best vacation spot we could think of: the Minnesota Zoo.
     One son, his wife, and their three young children journeyed with us. For a third of the price of that airline ticket, we renewed our membership to include all our grandchildren. Armed with brochures and timetables, our first stop was Discovery Bay because one granddaughter professed her love for sharks.
     We rubbernecked on the monorail as the safari guide pointed out bison, camels, tigers, and antelope. We disembarked just in the nick of time. The dolphin show was about to begin. Our seven-year-old grandson chose front row seats, hoping to get splashed.
     After the performance, we were hungry for ice cream, cotton candy, and Grandpa's favorite, tiny chocolate chip cookies. We strolled along the indoor walkway, as if on an ocean boardwalk, and looked for souvenirs. Who could resist a machine that flattens your penny into a copper keepsake? For only two quarters.
     Approaching the Tropics, sounds of the rain forest greeted us. A very noisy jungle water fowl honked a greeting. In the middle of the garden paradise's orchids and hibiscus, the long-armed Gibbons performed their gymnastic feats.
     "Take a picture of the dragon," my grandson suggested, even though we both agreed the endangered Komodo's coloring mixed so well with his habitat we may not find him once the photo is developed.
     Unfortunately, our allotted vacation time began to run out before we could take in all the sights. We hurried to the final attraction, the gift shop, where our grandchildren selected mementos-plush stuffed Gibbon monkeys with stretchy rubber arms.
     Certainly, it wasn't our first time at the zoo in Apple Valley. Each journey is a new adventure when seen through the ever-changing perspective of growing grandchildren. I'll bet my flat-as-a-pancake souvenir penny that Dillard's department store in Florida doesn't sell memories like the ones we made last Sunday.