Yesterday the family decided we had had enough with the tears and sadness, so some of us drove from Houston to Galveston to play on the beach for a while. The island has been cleaned up a lot since Ike wreaked his havoc there, so much so we almost forgot the storm happened.

After chasing the surf for a while and looking for sand dollars — no luck — we decided we would get a bite to eat. We were in the mood for pizza, so we asked our friendly GPS voice to find us a pizza place to go to. When “Mama Theresa’s Flying Pizza” was mentioned the kids got excited. “Will the pizza’s really fly?”

I figured, probably not, but it might be a place that throws pizzas, and that would be fun for the kids to see. So we had the GPS guy give us directions to find the restaurant.

What we didn’t realiize was that we would have to get on a ferry to go to Port Bolivar. But, hey, that was just another adventure. So we went with the flow — pun intended – and took the ferry.

Then we had to drive about 15 miles to the restaurant. As we went along, we saw more and more devastation from Ike still apparent, and just before the GPS said to turn into the restaurant, my daughter said, “What if it isn’t there any more?”

Sure enough, there was nothing left of Mama Theresa’s Flying Pizza but a cement slab and a sign. We all piled out of the two cars we had been caravaning in, had a good laugh, then headed back.

So, what was supposed to be an hour stop for dinner before heading back to Houston, turned into a four hour adventure that was a lot more fun for the first hour or so. By the time we got dinner and returned to our hotel, we were all exhausted.

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