The Enroute Saga

Doesn't that bed look inviting? Imagine how inviting it looked after a day like this:

10-16-07: Up at 6:30 with a short laundry list of things to do. Packing is about finished, but there are always those few odds and ends to wrap up, either with the packing or with the house or the food or anything else that might suffer if it wasn't handled pre-vacation.

Our flight is scheduled to leave at 6:40 the following morning. From OKC we'd fly to Denver and after a short layover, on to Seattle, where we'd arrive a little after 10 in the morning and have the rest of the day to play. Therefore the finalized plan was for my sisters and my mom to come by and pick me up at 4:15 in the morning to head to Will Rogers World Airport. 4:15. AM.

10-17-07: When I hit midnight I figured there really wasn't much point in sleeping. I could do that on the plane and not force my sister to pound on the door and wake the entire house when I slept through my alarm. An alarm at 4:15 in the morning is, to my mind, a nightmare--something to sleep through.

Ds#2 thinks this is a grand idea. It's been a long time since we've shared a stay-up night. So we watched TV until there was nothing worth watching, then played dueling computers especially when I started to fade big time. I logged on on the home line, he on the computer line and whenever my typing slowed he'd nudge me on the live messenger and wake me up and laugh.

Finally it was time. My ride arrived, my luggage was stowed, final hugs and yes, we are really truly embarking on our great adventure.

We didn't know how much of an adventure.

Security wasn't a problem, though there were many more people there than I thought would be at that hour of the morning. We patted ourselves on the back for not listening to all the people who told us we didn't have to get there as early as we did, because we weren't the ones panicking at the back of the line. We sat at the gate for awhile, debated about whether or not we were hungry, laughed and watched the people come and go. Then we boarded and yay! we're all in the same row. Everything is grand. We didn't even mind that little announcement that said there was a small mechanical problem with the plane and as soon as it was taken care of we'd be on our way.

The small mechanical problem required another apologetic announcement or two before they told us ever so kindly that we were welcome to get off and have some breakfast, please stay near the boarding area for further announcements, and oh--take your luggage with you. At which point my sister became a prophet. "We're not getting back on this plane," she said.

We got some breakfast and went back to the boarding area to talk with a rather harried, but still amazingly good-natured employee who informed us that the mechanic wouldn't arrive until that afternoon, and we were welcome to wait and see if the plane took off then, but if we wanted to work with the airline to make alternate travel arrangements, then we'd have to go pick up our checked bags and then go to the ticket counter and they'd do what they could.

What they could do was an hour and a half wait in line. We started getting punchy at this point, especially the three of us girls, and you have to keep in mind that I have now been awake for over 24 hours. Lordy.

We get to the counter--literally the next to be helped--and the computers go down. Thankfully that was a short-term glitch. Every flight out of Oklahoma City is full because it is fall break. Which means the next best thing is being shuttled to Dallas--a 3 1/2 hour drive--and then flown out on a different airline on a non-stop flight to Seattle. Yay. The flight would take off at 7:30 that evening. From Dallas. To Seattle. Yay. Hey we were losing an entire day, but not an entire trip, so in the interests of keeping things upbeat, we packed in a blue airport shuttle and smiled.

We found ourselves grateful for the cell phone, so that we could call relatives and they could sit and wait at home instead of at the airport all day. We squished into the shuttle van with a businessman who talked on his phone most of the time through his headphones. I don't know if I'll ever get used to people looking straight ahead and carrying on a conversation with what looks like nothing. And we had another little lady passenger who sounded like she was from the Philippines, who was rather disgruntled with the whole process and didn't mind saying so. As if none of the rest of us were.

I think I fell asleep mid-complaint, because next thing I know we're getting off near Gainesville so the driver can fill up. Next stop is the airport. The headphoned businessman in the front seat had to tell the driver where to go; he'd never been to the Dallas airport before.

Finally! We find our way to the ticket counter. Of course they can't seat us together, but other than that, the bags get dropped off and we get in the security line and voila! Another adventure. Mind you we've changed airlines and there are after all four of us, probably wholly capable of taking out the airline crew and pilot, and by this stage in the game I'm sure we looked like terrorized terrorists. How many hours has it been now since I've been horizontal? I don't think I can count that high. Oh, wait, maybe I can while they pat me down and search every individual thing in every carry-on item I have. Times four to get all of us through.

In the interests of time, let's say we helped my sister get rid of a nasty headache, ate dinner at TGIF, and got on our plane, made it to Seattle in one piece. Out comes the trusty cell phone, and we're told to look for a blue Suburban circling the airport. On the ground of course. Oh, how good it was to see a familiar face.

The familiar face got us lost on the way home in the dark. By the time we got our luggage inside and up the stairs, and said goodnight, changed clothes, it was 2:00 AM Pacific Time. Translating to 4:00 AM our time. Which means it's been 24 hours since I started the travel part of the ordeal, 25 hours for them, and add to that my brilliant idea to stay up the night before. We laughed at dark, we were so fried.

My sisters elected to sleep on the two cots that were tucked into the room with the bed pictured above, which left the two oldest ladies, Mom and me, with the bed. Aren't they the sweetest sisters you'd ever want? Of course they are.

They just wanted comfortable seats for the show.

The bed--now go look again at how inviting that bed looks even when you're well rested--was too high off the ground for me to get into! It's tough to see in this picture, but the storage under the bed raises that thing close to four feet off the ground. Far too tall for me to swing a leg up onto then push off with the other. It was torture--inches away from blissful horizontal sleep, and yet so, so far away. Collapsing in giggles that made me weak wasn't helping much.

Mom wasn't faring any better. Our hostess had long since joined her spouse in a room somewhere in the house that we had no idea where it was. I finally used my suitcase to stand on, praying I didn't crush the thing and took a less-than-grateful leap, while my sisters helped Mom from behind, chanting, "Tuck and roll, Mom!"

There you have the most recent time I've laughed myself into a coughing fit. Every time I'd start to get control, I'd look over and see my mom shaking with laughter, and it would start up again. I fell asleep hiccupping. And praying I wouldn't need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Trying to Save a Fleeting Funny Moment....

These are the times I wish I could write our little family episodes down and have them come out like Karen McQuestion's do. But before this little moment is lost in all the other little ones to come, I have to try my hand at this.

The Players
Student-of-the-Quarter-award goldfish named Darlin'
One-for-sissy-too goldfish named Rainbow
Student of the Quarter: 7-year-old named GG
Sissy: GG's almost-four-year-old sister, BK
Nana: Grandma
Pop-Pop: Great grandpa

Note: Darlin' and Rainbow stay at Aunt K's house where they are more likely to live as long and healthy lives as possible, and where the girls can visit them often.

At this time, GG and BK are visiting Nana who lets them call Pop-Pop on the phone.

GG: So, how are our fish?
Pop-Pop: Those were the BEST little fish I ever had.
Pop-Pop hears a huge inhale and GG yelling (thankfully away from the phone speaker): NANA! Pop-Pop ATE our fish!!!
Pop-pop hears a tussle over the telephone receiver; BK wants a turn to talk to him. She finally wins. Pop-Pop waits anxiously to see what BK has to say about this fish episode.
BK's burning question: "Pop-Pop, did you fry them?"

Maybe you just have to hear the story first hand.

The Joy of Learning What You Love

I can’t remember where my love of travel began but the earliest trip I remember taking was with my parents and sisters to Cape Cod.

I believe I was six. For weeks before we went and for weeks after we got home, I was fond of pointing Wellfleet out on the map. That’s where we stayed.

If I could have pinpointed Holden Inn on any map, I would have. My Mom and Dad still have a black and white picture of the three of us sitting on a full-sized bed with an iron headboard in summer pjs, grinning from ear to ear. (cliché!) Today I wonder how many times Mom had sprayed us down to get rid of the sand.

The girl that took care of our cabin was an art student. A talented art student. My Dad is always eager to establish a pleasant connection with service personnel—it’s a great way to get great service--and he did it on this occasion as well. I don’t remember her name, but I remember her kindness to us girls. A couple weeks after we got home, we each received a post card from her, on which she had sketched each of us from memory and said how much she’d enjoyed our visit. It was excellent work. She also did a water color of the view from where we stayed for Mom and Dad. I wonder if they still have that.

There are a few things that stand out about the trip. One was the fact that I learned I loved cantaloupe. I was talked into trying it at breakfast the first morning and no one had to ask after the second day what it was I wanted with my breakfast. I still love cantaloupe.

I also remember the raft my dad bought to use on the water. Wide red and black stripes made him easily visible and I believe we took turns riding with him. It was a sturdy fabric inflatable raft. We owned it for years.

I remember that the water was horribly cold. Mom said, “It makes your teeth ache!” and so I stuck my feet in again to see if she was right. She was.

I also remember the sand dunes. They were huge. And compared with the water, they were wonderfully warm. I loved it. I’d loved the beach since I went to Long Island for the first time when I was three and was thrilled by the “huge sandbox.”

We hunted for shells. I’m sure there were times when we fussed and fought, and if I was six, it meant my sisters were three and one-and-a-half. Knowing what I know now about traveling with kids, my parents pulled off quite a trip. We lived in Philadelphia and we drove up there.

It rained our second-to-last day there and was forecast to continue for a couple days. I’m guessing, but I imagine my folks weren’t anxious to be stuck inside trying to entertain three young kids, so Dad elected to head home a day early. Dad called the desk and asked if, rather than refunding what he’d paid for the final night’s stay, he could take a couple towels home for a keepsake. They readily agreed, and were in fact a little shocked by the request. They said they counted missing towels as part of the CODB—cost of doing business. But they still kept the payment for the night we didn’t stay.

That’s how I learned to keep Holden Inn separate from Holiday Inn. It wasn’t uncommon for me over the next few weeks when recounting the wonders of cantaloupe, to make a dash for the bathroom to read the towels and be sure story of where we stayed was accurate. I’m sure my indulgent listeners (grandparents) got a chuckle out of that.

P.S. Out of curiosity I did a web search for Holden Inn. It's still there!!! The Holden Inn

To Grandmother's House

This is a house in which I spent a lot of time growing up.

I found the house itself intriguing as a kid. First I loved stairs, and this house had three stories worth of stairs. Of course, the third floor was usually off limits; it was the boy's domain. The girls and my grandparents had bedrooms on the second floor. The most time I ever spent at the top of the house was the last time I stayed there. I believe I was a teenager at the time; I wish I could remember the year. It was the easiest place to put houseguests, but it was still a storage area, and I did a lot of poking around up there in the mystery of my family--and by extension, myself.

There was a window at the first landing that you could sit in. I sat there a lot, and for some reason I can't remember now, my grandmother didn't like that much. Maybe she thought I'd somehow fall through the window and down two stories to my death. I don't remember. I do remember it dawning on me that last time I was there that the window was so thick because that was how thick the stone walls were. I spent hours and hours in an incredible house, and didn't even know it.

My focus then was a child's focus. I was there to play. I was there to beat my sisters to the Dutch doors and open them for the next visitor who came down the hallway from the front porch. The great-uncles were fond of giving us silver dollars and laughing too loud. Or my grandmother was yelling at us to shut the door after we'd clunked out to the porch to fight over who sat where on the porch swing.

From the little foyer area inside the Dutch doors, you could go straight through white French doors to the dining room. The dining room held a massive table. My grandfather was one of six children and my grandmother one of--gosh, have I forgotten???--was it eight? I actually could be wrong on both of those. Either way--he was from South Carolina, she was Russian, and one thing they both knew was how to fill a table. First the seats with lots of family and then the surface with wonderful things to eat. I can still see my grandmother at one end, flanked by unnamed great aunts and uncles, yammering away in Russian. I'd love to go back as an adult and pay more attention.

When I was there my attention was often on my aunts. They were twins, two years older than me. They were always trying to get me to tell them which one I like best. For the longest time I refused to say which a) because I truly didn't have a favorite, and b) even if I did I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feeling. Well they kept pressing me, so finally I hit on the idea that I'd tell each of them that I liked that one best. But they compared notes and found me out.

The other thing we did was convince my sister that there was a monster in the basement. The monster was really one of the twins in a closet making a horrible racket, and my sister had that pegged until we talked and talked and convinced her that the other aunt had gone down the street to visit a friend from school.

I remember having picnics in the back yard. My grandmother loved making us firecracker hot dogs, which consisted of the ends of a hot dog sliced about an inch or so down, six or eight different ways (so that if you looked down on the end, it looked a pie cut in several pieces) and then boiled which made the ends fray. We also spent a lot of time picking up twigs from the weeping willow tree so that one of my uncles could mow the yard. My aunts hated the job. I didn't think it was so bad because I didn't have to do it that often. As they grumbled and gathered, I was stupid enough to say something like "each stick we pick up brings us closer to the last one" to which I got a "then shut up and pick up" response. Philosophy doesn't always work very well.

My grandfather was either at the station--he owned a Gulf service station in Chestnut Hill--or in his chair in the corner of the living room sleeping. I never knew him. Even when I went back east with my sister to visit when I was 19, I didn't have the courage to sit him down and ask a zillion questions that I'd love to know the answers to now. I inherited my pack-rat tendencies from him. I remember seeing his desk several times, and it was stacked with piles and piles of papers. It made my grandmother livid when she had to sort through all that stuff after his death. I really need to get the clutter in my life taken care of.

There are lots of houses just like this one on East Graver's Lane in Chestnut Hill, PA. I find comfort in the fact that this one of the few that has been kept a single family dwelling. The people who are in it now, I understand, did quite a bit of remodel work on the inside. Sometimes I think I'd love to see it, but most of the time I think I'd rather just remember it.

Solitude

I know there's a quote out there, and I'm pretty sure it's one of Albert Einstein's that more elegantly speaks of the solitude so hated in youth being wonderful when you're older. I really need to find it again, because I'd love to do it in calligraphy for "my" room when I get it finished. (The old school room is being transformed, but very, very slowly.)

I have had the house to myself essentially since about 8:30 last night when R went to bed and DS#1 left for a friend's house. DS#2 had already left around 2:30, which also gave me an hour of peace and quiet yesterday afternoon.

What usually happens with these "free" days didn't happen with this one, I'm pleased to report. Usually I get a whole lot of nothing done, which shouldn't be disappointing--sometimes I think we need "nothing" on our agendas--but I generally think I'll write like a madwoman. Be totally immersed and churn out amazing stuff. Then I get sidetracked by heaven knows what. It's just there is so much I look forward to doing when I have a quiet house, that it takes so long to decide what comes first which takes up way too much of the quiet time in and of itself. I'm not making any sense.

Well this time it was a gift to finish taxes. I'm a lot closer. I'm planning on getting more closer before DS#2 arrives here in a few minutes. It was time for a break though, to check mail and connect with the world "out there." I feel like I've been cut off from everything and everyone. I didn't know it, but R took the phone off the hook last night when he went to bed, so that didn't ring (though I was a bit perturbed when I found out about it at 1:30 this afternoon with the kids out and everything. I hate to be unreachable.) Didn't turn on the TV or radio for quite some time. Eventually I put some favorite CDs on to help me gauge how long I'd worked by when the silence settled in. Then I made myself get up and move just to keep the blood circulating. I feel pretty good about what's done.

I was trying to remember the last time I had this many hours all on my own. I can't, which more or less tells me it's been too long.

Thing is, I don't really remember detesting solitude as a young person, but then again, I was dying to get married. Is that just a natural inclination or something that's "implanted" by the fact that everyone else does it. I had a lot of it as a single person living on my own, but I know I didn't treasure it like I do now. I don't remember detesting it, but I must not have liked it very much or why would I have changed it?

I was a lone wolf even when I was younger. My room was an easy place, away from strangeness (of being a "smart" Yankee in the Mid-South) or stress (usual family fare). I was perfectly content to spend an afternoon in my bedroom reading, writing, studying and emerging ocassionally to eat something. My sisters had a more active social circle, I think. I generally had my fill of people at school, and didn't mind coming home where it was quiet.

I often wonder how long it would take my sons to adapt to the life I lived from the time I was 10 till about 18. We were a 30-minute out in the country Dear old dad did not believe in "unnecessary" trips to town, and definitely was not your spur-of-the-moment type person. Everything had to be planned ahead: "decently and by arrangement." I see the wisdom of it now, and simply complied even though it drove me crazy a few times when I was a teen. What else was I going to do? Walk to town? Not likely. And it wasn't like I had any friends around going in that direction who would swing by and pick me up, either.

Add into that equation 7 years of no television (let alone DVD players, computers and hand-held electronics). It didn't kill us, and probably did us some good to be honest. We had an egg timer by the phone, too. Ten minutes was the limit on a phone call. Had to be mindful that we were on a party line. Oh, my goodness. I'm old. It hits me so frequently these days. Like when I don't know who the new actors and actresses are that everyone is oohing and ahhhing over. And hearing myself echo my mom's, "Gosh, he's aging!" in relation to the favorites of my "era." I have an era. Goodness.

Taxes are better than this line of thought. :) I'd best get back to the grind....

Drop to Shop

I had the most beautiful afternoon with my oldest son.

He heard that there was a men's clothing store going out of business and he wanted a new suit. He called me an hour early and said he could get off work and wanted to know if I had the time to drive out to Barry's so he could check things out.

Well, it wasn't convenient. But it could have been less convenient. I really had no where to be tonight, and so I told him sure. Even though the kitchen floor was still wet and I was finally sitting down for a bit of R & R before tackling the laundry, emptying the dishwasher, and vacuuming carpets. Instead I hunted for shoes and a purse and figured people would just have to deal with me in my fish dress, and I went to pick him up.

The first sign he was in a good mood--I'm sitting quietly in the car, finally getting a chance to crack the cover on Women's Day and all of the sudden with one terrific thud, his lunchbox lands on the hood of the car just in front of my windshield. Then his face is plastered on the passenger side window, his huge grin pressed against the glass. Lordy, he makes me laugh.

It was 1:30 PM when we set off on our adventure. I brought stuff to do because I know my son. Decisions take him FOREVER. But I left it all in the car. I browsed the racks with him even though I hate shopping. He was looking for "something tan." Never found it. But he did find a light gray suit in a fabric that drapes so beautifully that I couldn't help letting it fall through my fingers again and again. While he looked for another. (They were less than half price, and he's quit putting on the inches.) He found dark brown double-breasted suit. Yay! We're finished. It's only 3:00. Wrong. But he makes me smile.

There were shirts and ties to coordinate. Now my ds has been an artist since he was little. His delight in mixing and matching colors is contagious. Up until this year I have taken him with me when I buy flowers because he can mix and match the most lovely combinations of colors and textures, flowers and foliage. At any rate, we were there for quite some time deciding on shirts to go with the suits and then there were ties to match the shirts. He got it all coordinated and then decided that perhaps he should make sure the shirts were the right size. One was--the pale yellow with white color and white French cuffs. It looked so snazzy just resting underneath the suitcoat on the table. We found the second cream colored shirt for the gray suit in the right size, but not the mauve one. So the third tie didn't work with anything, but it was a cool tie. Couldn't leave that behind! And can we stop at Best Buy while we're next door so I can get a camera for my trip. And since Men's Warehouse is on the way I can look for a mauve shirt in there.

The mauve shirt in Men's Warehouse was too expensive for his taste. We found the camera he needed in Best Buy in record time. Then we headed for WalMart--would rather finish chewing up today then spend part of tomorrow shopping when he should be doing school, and can we go by the house because he needs to get his watch which needs a battery.

WalMart was a bust. No shirt and they couldn't get the back off the watch to provide a battery. Head to Heritage Park Mall where no one carries that color except Dilliards and they don't carry his size. The sales woman suggested we try the store at Crossroads (which happens to be right across from BEST BUY). I'm out of energy. That will have to come sometime when he's floating about with his buds.

Even Zales can't get the back off his watch to deal with the battery; there's some question that it belonged on that watch to start with. But they have a watch man who does their batteries, it will be in next Tuesday when his watch is back--can he be there at 10:00 AM in case the battery doesn't take care of the problem and they need to send it off with the repair man who shows up soon after opening on Tuesdays. He can't--he'll be at work. I will.

We got home at 7:30 PM. SEVEN HOURS! And he tried on the suits at home and I wondered why I let him buy them. I'm already swatting girls away that want to come see me. Uh-hem. Right! :) I just make sure he's not going to be here and then tell 'em come on over.

Oh but he and I had a glorious afternoon. Talking and laughing and his lovely smile and "thank you" with wide sparkling blue eyes when we got home. I am so excited for him about this trip--feeling that thread of a zing along my veins and I'm not even going. He gave notice at work yesterday and had half the store management collected, wanting to know what they had to do to have him come back. He's smart, he's quick, he's punctual and he knows how to work.

Long story short--I know, TOO LATE! It was worth it to leave the kitchen in the middle of mopping and let the laundry stack for another afternoon.

Spend time with your kids. I live for days like this, and I can't believe I was tempted to talk him out of it. Start early. Drop the dishes to rock them to sleep. Play in the sandbox when you should be vacuuming. And then you can have days like these when you're enjoying the personality of a person that has changed from an infant to a young adult before your very eyes but still wants you to take him shopping when he could go instead with his unending stream of buddies.

G'night from a doting mama. :)

~December 13, 2003

Think about the last time you were really, really angry. How did it feel? Where in your body did the anger start? End? What eased it? How? Why?

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Oh, it's time for true confessions, is it? Okay, I was really, really angry last night.....

It exploded even though I tried my best to hold it in, press it down, avoid dealing with it. It rose from my stomach, burning my nose like vomit, caustic and needing to be released, but what a mess. Within minutes it was all over--hanging in the room like stench, but impossible to leave alone. I tried to stop, but it held me in a miserable grip that wouldn't stop, wouldn't be quiet, couldn't be still.

So I left. Not in the car on the icy streets but to another part of the house. And I immersed myself in something routine and necessary and as things cleaned themselves up, I wrapped myself in a cocoon of silence that I dared not break. Speech of any sort would be like throwing a hearty piece of red meat on a tender, torn stomach. I kept my silence and my distance. I worked until there was no more work to do and then I slept deep and seamlessly.

This morning the house was so still. I don't know what it is about snow that makes the entire world seem to freeze, even sound. The trees were white against a low charcoal sky, and tiny pinpoints of snow swirled as they drifted to the ground. I was up early, as was my husband who left for work. The boys had stayed up late since it was Friday and continued to sleep. I enjoyed the peace of my own company. From time to time the air filled with the continuous warm sigh of the heater and beneath that the soft churning of the workings that made the soft warmth possible. The clanky old boiler has evolved into a more civilized form, no longer consigned to a basement. After awhile it all cycled off and I could hear the children's sporadic sleeping sighs then. I still feel that satisfaction I first felt when they were tiny--that they were resting snug and sound and secure. For the moment I forget that they will wake up tall, loud and opinionated. They're still babies when they sleep.

Occasionally the clunk of the ice maker startled me it was so quiet. Our 20-year-old fridge has yet to evolve.

And in the silence and the peace and the snow, the last bit of the heated anger melted away completely.