The Joys of Travel

It sounded like a great idea–see the country and let someone else pay for it. What could be easier? Pick up two small buses at the assembly plant in High Point, North Carolina and drive them 2500 miles to Salt Lake City, Utah. “Uh-oh!” I can hear you sage travelers say, knowing much better than the naive young couple we were at the time the pitfalls of driving an untested vehicle across the country.
     Like moths in the flame, we were dazzled at thoughts of all the sights we would see. We packed bags, farmed out kids, picked up Mike’s parents and hopped a red-eye flight.
     Excitement overrode our travel weariness the next afternoon as we loaded suitcases into buses and headed west. Lush vegetation, new foods, a foreign language they claimed was English: the first day was a marvel. After a good nights rest and a biscuit and gravy breakfast, we fueled the buses and hit the road, ready for another day of adventure. Thirty miles later, Mike flashed his lights–our signal to take the next off ramp (this was LONG before cell phones, remember). Coasting into a gas station, he said the gauge showed empty. We shook our heads because we refueled only twenty miles previously, but he attempted to fill the tank. The automatic shutoff on the nozzle kept clicking off, allowing only a gallon or so at a time to be pumped. By the next day, an airlock in the tanks prevented filling more than a penny at a time in both buses. (We later learned a defect in the chassis installation crimped the vent tubes.) Thank goodness this was when a penny’s worth of gas was more than the fumes it is today, and it only took two to three hours, many angry station owners, ranting from others trying to use the pumps and much frustration on our part to fill the tank.
     Being creative individuals, we amused many, angered more and became the focus of much discussion and finger pointing as we tried rocking the buses, driving up on the curb to create a downward flow and even using a toilet plunger in attempts to clear the airlock.
     At one point I said aloud I’d love to have a book of matches. My wonderful father-in-law took over the nozzle and continued to be the gas-pumper the rest of the way home. No. I wouldn’t have really set the bus on fire, but I sure thought about it!
     Our wonderful “adventure” consisted of many bizarre fuel stops, no sight-seeing, and many late nights trying to make up lost time, but thirty years later we can still laugh about it.

Help. I need a laugh!

I Melt with You, the title of the Sundance screening I viewed while working as an usher last night, left me depressed. Besides the 3k decibel background music (I plugged my ears with my fingers through 3/4 of the movie!) this darkly intense, drug-weekend gone wrong, demoralizing movie seemed to me to contain no redeeming educational or entertainment value. The faces of the audience members as they left the theatre (both those who fled early and those who suffered to the bitter end) matched my mood.
     This, coupled with distressing news from a dear friend this morning, left me in dire need of a laugh. With gloom overcoming any funny, creative imagination I could conjure, I turned to the past. Many of you may have heard this (true) tale, but it still might add a little sunshine to your day.
     Being a long-distance grandma, I jumped at the chance to stay overnight with then, 2 1/2 year old twins Dylan and Cole while I visited a few years ago. My daughter Shannon and her husband Scott deserved some alone time, and I needed to bond with the kids. Perfect! Or so it seemed until two hours before the parents were due to arrive home.
     Dylan, a beautiful little girl with curly chestnut locks, and Cole, a handsome superhero with golden curly hair, played outside while I made lunch. I checked on them every few minutes from the window and all seemed well. They moved from the backyard to the living room as I finished preparing their plates.
     "Who's ready for lunch?" I called from the kitchen.
     "Wash hands," said Dylan, to my amazement. They are learning, I thought.
     Perhaps you can imagine my face as I rounded the corner and observed the twins sitting in a pile of dirt, Cole sitting wide-eyed with dirt falling from his blonde head as he turned to look at me, and Dylan, laughing, with the rest of the bucket of dirt overturned, princess-hat-style on her auburn head. The executive decision I made was undoubtedly the wrong one, as I felt the strong need to remove the dirt before it became one with the light-colored carpet. How different the scenario if I had just washed the kids and put sat them at the table while I swept up the mess. But...I thought the kids were afraid of the vacuum and instead chose to put them in their bedroom (at that time they were still unable to open the door to escape). I laughed and tried to let them know this was not meant as time out, and hurried to retrieve the vacuum. Most of the offending dirt responded to suction and within minutes the carpet reappeared. Once the vacuum was stowed, I went to retrieve the kids for lunch.
     Now, I swear the process took less than five minutes, however my previous shock was multiplied ten-fold when, after pushing away objects blocking the door, I stuck my head in the room. Every book was off the shelf. Every item had been pulled out of drawers. Beds were bare of all blankets and pillows. Toy boxes had been over-turned. The train and village from the train table were scattered all over the floor, and the train table was overturned. And, Dylan (not liking messy pants) had removed her dirty diaper (poop also appearing within said five minutes) and had moved to no less than three sitting places after being bare-bottomed!
     After seating the kids at the table and cleaning up poop, I closed their bedroom door and reached for a bottle of wine.