The Vacation

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On Sunday last, I joined my daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren for a carefree week of togetherness known as a family vacation. They showed up at my place bright and early. After a little stumbling around, I threw my suitcase and computer bag into the back of the Chevy Suburban.  I took my duffel bag of goodies with me and climbed into the back seat. Thus began an adventure that lasted until I fell into my own bed last night.

My grandchildren, aged 5 and 3, sat  lashed securely into their federally approved sarcophagi in the third row.

“Good morning, grandchildren!” I exclaimed.

“Waaah!” They answered.

“Is there something wrong with the children?” I asked my daughter.

“No, they’re just a little grumpy from getting up so early.” She reassured me.

The next thing I knew, we were streaking along the highway, headed for the Mecca of family vacation spots, Branson, Missouri. (I never in my wildest dreams thought I would see Branson, but I was on my way.) I managed to occupy myself by retrieving toys and crackers from the floor in the back seat. Every few minutes, one small voice or another called, “Gwandfadder, I dwopped my dowy on the fwoor.”

I unbuckled, turned around and hung over the backseat at the waist to reach the lost treasure. Naturally, blood rushed to my head giving ‘gwandfadder’ the comical appearance of a stroke victim. We kept this up until we reached McAlister, OK around eleven am. McAlister is home to the original “Big Mac,” as the locals know the state prison.

While we were there, we found “Angel’s Restaurant.” Everyone was hungry, so we stopped for a late breakfast. Angel’s is a unique place. Decorated entirely in pink, it sported memorabilia from the 50s and 60s on every wall. “The King” and Marilyn Monroe were the most popular subjects. Our waitress showed us to the back room where a large round table awaited us. Once seated, we ordered food and settled down to await the arrival of our breakfasts. It was during this brief period the children made a terrible discovery. The round table was loose. With a tiny shove, it spun like a lazy Susan. The children thought this was hilarious fun.

In the fullness of time, our breakfasts arrived. I dug into an omelet and the children enjoyed happy face pancakes. Well, mostly. Occasionally, I would take a stab at my plate only to retrieve pancake that had arrived a second before. My son-in-law found himself staring at my omelet instead of his breakfast more than once. Plead as we might, we could not convince the babies this was not fun. You cannot fool children, y’know.

So, each adult used one hand to grip the table and the other to shovel breakfast into their mouths while the little ones, bless them, strained and shoved on the funhouse table.

Eventually, we got enough food on target to sustain us and we left Angel’s, possibly forever.

Next, we would plunge into the Ozark Mountains. I will share that episode as soon as my strength returns. Right now, I think a little lie-down is in order.

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