My Holiday Road

... 

Last year, my daughter and her hubby invited me on a family vacation.  The plan involved driving from Dallas to Branson, MO.  There, we stayed in a nice resort, saw much beautiful country and almost went mad coping with two unhappy children.  They hated riding in the car, so they tortured each other for the entire trip.  When the volume from their third row seats became unbearable, the folks in the front seat merely turned up the radio, drowning the mayhem in the far back seats.  In the middle row, I sat next to a cooler.  It was not much company, but I did not mind until a thorough search revealed not a single adult beverage in the container.  I was doomed to endure a 10-hour ride with demonic sounds fore and aft in a state of complete sobriety.  It was a glimpse of Hell.

On Saturday, last, I returned home, satisfied that we enjoyed the best possible family vacation.

This year, the vacation included some important changes.  Number one was cars.  I took mine and they drove theirs.  Second, we stayed in rooms at opposite ends of the motel.  It was mercifully quiet.  Third, Grandfather has an injured back, which bought me a pass on any heavy lifting (grandchildren).  All these changes made a large difference.  I have old friends in San Antonio and reconnected with two of the best.  I re-introduced my daughter and son-in-law and the two grandchildren.  Surprisingly, everyone behaved himself or herself.  It left me wondering what happened to my real family. 

We enjoyed authentic Tex-Mex food, great conversation and even visited the Witte Museum across the street from the restaurant.  It was a good day.

The dolphin show at Sea World was great, too.  It had elements of “Circ d’ Soleil”, a Beluga Whale, trained tropical birds and, yes, a corps of Pacific White Sided Dolphins.  The children were transfixed and I appreciated the show to the fullest.

The thing about Sea World is its size.  It is immense.  The other thing about Sea World is the heat and humidity.  By noon, the temperature was over 90 and the humidity was up there, too.  After a couple of hours, our team was completely dehydrated and on the verge of collapse.  We did the only sensible thing:  We made a desperate dash for the motel, specifically, the showers, bar and swimming pool, not necessarily in that order.  All our problems resolved.  I even got out for a quick session of sun and swim before the longish journey home.  Next time, we will go in mid-October.

Heavy use of air conditioning,   a stoked iPod and magnificent scenery eased the stress of the 5+-hour drive home.  I arrived, walked into the house and collapsed into the most delightful nap/coma I have had in years.

I believe all had a good time.

Should you ever be confronted with an opportunity to travel with family, especially small children, you may wish to reread this publication and make note of any survival tips you find.  As an alternative, watch all the National Lampoon’s “Vacation” movies – and memorize them. 

You will thank me (or Chevy Chase) later.

...

The Ozarks

...


After breakfast, everyone piled into the car and we resumed our trek toward Branson. The grandchildren were disappointed to leave the spinning breakfast table so soon. They expressed their disappointment by screaming, crying and fighting among themselves. Mom and Dad knew exactly what to do in such a crisis.

My daughter slid a CD into the player and my son-in-law turned it up. Way up. I could hear every nuance of Johnny Cash’s aged-in-the-cask voice, but I could also still hear the children, barely. For my part, this was not a tranquility inducing experience.

Eventually, there was a break in the music and I knew I had to act fast.

I spun around in my seat and faced my granddaughter, looking directly into her innocent eyes. “You are getting drowsy,” I said in my best “The Count” voice. I repeated the phrase several times, adding some finger waving for effect. It had little effect. I took a slightly different tact. “You are feeling happy…” I increased the finger action. Sure enough, she began to smile. In a couple of minutes, she forgot the pique leftover from breakfast.

Next, I turned my power over the minds of children to my grandson.

“Do me, do me!” He pleaded.

Okay, but you must promise to be good or I won’t do it.

“Okay, gwandfadder.”

I ran the hypnotism routine on him. Five minutes later, I was enjoying the company of two contented grandchildren. It felt good to know I had not lost my touch.

Next, I leaned forward into the front seat.

“You are sick of listening to loud music…“ I began.

Everything went swimmingly for the rest of the trip. Well, it went swimmingly until we hopped off the interstate in Arkansas and turned north on a tiny state highway. My son-in-law was tour guide for the children.

“We’re going to go through the Ozark Mountains,” he said cheerily. “We’ll see beautiful scenery and forests along the way, so keep a sharp lookout.”

“Dark, scary forests,” I added for effect.

“We’re scared,” said the chorus in the rear seat!

“Damn. I wish I hadn’t said that.” I thought silently.

It was then my daughter turned and gave me a stern look.

“Do you recall the little talk we had just a few days before we left?” She asked.

“Uh, no I don’t seem to have that recollection. Can you give me the gist of it?”

“The topic was you were going to straighten up.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll do my best, really.”

With that, I received a scary mommy scowl and life returned to normal, at least for now.

We cruised through some of the most beautiful scenery in America. Quaint villages, small farms, mountain streams and meadows appeared around every turn. Through gaps in the dense forest, we saw magnificent vistas as row after row of mountains stood tall all the way to the horizon. I made a mental note to revisit this country on my motorcycle in the near future. It was two-wheel paradise.

Then, everything changed. The tiny highway dissolved into a fork of two dirt roads. After a short break for indecision, we took the left fork and motored on. I recall humming the theme from Deliverance. I only got through a few bars before I received another “straighten up” scowl from the front seat.

We drove for hours. The quaint villages gave way to little clusters of haunted looking buildings. The forest squeezed ever tighter and the road narrowed to barely one lane. The farms disappeared and ramshackle shacks and trailers took their place. We passed a group of young girls playing barefoot in the road. They strolled out of our way, seemingly fascinated by seeing the giant SUV on their tiny road. I think their dog actually laughed at us as we rattled by.

Next time, we will arrive - somewhere.

...

The Vacation

...

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.

...