Eggs, Mason Jars, and Road Trips

Thanksgiving is almost here and I’ve been anxiously awaiting its arrival. I love having time off work, seeing my family, eating, watching the Macy’s parade, sleeping in, eating, napping, eating. Before a big meal (or any meal for that matter), my sister always says, “Girl, I’m gonna hurt myself”. This week, I fully intend to “hurt myself”. But before I get to the table or the couch, we have to make a road trip. And while some people would debate whether a four and a half hour drive qualifies as a road trip, I have to argue it does… because my grandparents were Effie and Lester.

When Lester wasn’t taking us to dumpster dive at the local Foodway, he was taking us with him to the Veteran’s hospital in Jackson, Mississippi. Why my younger sister and I had to make this trip every few weeks is beyond me. Then again, so were our trips to the drug store, where we were able to get out, go inside, and browse the store. But, when we went to the “medicine store” (which was oddly located in another county), we were told to wait in the car, and my grandparents “medicine” was carried out in bottles wrapped in brown paper bags. And trust me, that wasn’t Mylanta on their breaths later.

It seems like we were continually making trips to the drug store, or “medicine store”, or Veteran’s hospital. Pawpaw liked to keep his medicine cabinet stocked. And when I say “medicine cabinet,” I’m not talking about the cute little cabinets often located above the bathroom sink. Nosiree. I’m talking an actual cabinet. At least five feet tall. In the bedroom of all places. It was white… and have you ever seen those plain white birthday cakes you can get at the grocery that have the multi-colored, plastic smiley faces sticking out of them? Well, there were three smiley faces glued to the top front of the cabinet. I guess prescription drugs make you happy.

So, every month or so (when we were about 6 and 8 years old), my sister and I would have to make the trip to the VA with my mawmaw and pawpaw. And it was an event. We’d sleep over the night before because the whole process started at the butt crack of dawn. I’d wake up to the sound of eggs frying in the kitchen. I’d like to say it was the smell of food, but I’m sure my nose was still burning from the power of the Vick’s salve she would rub all over me at bedtime. Sickness was not necessarily required to get this rubdown. So, there we’d be at 5:00 a.m. Effie in the kitchen cooking up food, my pawpaw gathering up all his empty prescription bottles, and my sister still snuggled up in the bed in the leftover heat from my mawmaw’s body. And I? I was on the cot. Maybe because I was the oldest, but probably because my mawmaw couldn’t stand the smell of the salve either.

I’m sure we’d be loading the car by 7:00 sharp. It had to still be cool outside because Lester always had to rev up the engine in the Fairlane for a good ten minutes before we could go anywhere. Those harsh Mississippi winters! So, after ten minutes of racing the engine in park, we’d be on our way.

Now as an adult, one of my favorite things about road trips is being able to stop at convenience stores. And it doesn’t matter if I NEED gas, or if I NEED to use the restroom, I also NEED to get candy or snacks and something to drink. Almost every time I stop… and I can’t help it. I think it’s deprivation from childhood. On those trips to the VA, we didn’t get to stop. We didn’t get to have snacks, or cokes, or candy. Why? Because Effie had planned ahead. Hunger? She had packed sandwiches- egg sandwiches and pimento cheese sandwiches- every kid’s dream. Thirst? She’d hand us the water jar that sat in the middle of the front seat. It was a mason jar full of tap water. Community drinking, with just a hint of rust flavor from the old lid. This was one of two jars that sat on the front seat. The other? Her spit jar, because Effie dipped snuff. Man, those were the good ‘ole days!

So Jon and I will head to Mississippi on Wednesday and I officially deem it a road trip? Why? Because that trip to the VA was less than a two-hour drive. Less than two hours and my mawmaw packed up like we were crossing the Sahara. And while I won’t be making egg sandwiches or storing our drinking water in a mason jar, I can’t help but think of my grandparents. And I’ll think of them every time I stop at the store for some Sour Patch Kids and my own fountain drink!

Things that seem like a good idea at first: Paddle Boats

Do you remember how exciting it was as a kid to go out on a paddle boat? Chances are, you got to go out on it without adult supervision. What can happen on a paddle boat really? It’s not going to tip over. You’re not going to go so fast that you fall off. About the worse that could happen was having your foot slip off the pedal and having it slap you in the calf or shin. As a matter of fact, I’m not really sure where the excitement came from. I don’t know if I had short-term memory loss as a kid, but every time I had a chance, I thought it would be fun to ride a paddleboat. And every time, after a three- minute spin across the water, it would occur to me how much paddle boats sucked. Seriously. Those things are a lot of work! And your little brother or sister who ended up on that back seat after you threatened to throw them off in deep water if they didn’t let you “drive”… they’re just dead weight. So, there you are, pedaling away for the longest five minutes of your life only to realize you’ve moved three feet. But once you realize how bad this idea was, those three feet seem like three miles to get that thing turned around and back to shore so you can find some fun that doesn’t require so much dang work.

My point was made when I watched some kids a few weeks ago at a small lake. I was sitting on the far shore with some friends, out of earshot, watching these two young boys beg their dad to push them offshore in the paddleboat. He got them all secure in life vests and sent them on their way. “Watch this,” I said to my friend. “They’re about to realize what a mistake that was.” Those kids were on that thing two minutes tops before they were headed back to shore and asking to get in a canoe instead.

And people, just in case you’re thinking about taking a spin on one as an adult- because you have that nostalgic feeling- the older you are, the more torturous it is. Save the energy.

The Reason for My Absence

I know, where have I been right? Why do I even have this blog if I can’t keep it updated? Well, if it makes you (as a reader) feel better, I haven’t just been a negligent blogger lately. I’ve been a negligent housekeeper, a negligent friend, and despite my best efforts, I’m sure a negligent wife in some regards. But, before you start staging interventions for my drug or alcohol problems, I’ll just come clean. It’s just plain ole tiredness. I know, not very exciting, huh? Sure, I think about blogging. I have ideas, and stories, and random observations. But getting those from thought to typing requires something similar to energy, of which I’ve been in short supply. All of this is due to a parasite of sorts (and I mean that in the most loving way). Meet baby Stadler:

Sweet, little baby Stadler, who at the size of a grape is able to drain every ounce of energy I have. Unfortunately, I think I have to prepare for a lifetime of such exhaustion! So, I’m trying to muster up and get on with life. Blogging should certainly require less energy than say… cleaning the kitchen. We may not have clean plates… or towels… or clothes, but I’ll manage to type out more entries. At least I can do that lying on the couch!