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!