Home, At Last ... Thank God Almighty, We're HOME At Last

It's been about 24-hours now since we "landed" back in Florida, and less than that since I've returned to my home turf in the nation's Capitol. Here's a recap of the last hours of the Mermaids to Graceland extravaganza:

Things seem to be a little off when we wake up Friday. I drop at least three things at breakfast, as does Mom. It's a later than we hoped when we pile in the car, which means less time in Montgomery. We're planning to visit the Rosa Parks Museum -- if we can find it.

Ever wonder what happened to the GPS (a.k.a "Bitch")? I'll let you guess:

1. Amy repurposed the $200 her boyfriend gave her to replace Mom's camera for the right to run over the Bitch with the car. The spiteful bitch then splintered into a thousand pieces, one of which pierced the tire which then cost $100 to replace.
   
2. We used it the rest of the trip, and when we say we're HOME -- we mean we've decided to relocate to Saskatchewan, Canada. That's where we ended up when we typed "Venice, Florida" into the Bitch.
3. Mom returned the Bitch to Radio Shack, which was holding her other GPS unit hostage for over a month before we left, resulting in purchase of said Bitch. She paid a 15% restocking fee for an item that didn't work in the first place.

Ding ... ding ... ding! Moral of the story? Don't buy crap from Radio Shack. Go to a place like Best Buy that will actually stand behind the products they sell. But really ... did you think options 1 and 2 were feasible? I'm very curious which one got the top vote.

Anyway. Back on subject. The museum was amazing. We used the GPS on Mom's phone to find it, and had decent results. Go, Crackberry! It is hard to believe, but this was even better than the civil rights museum, considering it explores just a single event. Very well put together and under $5 admission.

The "single event" is what many consider the catalyst for the modern civil rights movement in the United States. On December 1, 1955, a seamstress -- weary from a long day at work -- refused to give up her bus seat to a white passenger. She was arrested and fined for violating a city ordinance. It was an act of defiance that culminated in a 13-month bus boycott.

Afterward, we drove by Dexter Avenue King Memorial Church, the church where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was pastor. The incident with Ms. Parks led to the formation of the Montgomery Improvement Association -- the organization that launched the bus boycott. Dr. King led the MIA, and eventually the people of Montgomery to victory. The Supreme Court struck down the Montgomery ordinance under which Mrs. Parks had been fined. The high court's decision outlawed racial segregation on public transportation.

Our own transportation out of Montgomery proves incredibly trickier than getting in. The GPS (now dubbed Bitchberry) is giving us the names of streets that don't exist. In all fairness, the names of the streets in this city aren't on the map, either. You've now entered ... THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

Doo doo doo doo ... doo doo doo doo.

It takes about a half hour, but we finally get back on track at about 11 am. Mom is driving.

And driving.

And DRIVING.

She's actually pilot all day, despite my offers to relive her. Grandma keeps saying it's going to take ten hours to get home. I argue that's is just not possible, and am dumbfounded that after 24 days, these girls still don't trust my calculations. It's about 55o miles. Even if we drive 65 miles an hour, that's 8.5 hours. That's called math. Ok ... granted there are fill ups and potty breaks. But on our itinerary (that thing you get to by clicking the glove box at www.mermaidstograceland.com), I projected we'd leave Montgomery at 10 am and arrive in Florida nine hours later at 7 pm. That's not taking into account the time change.

Speaking of time change ... Mom and I spend ten minutes arguing about the correct language to describe the fact that we'll be changing the clock one more time during the trip. She says we'll gain an hour. I say we'll lose, pointing out that "gaining" insinuates something good is happening. Missing an entire hour of one's day is NOT a positive thing in my book. I mean really -- I paid for the whole 24 -- I want my money back! But it's a perfect example of how exhausted we are ... a pointless debate about an inconsequential topic. You say toh-may-toh, I say toh-mah-toh. Let's call the whole thing off.

So I call off being awake and close my eyes to take a nap.

Wouldn't you know that while I'm sleeping, we roll into town almost exactly 9:00 -- NINE hours after we left Montgomery. Mom leaned over to tell Grandma that was exactly right. I might have missed out on thise my-math-is-better-than-your-best-guess moment if Gram hadn't outed her when we sat down for dinner at Perkins.

I really hate Perkins, but the girls love this place. I'll give them this -- it's quick. We have our order in about 10 minutes, and that's a very good thing since we didn't stop for lunch. But there's just something creepy about the guy with the really bad toupee serving us our meal. I keep thinking ... so THIS is what an axe murdered looks like. Thankfully, the po-pos are eating at the table next to us.

Please explain this logic to me -- when we get home, already road tired with a heaping dose of exhaustion from emptying out the car -- I sit down and watch an entire movie. I am multi-tasking, giving Mom all my pictures from the trip ands she shuttles back and forth with her memory stick with each photo load. It's about 1:30 am when we turn in.

And just when you think I'll finally get to sleep without the rapturous sounds from the great white hair, Mom's freaking dog snores all night. And I swear to you -- she is louder than Grandma. I keep waking up and poking her so she'll stop.

Finally, I give up and roll out of bed at 6:30 am.

I check in for my flight ... figure out the trip bill since we used my credit card for expenses ... let Mom's dog out ... let Grandma's dog out ... give the dogs a cookie so they will stop begging (I swear they must have been stress eating, or my brother fed them yeast while we were gone -- they've doubled in size) ... and pack. Oh, and shower. When I hear my mother tell my brother, Ryan, who is meeting us for breakfast, for the second time that I am taking forever to get ready, I blow a gasket.

I grab all my stuff and put it in the car, where I tell her I'll be waiting. I text Ryan to tell him we should be clear about who is in the car, and who is NOT. She comes out a few minutes later. Without makeup.

My mother NEVER leaves the house without putting her face on. I am amused that she would go to these extremes to prove a point.

Sounds familiar ... maybe we're not so different after all.

Spending even a few minutes with Ryan and his wife, Yvonne, is the comic relief I need before getting on the plane bound for DC. I'm in a lighter mood when I get to the airport.

Then I go through security.

The sphincter police, for the first time in history, tell me to go back and repack my bags because the birthday gifts I am carrying in my small gift bag constitute a third bag. I'm allowed two. The woman asks me if it's my lunch, because apparently a third bag packed full of food is okay. I'm honest, but regret it immediately. Ryan and I scramble to stuff the contents into every nook and unavailable cranny in the other two bags. Frankly, it would have been easier to eat -- but I'm not sure the tiara would have been that tasty.

Needless to say, I'm a bit flustered as I pile my bags on the scanner. I'm not thinking clearly when the TSA inspector tells me she needs to open my bag. I'm a girl that usually chooses her words carefully.

Not this time.

I tell her to be careful ... it's likely to explode.

What I mean is, it's so FULL the stuff will come pouring out. She is not amused, and sadly, through I'm not even trying to be funny, it makes me giggle a little when I realize what I've said.

That's less funny to her.

A half hour later, as I finish repacking all of my carefully inspected posessions, I hear my name being paged impatiently over he airport intercom. I am out of breath from running to catch my flight home.

I board the plane to find someone else sitting in my seat.

It's been a long few weeks, and in a way, I'm sad to see them end. I plan to take a week hiatus from the blog, but will weigh in next week with some reflections from the trip -- from all of us.

Next year, you'll be able to curl up on the beach (or in front of the fire, depending on how damn long it takes me) with Mermaids To Graceland, the book. And believe me -- there are plenty of juicy tidbits we saved for the printed word! Please join the mailing list for the blog by clicking on the dashboard icon of St. Christopher (patron saint of safe travel) on www.mermaidstograceland.com, or by sending an email to mermaidstograceland@gmail.com.

Until next week -- I bid you adieu ...

You know, what the hell does adieu mean?

Tupelo Honey & Sweet Home Alabama

After leaving Graceland yesterday, we had two long days of driving ahead of us to look forward to. As we stop less and drive more, it’s amazing how much longer the drive seems. Maybe it’s that we’re heading home. The days fly in the beginning when it seems like you have all the time in the world. But when have a deadline – like say, a plane to catch – it’s like you’re being chased by the Devil himself.

Or maybe the girls are just eager to get me back to my own corner of the country.

As long as we're paying homage to the Elvis ... we made a pit stop in Tupelo, Mississippi, to see his birthplace. It is almost impossible to imagine a family living in this house. It's about as big as my living room -- if that.

And though it’s dark when we arrive, we also stopped off in Birmingham, Alabama, to drive by the 16th Street Church. I know Elvis’ Memphis palace was supposed to be the final hurrah, hence the “Mermaids to Graceland” moniker, but it wasn't the last planned destination on the list.

Somehow, “Mermaids to Civil Rights Trail” didn't have the same ring to it.

They look like they are having a dinner at the church when we arrived. I considered knocking on the door and asking to see the inside, but Flat Stanley was feeling a little shy. We settled for snapping a few pictures of the outside. It’s just past anniversary of the bombing that killed four girls in the basement of the church 46 years ago. It was an attack that helped to galvanize the civil rights movement.

As we headed to Montgomery, debris started hitting the car. I couldn't figure out what it was, but notice the a car pulling a boat in front of us start to swerve. The guy behind us was riding my ass and there was another car next to us. The girls are yelling as we realize the boat trailer has blown a tire, and the rubber is bouncing toward us on the road. It was pretty scary, but we pulled through unscathed.

We arrived in the Montgomery area, stopping just shy of the city to book a hotel and head to Olive Garden for dinner. Mom and I made a mad dash through TJ Maxx before they closed. She got a ring and I a bag for the trip home and a new dress. Pretty good for 15 minutes.

Our server at dinner, Shantanna, is studying to become a trauma surgeon and looking at Johns Hopkins once she graduates this year. I told her how much I love the area and encourage her to at least come out for a visit. She said she was born and raised in the South and isn't sure she'll like it. I remind her that the DC area is still south of the Mason-Dixon line, and if when you order tea, it will DEFINITELY be sweet.

Unfortunately, that's the only thing I DON'T like about my city -- except maybe the drivers.

But as I've recently discovered they're much worse in Alabama.

Elvis Rules

Civil Rights & Hip Thrusts

The Beignet Cafe, located on G.E. Patterson at the corner of Mulberry, may not look like much from the outside, but once you walk in the gated front door, you'll be pleasantly surprised.  This place is adorable. Our server, Latoya, has a wonderfully warm personality and Memphis pride we're coming to appreciate about the city's residents. She tells us a story about a former coworker who used to complain about the snail's pace in Memphis, how country the city was and that there was so little to do there. But Latoya and the other employees are natives, and they kindly suggested if she didn't like Memphis, she should leave.

We all agree ... Memphis is fabulous. 

We order cafe au lait and beignet that the girls say are just as good as those in New Orleans. The coffee needs a little sweetening, but otherwise -- I don't disagree. And it does the trick for brightening our mood ... if only it could have done the same for the weather.

Sadly, it's pouring when we get outside. Cats and dogs doesn't really do this downpour justice. It's more like lions and bears.

But I suppose the rain is fitting as we head over to the National Civil Rights Museum and the Lorraine Motel, where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in 1968.  The girls decide to stay in the car and keep dry as I hike my pants up, take my shoes off, and sprint for the door. Since the museum is slow due to the weather, I am greeted by just about the entire staff in the lobby when I arrive dripping wet. The museum is fabulous -- and thorough.  I'm most struck by the courage of those that fought so hard for their equality. 

I was glad the rain camouflaged my eyes a little as I ran back to the car.

Next stop ... Graceland. 

It really is difficult to describe how kitchy this place really is.  At almost $30 to get in WITH the coupon from the magic binder.  That means seeing the King's jungle room is almost three times as expensive as seeing the room Dr. King spent his final hours. That just seems wrong to me.

The tickets we get allow us entry into about six different exhibits, including the tour of the mansion. Nearly every exhibit dumps you into a gift shop.  This place is a cash cow, but I guess, in a way -- so was Elvis. He made Forbes Top-Earning Dead Celebrities list the past two years, most recently grossing $52 Million.  That's more than living artists, including Madonna and Justin Timberlake.

But I have to say, seeing some of the rooms in his house and looking over official Graceland recipes, money can't buy good fashion sense or taste in food.  Imagine ... munching on bacon-wrapped meatballs in a room entirely swathed in the ugliest fabric imaginable. 

A Rocky Start

It's raining when we wake up this morning with only two days left of our big adventure. We call down for a bell hop to get the luggage (the best $10 I've spent on the trip). As he's loading the bags onto the cart, he tells us we've forgotten something:

The kitchen sink.

Ha ha ha.

I swear this stuff is growing, and as I'm trying to pack it all in the car, the girls are tossing stuff into the mix willy nilly. There is a fine art to laoding this crap in so the door will still close, so I'm tossing stuff back at them. Grandma says get out the duct tape. Frankly, in an effort to maintain the peace, I might need it to tape my own mouth shut. We finally get it all in when the bell hop asks us where the other girls are.

This guy thinks he's a freaking comedian.

We've driven just one city block when Mom asks where the sleeve for her Blackberry is. Gram is poking around looking for it in the back seat while I deny responsibility as the last person to use the phone. After what Gram claims is a thorough search, she can't find it. I pull over to a screeching halt, jump out and start running in the opposite direction of the car screaming.

Just kidding.

That's what I want to do, but instead, I start tearing apart the back seat, throwing stuff on top of the car, including Mom's pillow. I don't think she's happy about it, but mercifully says nothing. After I get everything out, Grandma finds the sleeve in the seat pocket right in front of her.

I lay on the ground rocking back and forth in the fetal position chanting, "There's no Place like home ... there's no place like home."

Ok, fine. I don't really do that, either. I actually swear, get in, slam the door, and drive on toward the National Civil Rights Museum. I tell the girls I'm awefully tired of losing things. Mom says it wasn't her that lost the sleeve. She's totally right, but my owning up to it is not graceful. FINE, I say -- I lost the stupid sleeve. And the stupid camera. But they're both in the car now, so crisis averted.

Then out of the corner of my eye I see a place called The Beignet Cafe. How can hot greasy fried dough smothered in powdered sugar NOT make everything better?

Memphis On The Half Shell

Guess who got to sleep most of the day away while her mother drove across state lines fleeing the po-pos?

Ok, I'm kidding about the po-pos part. I curled up into the fetal position, which of course means my arse hanging way off the seat. If she would have stopped fast, I might have rolled off and been forever wedged in the back of the Rav-4 until they got the jaws of life to extract me. Dangers aside ... the napping sure felt good.

Why, you ask?

Because Grandma's snoring is something of mythical proportions. I swear, the rumblings in that woman's nasal passages are enough to wake the dead. I've taken the necessary precautions: pop a sleeping pill ... turn the air conditioner on ... put ear plugs in. Yet I still have to put my head under about two pillows to drown out the freight train sleeping in the next bed.

What's worse is that she has sleep apnea, which means I can't totally tune out the thundering roar. Especially on nights when she's really tired. She'll just suddenly stop breathing. I wait for what seems a normal span of time for the next breath to occur, then sit bolt upright when it doesn't. Then there is is ... that raspy gasp for air.

It's alive -- it's alive!

Needless to say, it's not conducive to restful sleep.

We stop a few times for gas. Thankfully after I chastised them yesterday for continuing to fill the tank every time it's just half a tank down, we are waiting a little longer between fill ups. The girls are ecstatic about the cheaper gas prices. The lowest we've seen it is $2.19 a gallon. My Mom feels so vindicated when she gets the cheapest gas at home that I don't have the heart to tell her the 20 cents she saved is completely negated by driving 20 miles out of her way to get it.

I digress. I've discovered a scam at the pump. These gas companies advertise unbelievable savings across the street from their competitors -- a full 10 cents cheaper per gallon. The trick is -- it's often for plus. Who it their right mind would think that plus would be cheaper than regular? So you pump regular without really thinking about it. Then see you've actually paid MORE than what it was across the street. Very sneaky.

While we're driving, we pass a sign for "Toad Suck Park" in Toad Suck, Arkansas. It's amazing some of the names of places we've passed through on this trip. Here are just a few:

• Peculiar, Missouri
• Eclectic, Alabama
• Cutt-Off, Louisiana
• Ding Dong, Texas
• Smackover, Arkansas

While we're back on the subject of Arkansas ... today we stopped in Little Rock for lunch at a place called Sim's Bar-B-Q. They've been in business since 1937 and I'd heard the ribs there were amazing. When we get off the highway, Mom and Gram are eying the rather sketchy looking neighborhood with concern. We roll up to the original Sim's to find the location closed down, but notice a sign for their new location. In a strip mall. Next to a Sav-A-Lot food market.

Now I'm a little skeptical.

For absolutely zero reason, it turns out. We all order pork ribs in some form or another, and I swear -- the meat melts like butter in your mouth. But the best part is the wonderful Southern hospitality we get from Leroy and Michael. They wish me a happy birthday and send us on our way with a slice of sweet potato pie for the road. I've never tried it before, and can assure you -- it didn't last long. Yum.

We rolled into Memphis a lot earlier that I had planned. Got a nice room for our free night with Hotels.com at the Westin off famed Beale Street. Beautiful room and great recommendations from the staff for dinner at a hidden restaurant called Itta Bena. There's no sign, which is how they keep riff-raff from Beale Street where they belong. You kind of have to know it's there. 

They bring us a round of champagne for a birthday toast (will post pics tomorrow). Mom and Gram order the She Crab Soup, which they both oooh and aaah over. I have scallops which come over a cheesy grit concoction and a lemon caper cream sauce that is to die for. The scallops aren't as good as Mr. Colicchio's, but the mushroom pasta is divine. I could have skipped the chicken, which was a wee bit overcooked. but the MUST get at this place is our server Mark's Guava Mojito. It's not on the menu, but it is so good I consider offering him my first born child for the recipe.

Mark also gives me some tips on the way to make what he says is the best bloody mary on the planet. I'm skeptical, given my out-of-body bloody mary experience in New Orleans, but I thought I would include the recipe here for you to try.

Mark's Super Simple -- But Ultimately Perfect -- Bloody Mary

• Squeeze half a lime into a glass
• Add Absolut Peppar vodka to "here", you'll have to eyeball it. Mark doesn't use a jigger, but where he points on the glass looks like about a shot and a half to me
• Top it off with Zing Zang Bloody Mary Mix

Let me know how you fare. Or better yet ... have one waiting for me when I visit next.

We pull out a card for the website and blog that we've been passing out during the trip, and I tell Grandma to give it to Mark. She says, "You want ME to give it to him?" So I stick it in her shirt a little and tell her to have him go fish for it.

She says she doesn't do that sort of thing without getting beads in return.

The truth comes out. I need another drink.

Birthday Meanderings From Amy & The Girls

AMY

Aunt Pam told me a story yesterday about the first time her and my uncle went out.  Their first date was to go pick out Christmas presents for my brother and I.

It made me wonder about my parent's first date. 

They met while working at Beaumont Hospital in Royal Oak, Michigan.  He was an escort (get your mind out of the gutter) and she was a nurse's aid. The way Mom tells it, she made the first move. She loved how tall he was and his broad shoulders.  She followed him into the timecard room one day and put her hand on his shoulders, squeezed, and said, "What a hunk!" I guess Dad was a little shy, but that broke the ice. 

They started chatting, and then she began giving him a ride home from work.  Mom told him it was no trouble, but it was pretty far out of the way.  Eventually she asked when they were going to go out. Dad said pick a day, so she did.  Mom asked what they would go, and he said pick a place.  She picked the Detroit Zoo.

I think it's cute that my parents first date was at the zoo.  Mom said they  had just started staying open at night, and when they went, it was snowing.  There was no wind so the huge flakes were just falling straight down.  When they got to the camel enclosure, she said a camel walked toward them, then stopped short and started dancing.

Maybe it was the great camel warning dance.

No really.  Are you tired of hearing me say this yet?  Everything happens for a reason.  Divorce sucks, but as a result, my family has expanded.  I mow have three beautiful half-sisters, and although we don't talk now, I hold high hopes for the future.  For Dad, the third time was the charm and my alternate mother, Leslie, is absolutely fabulous.  And because I've waited to get married until a later age, focusing instead on my career, have created relationships with wonderful circle of friends.  

Family isn't always about what you're born into ... it's also something you create.  

MOM

Dear Amy,

Happy Birthday Little Princess!!! I cant believe its 35 years since I first saw your precious little face.  When you were just six months old I prayed that you would "go and see and do, all the things that you possibly could." And here you are ... toting your grandmother and I along on your journey through the United States! I must say I would have never guessed that you would have grown up so totally organized, tidy and efficient.  Wow, I am very impressed! It has been a lot of fun, talking, laughing and sharing as we journey through the countryside. I wouldn't have missed all the laughs for anything!

 

You have grown into a amazing woman!  I am so proud of your talent, your determination, your sense of adventure and spontaneity. You are creative, witty and as we have seen often on this trip, extremely outgoing ... all the things that I had hoped and prayed for so many years ago! Your heart is as big as Texas, your potential unlimited, and your ambition enormous! You go my little girl, hope this birthday is one you will cherish always, and that you have many, many, more!

Love Mom

PS  What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! Same goes for the car ...

GRANDMA 

Happy day little girl . you are so special to me . this has been a trip of my lifetime.May you have all the love and fun times we shared. God bless and keep you always. Remember honey, it is never the destination -- but the journey that is important.  

Thank you for sharing this journey with us. 

Love Gram