Cranky to the Tenth Power

Ever wonder how long being trapped in a car with your immediate family takes to officially push you over the edge?

The answer is one week.

It's day eight, and I want a refund. Okay, okay -- it's not as bad as all that. But today wasn't all Kumbayah and campfires.

Mom keeps losing things. Her cell phone case ... her camera battery ... and today, her keys. She says her mind is next, though I think that happened sooner than she expected. I grab Grandma's keys and we're pulling onto the highway when Mom hands me the keys she's just found. I just look at her and we both start laughing.

She handed them to me so I could start the car I was already driving.

We stop at Walmart for a potty break and to pick up a tripod for me and camera batteries for Mom. I go in, go to the bathroom, pick up the tripod, grab some socks and underwear (yeah, I know, Walmart underwear. I'm desperate. We haven't done laundry in a few days.) I get back to the car, change into hiking clothes and shoes for our next destination -- Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument -- and move the car in front of Walmart to pick up the girls. Then I wait.

And wait.

I call Mom several times ... no answer. Grandma comes out. I go in and have Mom paged ... no answer. I walk around the store and finally find her at the camera counter. She has a new shirt tucked under her arm, which I know is the reason for the delay. Our tiny pit stop morphed into a 30 plus minute Walmart extravaganza. And I hate Walmart. There is always somebody beating their kid there. The kid is crying because Mom or Dad won't give them what they want, so said parent spanks them to get them to shut up. They cry harder.

Really ... what did you expect?

Back on the road, we're past Silver City when we realize the path to Gila is NOT paved with good intentions. The road SUCKS. It's very winding and there is little room for error -- meaning one false move and we're Thelma and Louise, with Grandma in the backseat. I'm tired, and nobody is talking much. When anyone does pipe up, it's to give me flack for my driving. "You should be using overdrive and downshifting." When I do, the car's engine revs so hard I'm afraid it will keel over and die. "There is such an incline you shouldn't have to use the gas." So I stop accelerating and we coast to a stop. I look over and I can tell Mom is trying not to laugh.

But then she stops talking all together. I'm not sure what's wrong, but her vow of silence is madenning. She stays in the car as Grandma and I head to the cliffs.

Gram is a total trooper.

This is rough terrain, and you wouldn't guess this woman is 86 years old. It's slow going, but not many women her age would have even attempted it. Tough old broad. She does stop before the climb gets too steep, as I continue the hike up to the dwellings. It's absolutely amazing. The ceiling is still stained black from the fires of the Mogollon (mag-gee-yohn) people that lived here about 800 years ago. Park Ranger Bill Simington gives a fabulous tour, explaining what each room was likely used for.


It's raining on the drive back down, which makes the road even more trecherous. We get close to the bottom and I get another comment. I pull over the car and get out. I consider walking to the nearest airport, then decide that someone else can drive for a while. I fall asleep for about 20 minutes, then it's nitpicking about booking the hotel for Tombstone.

Somehow, a stop to get gas at this station touting "The Thing" pulls us all back together. We pay a buck each to see this roadside wonder. There are a few dusty exhibits in pole barn structures looping around the building, and in the final one ... the main event. I'll let you determine how fabulous "The Thing" is for yourself. Then we have ice cream at Dairy Queen. I'm not sure which is the catalyst, but the ice is broken when we get back in the car.

Destination ... TOMBSTONE.

But you'll have to wait for that adventure tomorrow.

Mom ... The Last Alien Standing

My idea of sleeping in does NOT include waking up at 8:00 am. Mom and Gram start rustling around as they get ready. Next, my little brother calls for a 30 minute tutorial on how to use the coffee maker at the girl’s house. He’s watching their two ‘portly’ Yorkies while we’re away. Apparently the machine takes a PhD to operate. I bury my head deeper under the pillows. Then housekeeping comes by to clean the room.

I get the message … I’m getting up!

The Alien Museum in Roswell is totally tacky. Mom loves it, of course. Especially the bits about the cover-up. I ask her if she believes in aliens. She says she doesn’t disbelieve. For me, I guess I just hold out hope there is intelligent life out there SOMEWHERE in the universe.

Though it may not be in Roswell. The folks we've met here are not the most friendly or approachable we've met on this trip. Maybe it's related to the cover-up. Or the po-pos that are absolutely everywhere. That’s ghetto slang for cop, in case you didn’t know. And although aliens might not exist, rednecks certainly do. The one driving in front of us with the monster truck tires keeps revving his engine every time Grandma tries to talk. Mom and I think it’s hysterical that she can’t get a word in edgewise. It’s a Grandma silencer.

Which is EXACTLY what we need. She drives from the backseat most of the day … the matriarch on her throne. I threaten to get her a Fisher-Price steering wheel, complete with horn and gear shift. She says what she really wants is a brake pedal.

I have a confession. Against my better judgment, the GPS and I kissed and made up. I was pretty irritated when she told Mom yesterday that Carlsbad Caverns was in the middle of an empty field. Then she told me to take a u-turn for almost an hour, but kept pointing straight ahead, which I knew was the path to Roswell. I chalked these up to innocent mistakes.

Yeah, right -- this bitch has it out for me.

I program in White Sands National Monument and press GO. I don’t give it another thought as I drive ... and drive ... and drive for the next hour and a half. In the WRONG direction. We're not far from the Texas state line before we realize what's happened. Not many road signs here in the Land of Enchantment.

I just want to DIE. We turn the car around and I ask Grandma to break out the emergency chocolate, but she can't reach it. I want to launch the GPS out the window, so I ask Mom how much she paid for it. I need to determine how cost effective my actions will be. Writing a $200 check ... versus ultimate gratification at watching the damn thing demolished under my tires. Hmmmm.

I unplug the GPS and put it in the console. Then I play some Yo-Yo Ma so my head doesn't explode. I reach for my phone. Then I'm looking for my frantically for my phone with assistance from the peanut gallery. My Mom calls it ... nothing. My heart sinks. We pull over and Mom calls it again. There's a muffled ring, but we can't seem to place it. I get out and she calls again.

Crystal clear ring. I was sitting on it. Mom says it was on butt mute.

We arrive at White Sands National Monument right at sundown. The gypsum sand here is so gleaming white that it looks like snow. It's absolutely breathtaking. Watching the sun set over the dunes with the blue mountains behind it is just unbelievable. Mom wants to put some of the sand in her pocket. I tell her it's against the law -- and sand doesn't belong in your pocket, anyway. We're laughing so hard she says there will be pee in her pocket in a minute, so what's the difference?












And on the road again ... Just can't wait to get on the road again. Our next destination is Silver City, New Mexico. We stop at a Pizza Hut in Las Cruces just as they're closing their dining room. They are darling to let us order to go and eat there while they finish cleaning up. It's nice to have the place to ourselves.

Just outside of Deming, border patrol is stopping all vehicles for inspection. They even have a dog out sniffing cars. Grandma says they'll probably make us throw out the apples. Mom says their looking for illegal ALIENS, not illegal FRUIT.

I can't top that.