I didn't mention that in an attempt to save money, we've booked a room that has one queen bed. I was hoping I could charm our way into two doubles, but we end up with a King. And guess who's the monkey in the middle?
Me.
Apparently, overnight, the air conditioner decides to work overtime. I wake up a few times go cold I think I'm numb. Grandma is perched precariously on my right, and mom snoozes to my left with a pillow from home. Finally, I can't take it anymore. My options are cuddling to the right and possibly knocking the old lady to the floor, or snuggling to mommy dearest. I choose left. She doesn't protest, and I'm a bit warmer.
But not warm enough. I jump up to go to the bathroom and turn the arctic demon down before I jump back in bed. When I come back, I tell Grandma I'm frozen -- and that literally breaks the ice (sorry ... couldn't resist). Suddenly, it's cozy. We're huddled together in a mass in the middle of the bed, as Mom tells us about having a dream of being up North with no coat or shoes. We're laughing so hard we can't go back to sleep.
Welcome to day two.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Where's Grandma?
It's five minutes into the trip, and we've already lost Grandma.
She was following us so we could drop her car off ... and now she's AWOL. Her cell phone is going right to voicemail. TO make matters worse, we're an hour behind schedule. My other BFF, Heidi, is en route from Orlando with her little ones to meet us at Weeki Watchee.
And that's not the half of it. As if being late and losing Grandma weren't bad enough ... when I went to plug the battery into my fancy new camera this morning -- it doesn't fit. I realize the bastards at Nikon have made the battery slightly smaller, so the extra ones I've brought from my last Nikon are too big. Sadly, I didn't have the foresight to actually charge the battery that came WITH the camera.
Still, we're excited ... and finally on the road! My brother calls to pray for our safety. A prayer issued over Mom's Blackberry. He repeats the words heavenly, lord and father so many times, I begin to wonder if there's a correlation between frequency of usage and the amount of safety we get in return. Or maybe God just has ADHD and needs to be refocused often? Regardless, I appreciate the sentiment and a safe trip would be ideal.
I'm calling on God myself for patience over the next hour as I watch cars passing us steadily on the left. I remind Mom that the speed of traffic is a perfectly acceptable way to travel. In spite, we arrive in the nick of time. Surrounded by gleaming white statues of mermaids, I marvel that this place has been around for more than 60 years. For us, it's stop number one on project Mermaids to Graceland. Ironically, Graceland -- or Elvis -- is actually one of the most famous guests the park has ever had. I feel almost famous when the nice lady at customer service desk allows me to plug in the battery for the camera at her post. Even she's excited about our trip.
It's only then that I notice that the size of the memory card has also changed. I now have six cards for the old Nikon, and not a damn one for the new camera.
Heavenly. Lord. Father.
Weeki Watchee is just as tacky fabulous as I expected it would be. I've always wanted to come here. There's something magical -- no matter what your age -- about dancing underwater mermaids. I'm as entertained watching Heidi's four-year-old experience the show as I am by the main event itself. But I think she might be more taken with the giant seashell sculpture outside than the frolicking girls with air hoses. I'll admit that the best part of the show are the turtles that seem to dive bomb the mermaids at every opportunity. They shoo them away like they're sea flies. It's hysterical. Really ... they are very determined turtles. I think they like the bubbles.
I'd like some bubbles right now ... in the bottom of a beer bottle. It's about 12 hours later and we've driven 600 miles today. We're in Mobile, Alabama, in a Days Inn near the airport. The room is hot as hades and smells like old socks. Grandma pulled back the bed covers and yelped. A bug crawled out and scurried across the floor. The other room they offered us smelled worse.
Lord. That's all I've got.
She was following us so we could drop her car off ... and now she's AWOL. Her cell phone is going right to voicemail. TO make matters worse, we're an hour behind schedule. My other BFF, Heidi, is en route from Orlando with her little ones to meet us at Weeki Watchee.
And that's not the half of it. As if being late and losing Grandma weren't bad enough ... when I went to plug the battery into my fancy new camera this morning -- it doesn't fit. I realize the bastards at Nikon have made the battery slightly smaller, so the extra ones I've brought from my last Nikon are too big. Sadly, I didn't have the foresight to actually charge the battery that came WITH the camera.
Still, we're excited ... and finally on the road! My brother calls to pray for our safety. A prayer issued over Mom's Blackberry. He repeats the words heavenly, lord and father so many times, I begin to wonder if there's a correlation between frequency of usage and the amount of safety we get in return. Or maybe God just has ADHD and needs to be refocused often? Regardless, I appreciate the sentiment and a safe trip would be ideal.
I'm calling on God myself for patience over the next hour as I watch cars passing us steadily on the left. I remind Mom that the speed of traffic is a perfectly acceptable way to travel. In spite, we arrive in the nick of time. Surrounded by gleaming white statues of mermaids, I marvel that this place has been around for more than 60 years. For us, it's stop number one on project Mermaids to Graceland. Ironically, Graceland -- or Elvis -- is actually one of the most famous guests the park has ever had. I feel almost famous when the nice lady at customer service desk allows me to plug in the battery for the camera at her post. Even she's excited about our trip.
It's only then that I notice that the size of the memory card has also changed. I now have six cards for the old Nikon, and not a damn one for the new camera.
Heavenly. Lord. Father.
Weeki Watchee is just as tacky fabulous as I expected it would be. I've always wanted to come here. There's something magical -- no matter what your age -- about dancing underwater mermaids. I'm as entertained watching Heidi's four-year-old experience the show as I am by the main event itself. But I think she might be more taken with the giant seashell sculpture outside than the frolicking girls with air hoses. I'll admit that the best part of the show are the turtles that seem to dive bomb the mermaids at every opportunity. They shoo them away like they're sea flies. It's hysterical. Really ... they are very determined turtles. I think they like the bubbles.I'd like some bubbles right now ... in the bottom of a beer bottle. It's about 12 hours later and we've driven 600 miles today. We're in Mobile, Alabama, in a Days Inn near the airport. The room is hot as hades and smells like old socks. Grandma pulled back the bed covers and yelped. A bug crawled out and scurried across the floor. The other room they offered us smelled worse.
Lord. That's all I've got.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I Must Be Crazy ...
A while back I decided driving across country with my Mom and Grandmother was a fabulous idea. My grandmother will be 86 this year, and I thought spending time with her and my Mom would be a great bonding experience.
That's funny, because my relationship with my mother can at times be tumultuous. We've been planning for months, and despite the thousand miles that separate her in Florida from me in Washington DC -- she's already been making me a little nutty.
Don't get me wrong ... I LOVE my mother. She's one of the best people I know. And I know she thinks an awful lot of me. It's just, well -- weird. Usually the first few days are blissful, but then things take a turn. I'm certainly not blaming it on her. I am a pain in the ass. I know it. I admit it. I own it. But I suppose I wish we had an easier time relating. In a way, that's a big part of what this trip is about.
If we don't kill each other, we'll only cross the finish line closer ... right?
Thankful, my BFF Dana has kept me relatively sane the past few weeks as things got really hectic with the final throes and all. Those moments where -- despite insisting we scrimp and pinch -- Mom suggests a $30 hotel in Vegas, but then wants to splurge on a Hampton Inn in Pensacola. Why? Because she's heard the beds are comfortable and wants to try them out. Somehow, as I would hang up the phone ... nerves sizzling -- Dana would call at just the right time.
And now here I am ... in Florida. Packing the car with the girls in a downpour.
As we begin to argue about what goes and what stays, which cooler to take, and whether or not we need the four shammys taking up space in the trunk -- we somehow find a bit of common ground. Grandma insists we bring duct tape, three coolers and an airline blanket. We start teasing her about whether she should bring canned goods for the trip. Looking in the cupboards here, you'd think she collects them. Mom suggests we pack enough to sustain a family of six for twelve days. I add that if the second coming of Christ coincided with the trip, we'd be saved. Then I could change the name of the book to ... "How My Grandmother's Canned Goods Saved Us During the Armageddon." I laughed so hard I cried. Mom laughed so hard she almost peed her pants.
Somehow I'm reassured. I have hope that this one little moment of camaraderie will set the tone for the voyage on which we will soon embark.
And maybe the future.
That's funny, because my relationship with my mother can at times be tumultuous. We've been planning for months, and despite the thousand miles that separate her in Florida from me in Washington DC -- she's already been making me a little nutty.
Don't get me wrong ... I LOVE my mother. She's one of the best people I know. And I know she thinks an awful lot of me. It's just, well -- weird. Usually the first few days are blissful, but then things take a turn. I'm certainly not blaming it on her. I am a pain in the ass. I know it. I admit it. I own it. But I suppose I wish we had an easier time relating. In a way, that's a big part of what this trip is about.
If we don't kill each other, we'll only cross the finish line closer ... right?
Thankful, my BFF Dana has kept me relatively sane the past few weeks as things got really hectic with the final throes and all. Those moments where -- despite insisting we scrimp and pinch -- Mom suggests a $30 hotel in Vegas, but then wants to splurge on a Hampton Inn in Pensacola. Why? Because she's heard the beds are comfortable and wants to try them out. Somehow, as I would hang up the phone ... nerves sizzling -- Dana would call at just the right time.
And now here I am ... in Florida. Packing the car with the girls in a downpour.
As we begin to argue about what goes and what stays, which cooler to take, and whether or not we need the four shammys taking up space in the trunk -- we somehow find a bit of common ground. Grandma insists we bring duct tape, three coolers and an airline blanket. We start teasing her about whether she should bring canned goods for the trip. Looking in the cupboards here, you'd think she collects them. Mom suggests we pack enough to sustain a family of six for twelve days. I add that if the second coming of Christ coincided with the trip, we'd be saved. Then I could change the name of the book to ... "How My Grandmother's Canned Goods Saved Us During the Armageddon." I laughed so hard I cried. Mom laughed so hard she almost peed her pants.
Somehow I'm reassured. I have hope that this one little moment of camaraderie will set the tone for the voyage on which we will soon embark.
And maybe the future.
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