We went on a road trip to North Carolina this past week and altho the trip itself was uneventful, it made me think of trips with Mom----which were anything BUT uneventful! It never mattered the length of the trip, the routine was always the same, with a few variations.
Say she and I planned to go to Sue and Steve's on Tuesday. Today is Thursday.
Thursday, Day 1: Plan route (I know this already, but I humor her. She did so love to get out the maps that neither of us could read and pretend to figure it all out.) Start the laundry.
Friday, Day 2: Go to the mall for a "few things"--more underwear, a new outfit, shampoo; just a mish mash of stuff. Finish laundry.
Saturday, Day 3: Go back to the mall to return the new outfit--the color isn't right in "real" light. Start packing the suitcase.
Sunday, Day 4: Go to the grocery store for bread, turkey, ham, cheese, pb and jam, chips, drinks, oranges and grapes. Be sure to get enough to feed an army. Go home and separate the grapes from the stems, peel and section oranges. Put them all in zip lock bags with some ice to keep them fresh. Refrigerate. Finish packing. Let me think: we need cuddle duds, several sweatsuits in case it's cold, several short sleeved shirts with sweaters in case it's warm, a couple of good outfits just in case we go out to eat or shop (is there any doubt about that??), several pairs of pj"s, 3 or 4 robes, slippers, sneakers, heels, socks, a bale of underwear, belts, and lots of bathroom accesories. Fill cooler with ice.
Monday, Day 5: Make sandwiches and refrigerate. Go to the bank for cash. Fill cooler with food, drinks, and fruit. Find 3 men and a boy to load suitcase in the trunk of the car and the cooler in the back seat.
Ok, now it's early Tuesday and we are off---.02 miles to the gas station. We fill up and head for the ferry. But first, in Plattsburgh, we need to stop for candy bars, cause we may need something sweet. And, just to be safe, because there is no station on the ferry, let's get more gas. Finally we are on the ferry. Once off the ferry and in Vermont, Mom is craning her neck to watch the gas gauge and hoping we have enough gas to get to the next station. There is no re-assuring her that we have plenty and could probably get all the way to Sue's without filling up. Oh, there is a McDonald's! Let's stop for a sausage bisquit and get gas. Now we are back in the car, and Mom is back to her gas gauge watching. 30 miles later, she needs to stop at a rest room at a gas station. Yup! You got it. At lunch time we need to stop at a picnic table near a gas station. This continues until we arrive at Sue's, 10 hours later; this is usually about a 6 hour trip! Of course, I did try to distract her by playing games--you know, the license plate thing we do, but it doesn't work for long. It's hard to see license plates when you have your eyes glued to the gas gauge. This was pretty typical of a car trip with Mom. The variations:
Going to Skip's meant taking the Thruway for a ways. Because I was there, I happen to know that the New York State Thruway Authority DOES NOT like payment in pennies at the toll booths. My face is still red over that one.
And going to Lindy's meant the toll places where you throw a quarter, dime, or nickle into the container on certain highways. (I don't think you do that any more, or we don't go that way any more, thank the good Lord!) So, of course, I missed the target once and Mom tried to make me get out of the car and find the darn quarter because it was "just as good in our pocket as theirs". Dear Lord! There was a LOT of horn blowing and yelling before I found another quarter so we could go on. Mom wasn't happy, and believe me, neither was I!! My face is still red over that one, too!!
Those days are gone now, and even tho at the time, I dreaded car trips with Mom, I would give anything I or anyone else owns, just to be in a car with the gas gauge watcher, wringer of hands, fun and funny person who was my Mom. If nothing else, we never took a trip that I forgot--they were always stressful, fun, entertaining and memorable. I miss that.