A Vacation To Remember

Some vacations are memorable because they take us to exotic locations. Some are memorable because of fun times spent with family. And some, of course, are memorable because they are so bad.

Let me rewind to summer of 1990. Hard to believe it has been two decades. Now, as a child (and, near as I can tell, it may still be that way), when someone from West Virginia went on vacation it was almost always to Myrtle Beach. Apparently, the existence of any other coastal areas is a well guarded secret in dem dair hills.

But in 1990, we strayed from the Hillbilly Vacation Formula because Dad had the bright idea to go to Maine. I feel certain he’d seen photos of Maine’s rocky coast, heard tales of their fresh lobster, and felt like it was a great and different place to spend a week.

But he was wrong.

Let me set the stage a bit. My stepmom had only recently learned she was pregnant with my youngest brother. If I do the math, she was first trimester when we loaded up the brand new Mercury Tracer (bought that very week, if memory serves) and headed from West Virginia to Maine. It’s worth noting that a few years later, that would become MY first car. It’s also worth noting, for those not familiar with their automotive makes, that it was a small car, and it was packed to the sunroof with our (then) family of four and a week’s worth of bags.

The trip to Maine was uneventful. We stopped halfway just outside of New York City, crossed a bridge and went through a tunnel into Manhattan where my brother and I could not get to F.A.O. Schwartz fast enough. I don’t recall buying anything, but my brother bought a  high-quality Rolls Royce model car (this is important for later). We dined at a swanky-to-a-13-year old Asian restaurant, and returned to our Jersey motel room before heading through New England on our way to Maine.

For whatever reason, we arrived in Ogunquit, Maine with no hotel reservations. I’m not sure if we thought it was such an undiscovered location that one wasn’t needed or if it had just slipped my parent’s minds in the midst of finding out a third son was on the way, but at any rate, we ended up at The Pine Ledge. (notable, because the sanitarium closest to where I grew up was called the Pine LODGE…and both, as it were, were suited only to the criminally insane)

The location was lovely…an old style motel (think Norman Bates) in a picturesque setting. But that was all that was nice about the Pine Ledge.

It was run by an odd family who lived on site and, apparently, boiled onions for every meal. I distinctly recall that the motel matron was a spindly older woman who wore knee high striped socks and coke bottle glasses.

She showed us to our suite…a plywood paneled room that had last been decorated in the 1940s. There was a double bed, a twin bed, and a cot for us to fight over.

The kitchenette was a blast from the past, with a vintage refrigerator:

The bathroom was a musty old collection of paneling and bad wiring. The single light turned into a strobe after it had heated up. And the television was a black and white model on a rolling cart that likewise flickered once it had been on for a few minutes.

As we unpacked our compact car, I discovered that our room was already occupied. Crawling up my stepmother’s back was a near tarantula sized spider.

“Don’t move!” I urged. And she immediately did a forward handspring over the cot, screaming and shrieking as she broke into a back flip trying to get her eight legged friend off. He disappeared in the mayhem.

My brother made some comment that he would sleep in the car, and tense words erupted. Poor stepmom, flush with first trimester hormones, yelled at him and tossed his new Rolls Royce over the floral bedspread, breaking it.

After we had unpacked and calmed down, we set out to make the most of vacation. The rocky shore of Maine was calling. We could hear it, but, as it turned out, we couldn’t really SEE it. Fog rolled in so thick you could barely see your fingers if you stretched your hand out.

And behind the fog, rain. We checked out local shops, headed to the 24-hour L.L. Bean, and waited for nicer weather. When it came, we hoped to spend some time in the Pine Ledge pool. Only it had been cleaned around the same time the decor had last been updated. So we did the only thing we knew to do–we headed for the outlet mall.

After a few hours of fruitless bargain hunting, we returned to find that we had locked the keys in the car. The Maine police had to come with a slim-jim to get us back in.

Still, we had the Maine lobster to look forward to. Only lobster and pregnant women don’t mix so well. After an all you can eat feast, we stopped no less than 17 times for my stepmother to puke on the side of the road.

After that, it was decided there was simply no saving that vacation. We loaded the car back up on day three and headed home, never so glad to see a Comfort Inn in New Jersey in our lives.

The Song Of The Moment

As I feel I’ve no doubt shared before, I tend to find a song or two I like and play them to death. This annoys the hell out of friends and loved ones who ride in my car, work next to my office, or sit by the pool with me. But it also gives my life a great soundtrack. I can hear one of my past favorite songs and instantly get flooded with memories of the time I was playing the hell out of it.

So, here’s my song of the moment. So summery, so fun, and I may have developed a small platonic crush on Katy Perry because of it:

A Little Mish Mash

1. I took the week off last week. It was a good time to do so, as my vacation hours start over at the end of the month, and I had to use or lose a few days worth. I had no real plans for the week, but ended up having a great time with some of my favorite people.

I went up to West Virginia, where I met with a client (a fun client, so it wasn’t too much like work). Then my folks had a final family get together at the old house. About thirty of us chowed down on spaghetti made with my grandmother’s famous recipe. As we all got together for one final party at the house we’ve called home for the past 22 years, I remembered our very FIRST family event there. It was Thanksgiving, 1988. We had just moved in, after a few months delay in the renovations, and had probably 40+ in attendance for Thanksgiving dinner. It runs in my mind that either the knobs on the range had been put on incorrectly or maybe the oven just didn’t work (this was the same oven, afterall, that would take two hours to heat up a pan of pizza rolls), but whatever the case, the turkey was still cold when everyone arrived. It was the first of many parties and get togethers at that house, and I hope the new owners will enjoy it just as much.

My cousin, Trailer Park Midge and her husband opened up their doublewide for a Fourth of Joo-lye cookout. It had been entirely too long since I’d seen Trailerpark Barbie and Little Frugalista so we had a good time catching up.

I spent one day with my crazy mama (slightly less crazy these days, having given up some of her daily cocktail of pharmaceuticals), taking my 1 1/2 year old godson along for a visit to my grandmother (he loved running down her hills and jumping off her front porch), and ending the day visiting with the family of one of my friends (where mom and the other ladies discussed all sorts of medical procedures and problems ad nauseum, prompting me to promise to submit to a testicular exam before my next visit so I could have something to add to the conversation.)

On the way home, I toured a hardwoods factory where a client will be getting some gorgeous walnut flooring and had dinner with one of my best friends near his home in Charlotte. (The restaurant, incidentally, had the best balsamic vinaigrette either of us had tasted.)

All in all, not a bad way to spend a week off.

2. Darling and I spent two days at the beach at the end of the week. It was fun and relaxing until we got in the car to come home. Most condo and house rentals, of course, run Saturday to Saturday, so we were stuck smack dab in the middle of the Saturday morning exodus. What is normally a four hour drive took seven. We passed the time counting how many golf carts were being towed to the beach. (54, in case you wondered, just on the first stretch of highway.) This golf cart craze has me puzzled. There were a few families in my old neighborhood who had them, and there wasn’t a golf course anywhere near us. Near as I can tell and surmise, these are the must-have accessory for subdivision dwellers everywhere. It’s nonsense, apparently,  to fire up the Suburban to drive to the neighborhood pool, or to try parking an Expedition at playgroup up the street. Much better is to spend five to ten grand on a golf cart to tool about the community in. (God forbid anyone actually walk the streets of their own neighborhood.)

3. And speaking of things I can’t see spending money on, a client recently asked for a space in his rec room to put a pinball machine. Who knew that a pinball machine costs around five grand?? It takes an awful lot of quarters for the arcade owners to break even on one of those. Although I can think of about three million things I’d rather spend five grand on, it’s those sort of  little touches that make my job fun sometimes. Over the years, I’ve seen clients request fire poles (to slide from one level’s porch to the next), a full-story slide to get the kids from their bedrooms to their playroom below, a grandmother requested that the entrance to her grandchildren’s suite be made to look like an old armoire a’la “Chronicles of Narnia“, a golfer added a virtual reality room for golf simulation, and a car officianado installed a lift system in his garage so that his prized toys could be stacked vertically. Gets me thinking, if money were no object and I were building my dream house…what little quirks would I add? I once designed myself a  house with a basement that was fully outfitted with a racquetball court, two lanes of bowling, an indoor pool, and a theatre. No need to ever leave home! I could also see including a few things to appeal to my inner child–secret passages, hidden doors, ladders that accessed nooks and crannies in the attic. What would YOUR dream  house have?

Darling’s Tips For Smooth Travel

One of my darling’s many talents, apparently, is comedic writing. So, here’s a little guest blog no doubt spawned by a recent flight. Enjoy!

CHECKING IN:

 (1) Please have your luggage tags prepared ahead of time. The light bulb should not suddenly appear when you get the kiosk and when thousands of people are standing behind you waiting for you to check-in. You knew who you were before you left home and you know your address. You may have four hours to kill at the airport, but some people have a life and a job that doesn’t allow them to be at the airport four hours before the flight leaves.

(2) The priority check-in and boarding line is for passengers who choose to pay a little extra and avoid lines and inexperienced travelers. If you see the sign that says Priority on it and you squish up your face in a confused look wondering if you are a priority passenger, you probably aren’t. If you were, you’d know it because you would have paid for it or earned enough miles to be on the list.

Getting to your Flight

 (3) Please be aware of your surroundings. Some people have tight connections to make and don’t have all day to dawdle around the airport killing time or walking at leisurely pace. If you are unsure where to go, don’t stop in the middle of the terminal gazed and confused. This often causes pile-ups of people falling over you. Move your confused self to one side of the terminal where you can spend as much time as you like trying to find yourself.

(4) The moving escalators are meant to save time for travelers in a hurry to catch a connection. One side is marked stand and the other side is marked walk. The standing side is for you to stand on, the walking side is for you to walk/run on while you dash from one side of the airport to the other in an attempt to make your connection in ten minutes. Under no circumstance should you stand next to your travel companion chatting about the weather and blocking both sides. If you are knocked over the side of the escalator by a passenger in a hurry to catch a flight, this is your fault.

(5) When the LOUD beeping car behind you BEEPS, it means move out of the way. It does not mean for you to continue walking in the same leisurely path. The cart is trying to get people to their gate on time. I’m starting a movement to put cow catchers on the front of the cars like the ones they have on trains to bump cattle out of the way on train tracks. When you find yourself on your ass at the side of the terminal with your luggage scattered all around you, perhaps you will remember the beeping sound next time.

 (6) Flying is a hazard. If you fly a lot or a little, you will probably miss a flight because of a late plane. Remember that the person working the counter of the flight you just missed did not fly your previous plane. No, they can’t call the plane back for you—you’re simply not that important. It will do you no good to yell at the worker. This only results in making you look foolish and it will end in the same result—you aren’t getting on that plane. Even though you think where you are going is more important than everyone else, everyone else disagrees. Work it out.

SECURITY:

 (7) While you were standing in line at the security checkpoint, you may have noticed the signs that tell you what you can and cannot take in your carryon luggage. These are not suggestions. It will do you know good to argue with the security people thus resulting in holding everyone else up. This makes people angry and makes them want to kill you. There is also a list of things posted you need to remove from your bag to send through the security machine. While you are standing in line looking around casually at all the happenings at the airport, read a sign. You can save the people behind you a lot of murderous thoughts if you will be prepared when you hit the security checkpoint. You also should not become upset when we are laughing at you because your luggage is falling out all over the place because of your failure to plan for security.

 (8) You stood in the security line for what, fifteen or twenty minutes watching every passenger in front of you show their ID and boarding pass to the officer checking those items. Suddenly, as you get to the front, they ask to see YOUR ID and boarding pass. You’re dazed and confused as to why in the world they would ask this. Yes, the hundreds of people behind you are rolling their eyes at you as you fumble around for your driver’s license and boarding pass. All this could have been avoided had you used your powers of observation and processed those observations. The fact that they were asking EVERYONE for their ID and boarding pass should have been a clue that it wasn’t a random sampling. Also, there is a sign at the front of the line that says “have your ID and Boarding Pass ready.” This means…well you get it.

(9) The security requirements have not changed in the last few years. Because some dumb ass tried to light his shoe on fire, the rest of us now have to take our shoes off too. You are no exception. It would be highly suggested that you wear something easy to slip off (NOT CROCS) so that you don’t have to hop around on one foot bumping into everyone while you try to take your shoes off. No one cares if you think it’s stupid…it’s better than being blown up. Just be thankful you don’t have to remove all of your clothes for analysis because of the moron who tried to set his underwear on fire. Always remember, things could be worse.

(10) While you were standing in security, there was a little diagram telling you how big your carryon can be and how many you can have. No, the airline will not allow you to take three bags on even if one is a Wal-Mart bag. The limit is one carry on and one personal belonging, period. The size of your carryon is important. No matter how much you shove, push, squeeze, slam, or punch with your fist, you carryon will not fit in the overhead compartment if it is bigger than the size required by the airlines. Although it is quite amusing to passengers like me who have a twisted sense of humor, it’s holding up the plane. Remember, one of the other points where you missed your connection because your plane was late….now you know why the plane was probably late.

 (11) The security people are doing their jobs when they have to take you aside and search you or search your luggage. Getting upset and yelling at them does not help your cause. In my humble opinion, anyone causing a scene about being searched at security should be stripped searched. If you packed something you didn’t want the airport to see, then you shouldn’t have packed it to begin with. Leave your kinky lifestyle at home and you don’t have to worry about trying to explain to the security people why you packed hand cuffs (Yes, I do know this from personal experience, but it was not me who was being searched nor anyone I was with—dammit).

BOARDING YOUR PLANE

 (12) Please do not give the flight attendant grief if they ask you to move out of the exit row. Yes, it has more room, but the point of sitting in the exit row is to assist others in the event of an emergency. If you have to be helped getting out of your seat, you shouldn’t be in the exit row. We don’t need to be stumbling over you in the event of an emergency.

 (13) Before the plane can take off, all cell phones must be turned off. This means that you cannot be talking on your cell phone when the flight attendant says “all cell phones must now be turned off.” You’ve been waiting an hour or more for your flight to board and could have made all the calls you desired. Holding up your finger for the flight attendant to “hang on a sec” when she asks you to turn it off is not acceptable. The proper reaction from the flight attendant should be to snatch up your cell phone, snap it in half and return it to you in an unconventional way that involves some shoving. I realize you think your call is important, but it is important to me to get to where I am going on time. Your spouse can wait an hour until you land to hear whatever important news you have to tell him/her.

(14) All of us who travel and have no kids really appreciate the screaming child you bring on the plane with you. Now, less I be considered insensitive (which I am), I fully support other people having children and populating the earth—as long as it does not interfere with my life in any way. The support goes down a bit when your child is screaming in my ear. On the positive side, it immediately squashes any microscopic spark of wanting a child of my own. Don’t give me a dirty look when I order a lot of alcohol…it’s how I cope with screaming children. I don’t judge you because of your screaming child (well not verbally at least) so don’t judge me because of my coping mechanisms. (Please don’t bombard me with emails and comments about how insensitive I am to those with children—I like children….when they aren’t screaming or annoying).

(15) As you are walking down the aisle, please be mindful of the passengers already in their seats and waiting for take-off. I realize that you are multi-tasking by talking on the phone, dragging an over-sized carry-on behind you and shouldering a purse/laptop bag, but you should be mindful and realize that your purse/laptop bag is slapping every person in the face as you move up the aisle. Since women tend to carry everything but the kitchen sink in their purses, one knows that being hit upside the head with a big purse or a laptop can cause a concussion.

 (16) When a person next to you is reading (book, magazine) or listening to their ipod, it generally means they aren’t open to conversation. Non-verbal clues should be going off in your head that perhaps this person doesn’t want to be disturbed. I like conversation as much as the next person, but having just got off the connecting flight with the screaming child, I probably have a headache, and I may be a little drunk. Asking me questions while I’m trying to read my book is annoying. Please talk to the person on the other side of you or not at all. Maybe read a book, or the in-flight magazine. Remember, reading is important as already mentioned in several points above. Practice that.

LANDING:

(17) Once the plane has landed, everyone on the plane is in a hurry. You are not the only that needs to catch another flight. Pushing, sighing, stamping your foot, and cursing is not going to get you off the plane any faster. There is a possibility that you will miss your connecting flight. Refer back to number if you miss your connecting flight.

Blast From the Past–Home Interiors

It’s been a while since I did a Blast From the Past and you can thank my dear ole stepmama for this one. She and dad are moving to a new house that is quite different from their old one. Their old place was log and wood and very open, with vaulted, beamed ceilings. It’s my completely worthless opinion that houses like that are unique in that you can put almost anything in them and it looks good because the architecture is so strong that everything else is just filler. I have the same opinion on loft style condos, but I digress. Their new house is more traditional, with plaster walls and seperate living and dining rooms.  It will require a different design aesthetic. Stepmom indicated that she and dad hoped to start acquiring some new art–stuff from local artists. She commented that she was “over any kind of Home Interiors look”.

Now, does anyone else remember Home Interiors? Surely a few of you do. They were HUGE in the 1980′s and, I guess, probably into the 1990′s. I don’t think the company is even in business anymore, but near as I can recall they worked on some sort of Tupperware platform in that bored housewives had “Home Interior Parties” and got their friends to buy “art” and “collectibles” in the hopes of earning fabulous “hostess gifts”.

Overall, the stuff is tack-o-rama. It may have been fine in it’s day, but every single piece I could locate on the interwebs is hopelessly dated and works off of some decorative cliche. They sold entire “arrangements”, themed to within an inch of their lives, to add “class” and “panache” to the 1980′s home. Imagine, an entire wall of themed western art, complete with a dreary “picture” of horses galloping and metal western accent pieces. No wall was complete without a shelf containing a theme-appropriate figurine.

Home Interior was a big deal back in 1988 West Virginia. I can just imagine hearing “You should see their new house! They’ve got home interior pictures in every room!” It was a status symbol that ranked right up there with sculptured carpet and a no wax vinyl floor. So, please enjoy the following step into the past:

My crazy mama had this one in our living room. No doubt she was scrimping and saving for the matching figurines at one time.

I likewise imagine that no home of sophistication was complete unless this picture had a nearby set of wolf collectibles, or perhaps a throw for the sofa embroidered with similar creatures.

A matching set! And just imagine  how it would set off your mauve and green floral sofa!

And who wasn’t just waiting to fill that special spot on the wall with a picture of frolicking kittens?

I believe my crazy mama still has this picture of two creepy children hanging somewhere.

Notice the exquisite detail of the matting on this one! Surely such a fine piece was available only as one of the coveted hostess gifts!