Cherie & Scott go to Mayo

My husband, Scott, and I, recently traveled to Rochester, Minnesota, to the Mayo Clinic, for me to have heart surgery. It was a very interesting trip, so I DID take some notes while we were there, (at least, up until the time I was unconscious.) I just had a feeling that our trip might make for a good blog entry.

First of all, it was COLD, which is a big DUH, considering it was the dead of winter. Our flight was delayed, and we arrived at about 3:30 a.m. the morning that I needed to be at the clinic by 7:30 a.m., so we were pretty much zombies, that whole first day.

For those of you who don't know, Scott is very much a "chatter". He'll talk to anyone and everyone, and he ALWAYS seems to know people wherever we go, and he talks FOREVER. It shouldn't have been surprising, then, that he ran into a guy at the Sacramento airport, and had a nice long talk. That would've been fine, but the guy was on our flight, too, and ended up at the airport in Minneapolis/St.Paul, so he had to talk to him again, then. I was okay with that.....didn't really bother me. However, the next day, when we were at the Mayo Clinic, out of the corner of my eye, I swore I thought I saw him waving at somebody, and I seriously, almost knocked him down. Lucky for him, he was just scratching his head.

So, we made it to Mayo, and I spent the next several days being tortured with tests, but aside from that, we did have some fun, people watching, and walking around in the subways and skyways (you would never have to go outside, if you didn't want to). We ate in a couple of restaurants, and overall, the waiters/waitresses were very nice, but the first afternoon, not so much. This waitress seemed annoyed that we actually came to eat something, then REALLY annoyed that we drank the water in the juice-size glass she had given us. Um, I'm sorry. Is this NOT the land of 10,000 lakes?

Now, the fun really began. Got to have surgery. I will never forget the "angel" R.N. who took care of me that first night in ICU. She was right by my side, the whole night, and seemed to anticipate every (multiple) need. She also happened to look just like one of my friends from Placerville (shout out to Becky Bowman), and that made me feel even better :).

Funny thing.......evidently, most people wouldn't normally choose to have surgery during the Christmas holiday, so the place was kinda empty. It was just me, and about 14 other patients, on my floor, and they were all OLD. Okay, I take that back.....there were maybe two other patients who were under the age of 70, and I felt this weird obligation to acknowledge them, as we passed in the hallways. (You know, like Harley riders do that little subtle hand wave, as they pass another rider?)

The first day that I was moved out of Intensive Care, two doctors (the electrophysiologists),came into my room, to talk about the next procedure I would be having. Now, granted, I was heavily medicated, but the one guy sounded just like Elmer Fudd. No lie. This was confirmed by Scott. The Dr was very nice, and came to see me EVERY day, but it was painful. I kept praying he wouldn't have to use any words with the letter "R" in them. Fortunately, he was just a "fellow", and ended his rotation on the day I actually had my EP study and ablation, which was a relief, cuz I really couldn't get past the voice, and would not have been surprised AT ALL, if he had shown up in a red hunter's cap.

For you "30 Rock" fans, there was also a Dr who came in my room, and got on the computer at my bedside, and started peppering the nurse with all kinds of questions about "me". He looked and sounded JUST LIKE Dr. Spaceman. And to top it off, the questions he was asking didn't make any sense, and the nurse finally told him "You have the wrong patient up on the screen". He mumbled something, and quickly exited the room. Luckily, I never saw him again.

When you're in the hospital, you hear things that, out of context, sound very odd and inappropriate. I'm going to list some of the things we heard:
What they said:
1. "Do you have a preference where you want it?
2. "Is it flopping around as much?"
3. "Sorry, it slipped out"
4. "You have a nice annulus"
4.b "You have a gorgeous arch"


What they were referring to:
1. Where did I want my new I.V. line.
2. Did the line in my neck feel more stable.
3. Guy doing ultrasound "lost his place", while scanning my heart.
4. Referring to the structure that supports my mitral valve (during my cardiac ultrasound)
4.b Referring to my aortic arch (also, during my cardiac ultrasound)

(It should be noted that the last two comments were made by my Mayo cardiologist, who said them in complete seriousness. Being the immature person that I am, it took everything I had, to stifle my giggling).

Having open heart surgery was both horrifying, and amazing. It's so incredible that they can do what they do!

I have to say, that there's no way that I could've gotten through all of it without my husband. He was amazing. He saw, heard, and smelled things, that no one should, and yet, he never seemed (openly) repulsed and/or disgusted. He was always right there, and acted like there's nowhere else he'd rather be (okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but you get the gist). It's possible that I may have been a little difficult/emotional/impatient/irritable/annoyed, but he, as always, exhibited kindness and patience (yes, I put this in writing), and I hope he knows how much I appreciate it.

The trip home went smoothly, and aside from a few minor complications, I am on the mend. Scott DOES claim that, the first night home, I insisted that he go "get the nurse" to tell her my heart was "beating funny", but I'm not sure that actually happened. I DID dream of a toddler in a red sequin dress who spoke like Thurston Howell III, but pretty sure that was medication induced.

While it's not something I would ever CHOOSE to go through again, Scott and I, were both, overwhelmed with all the love and support we received, from friends and family throughout this whole experience. Now, I'm looking forward to a full recovery, no more shortness of breath, and loads of energy. If you thought I was annoying before......just wait!

AT&T: you make me mad

Grocery Stores

Going to the grocery store is always an adventure. I already touched on the subject in my blog "Shopping Together is NOT a Good Idea", but this is more specific to grocery stores. It is ALWAYS better to shop without family members, unless you're prepared to take out a second mortgage on your house. You end up at the checkout, and for a moment, you think you might have the wrong cart, because there's stuff in there you don't recognize. A lot of it. The males in my family are very resourceful. They know how to strategically place items, so they're not seen until the moment the cashier scans them.

While we're on the subject of checking out, that brings to mind one of my other pet peeves. I DO NOT LIKE IT when the cashier comments on your purchases. Why would they even GO THERE? They don't have any clue who I am, and/or what I might be planning.
"Oh, I see you have a liter of vodka, roses, stationary, filled prescriptions for sleeping pills & tranquilizers, and straight razors. Looks like SOMEBODY is having a romantic evening!"

I have a secret wish. I would like to work in the dairy section of a grocery store. In the back. Behind the milk, etc. Wouldn't it be fun to mess with the customers. Hold on to items from behind, so they can't pull it off the shelf? Speak in a low, ominous voice, and say "Do you think that's the best idea?" or "Remember your cholesterol", or "What would Dr. Oz say?". Additionally, I could be a perky, helpful, disembodied voice; "Light sour cream is a good choice; less calories, virtually no difference in taste" or "Don't waste your money. Fat free cream cheese is hideous, unless you enjoy eating caulking, chalk, or Mylanta". Or, I could offer hints about the customer's appearance. "Was that really the best choice to wear in public?", or "Undergarments would help that top hang a little better" or "Do you "OWN a mirror?". You know, just being helpful, that's all.

I'm not good around the displays in grocery stores. Especially in the produce section. Who's idea was it to construct these Jenga-inspired towers of fruits and vegetables? More than once, I have attempted to extricate a potato, or (insert ANY item of your choosing, except cantaloupe. I hate cantaloupe), only to have 127 OTHER items topple off the display. And, they don't just fall off.....they fall off and ROLL, so you can't even make a quick getaway, cuz the cart can't get through the minefield of root vegetables you just created. It's not like I'm grabbing at the stack willy nilly. I put some thought into which tater to grab for, and it's ALWAYS WRONG.

It's not just produce, either. Once, during the holidays, there was an elaborate candle display, directly across from the in-store pharmacy, (where there is a perpetual line of disgruntled patients, or WITNESSES, as I like to call them), and I (carefully) chose a lovely candle for our mantle. Okay. They were rectangular in shape, so they seemed stable. They were not. Stable. The entire display came crashing down. It should be noted that my husband and son were with me when this occured. They WERE with me. When I looked up, hoping to see the reassuring, supportive faces of my loved ones, they had fled the scene. Honestly, I don't remember what happened after that. I think my mind repressed it, in an effort to protect me.

Last, but not least, I was shopping for supplies to do some baking. Baking is something that my family loves for me to do. Actually, there seems to be a direct correlation between me, in the kitchen, and the amount of love and affection I inspire. My husband is never more loving than when I'm cooking or baking. AND, if I have an apron on? The look on his face is reminiscent of our early dating days.....he REALLY, REALLY likes me when I have an apron on. I digress. Back to the baking supplies. I needed butterscotch chips for my oft-requested Oatmeal Scotchies. I found the chips. They were piled high, at the end of an aisle ("BIG HOLIDAY PROMOTION"!!). Do I even need to say it? You know what happened. However, what made this particularly awkward, was the fact that those little bags of chips are quite slippery. They DO NOT stack. I tried. They just kept sliding off. I have NO idea how they were stacked there, in the first place. I finally gave up, and threw all of them in my cart. We had to clean out two shelves of our pantry to house those dumb chips. Of course, my husband was ecstatic, cuz he thought I was actually going to make that many cookies. (He's still waiting).

I am weak in grocery stores. I have no self control or willpower. I am a sucker for "NEW!!" items. I AM a marketing dream come true. I buy things at eye level. I buy things at the ends of aisles. Even knowing that I am being duped, I cannot help myself. I KNOW that "Cookies & Cream", "Ice Cream Sandwich", "Chocolate Sundae", and "Oreo" flavors are EXACTLY THE SAME, but they slap a new name on it, and in my cart it goes! And cereals!!! I once had heart palpitations over a new creation "Rice Krispie Treat" cereal. And "Reese's" cereal? Forget about it! In the cart it goes!

Lest you think that I am totally without hope, or good nutrition, let me clarify that these are not everyday purchases. Normally, we mostly eat fresh fruits & vegetables, fish, lean meats.....you know, all the stuff on the "perimeter of the store", where you're supposed to buy the "good for you" stuff. Once in a while, though, I venture into the forbidden center aisles, and that's where the nutritional good intentions go out the window. Really. It's maybe, every third shopping trip, when something "bad" gets into the cart, or when there's anything "NEW!", which only happens.......well....um........okay....EVERY time.

Pregnancy

Today is my younger son's 11th birthday. As all parents say, I can hardly believe how quickly the time has passed. Anyhoo, that's what inspired today's blog.

I had my first son, Alex, when I was 26 years old. Pregnancy was easy (the birth, not so much), and recovery to my pre-pregnancy body was relatively easy. I used Jane Fonda's nazi boot camp videos (I don't think they were actually called that, but they should have been), and was back to "normal" in a couple months.

Fast forward 14 years, and I'm giving birth to my second son, Sam. NOT so easy. None of it. Including the "getting pregnant" part. Let me explain. I was older. Older than 26. By 14 years. (Don't make me say it, just do the math). But,I REALLY wanted to have a baby with Scott. I just really liked him, and it seemed like a good idea. He took some convincing, cuz his point was that our other kids were just about grown, and we could be "free". Alex wasn't crazy about the idea either.....he kinda liked being the only kid there. Well, as so often happens, I wore them both down, and ended up getting pregnant. By the way, this was "pre-privacy law" days, and the word had traveled throughout the hospital (where I work) that I was pregnant, before I even got back from the lab!

Sadly, though, we miscarried. When Alex found out, he felt bad. He knew I was sad, so in an effort to cheer me up, he told me, excitedly, one day, when I picked him up from school, "Mom! We're learning about the reproductive system, and the teacher said that women can get pregnant between the 12th and 15th day of their cycle,and today is March 14th, so you should try again! I'll go to bed early, and I'll turn my music on really loud, so you and Scott will have privacy". Apparently, his understanding was that ALL women, across the earth, are fertile on the exact same days.

At that point, I WAS ready to just stop trying. Everyone tells you "don't be obsessed", but how can you NOT be obsessed, when you have to take your temperature before you even get out of bed? Plus, I was having all these thoughts about how Scott's little reproductive guys were like little muscular dudes in Speedos, and my eggs were shriveled up little raisins, and the Speedo dudes were looking at each other, like "What? He wants us to what? Really?"

Scott said "I don't think that particular visual imagery is helping the situation".

Plus, talk about a buzzkill. If I took my temperature, and realized it was "time", I'd inform Scott that his services would be required, and it got to the point, where he acted like he was working a chain gang. Seriously, getting pregnant is hard work.

Well, I had all but given up hope, and BOOM, got pregnant (I know, I know, it's a cliche). It was Christmas Eve 1998, and we were just hangin out until time to go to church. Scott was playing his guitar, and for some reason, I felt compelled to take a pregnancy test. Okay. Truth. I had just read a Christmas newsletter, and someone that I dislike, had gushed on and on about "expecting". It ticked me off.....I was having thoughts like "Hey. How come this loser person can have a baby, and I can't?"(I'm paraphrasing). Soooo, that's what prompted the 'ol dipstick test.

Lo and behold, it came up POSITIVE! I ran out to grab Scott, screaming and dragging him into the bathroom. The look on his face was priceless, cuz he couldn't imagine what I was taking him to see!

So, naturally, we were a little nervous for the first three months, but everything went well. You know those women that get pregnant, and it's just like a little basketball in front of them? If you're not looking at them from the front, you don't even know they're pregnant? I HATE those women. I fell into the category of pregnancy-shows-in-the-rear first. On the plus side, one of my favorite parts of being pregnant, was not having to suck in the belly. You just let it all hang out, baby!

The day of delivery approached, and we were getting pretty excited. Unfortunately, my Dr. was planning to be out of town, so he decided to put me in the hospital and **WARNING: DISTASTEFUL PHRASE AHEAD** give me some medicine, and see if my "cervix was ripe" (I DID warn you).
Scott and I were psyched! We planned on an evening of fun and frivolity, hangin out in the beautiful birthing suite.....just as soon as those OTHER breeders vacated the premises. At last, we were moved into the luxury accomodations, but I wasn't feeling too good at that point. Having lots of back pain. Turned out, that was labor, and long story short, Sam was delivered that night via emergency C-Section. I didn't get to be awake for his birth, and when I did come to, they brought this little blond-haired baby to me, and I turned to Scott and said, "Are you positive this is the baby they took out of me?" (he was)

So, we had our little bundle of joy. He HAS been a joy. Oh sure, there's times when it would be nice to be free from the responsibility of a kid still at home, and Scott never misses the opportunity to say "you just HAD to have that kid, didn't you?". But on the other hand, sometimes, I say "You know, Sam, Daddy didn't want you", just so he knows that I love him THE most. JUST KIDDING. I would NEVER say that. Geez!

Well, now the reproductive ship has sailed, so we're just gonna enjoy this last kid til he moves on. Sam is aware, however, that having older parents means that he needs to make a REALLY good living, so he can buy us matching Rascal scooters for when we can no longer ambulate. I also requested that mine have more power than Scott's and I'll probably get that, because, after all, having Sam was my idea to begin with!

2 Year Olds Don't Travel Well

Awww, isn't he cute? Okay, so I just found this picture on my hard drive, and it took me right back to this trip. In September, 2001, we embarked on an ambitious road trip to visit family in Oregon and Washington. It seemed like a good idea, when we were planning it, but the reality of it was much different. I must digress for a moment, from the two year old, and say a word about the 37 year old male that traveled with us. We'll call him "Scott" (okay, okay, Scott is my husband and father to the 2 year old).

We'd planned this trip for weeks, nay, months, and are about to leave. We had it mapped out perfectly......just the right amount of time in the vehicle, interspersed with overnights in our timeshare condo, so suffice it to say, that we're on a SCHEDULE. Here's the scene: 2 year old (Sam) is strapped into his car seat, the portable VHS video player is wedged between the two front seats to provide entertainment to said 2 year old, wife (me) is wedged into her seat, and we're waiting. And, waiting. And, waiting. This might be a good time to mention that we wait for Scott A LOT (that's another story. It occurs to me that I have an endless supply of blogging material).

ANYHOO, finally I am forced to exit the vehicle and seek out my husband so we can BLOW THIS JOINT, and what is he doing? Frantically searching for his wallet. Again. He "thinks" he left it at work, so we drive to town, search his place of business, and do not find it. He keeps saying, "Let's just GO", but as I sweetly remind him, "YOU HAVE A CREDIT CARD IN THERE, AND WE NEED IT FOR OUR TRIP". Yes, I have the same credit card, but if we don't know where his wallet is, couldn't it be A) innocently sitting in a dark crevice or B)in the sweaty hands of a thief, filling gas tanks and buying electronics. If we can't find it, we need to cancel it!

I bet you know where this is going......we never found it, so had to call and cancel. Luckily, I still had a separate credit card, in my name, alone (WHAT? It was left over from pre-marriage. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it).

Back to the road trip. The toddler was hanging in there, at this point. We made it to Klamath Falls, Oregon, and spent the night, then left the next day for Bend, Oregon. That leg of the trip also went okaaaay, if you don't mind hearing the Tellytubbies say "Uh Oh", 8,000 times (the videos, remember? I know the Tellytubbies were weirdos, but if your kid likes 'em, you're watching 'em)

So, this is where the story gets serious, for just a moment. We were in Bend on Sept. 11, 2001. We woke up to the TV showing those horrific images in NYC, and I remember feeling like I just wanted to go home. It was so scary. Plus, we were heading to the Seattle area, which at that time, was being considered a "target". It's probably a blessing that we had to drive, because we didn't sit in front of a TV all day, seeing all that chaos and mayhem. We DID listen on the radio, but that wasn't as traumatic. Okay, serious part over.

What happened after 9/11? Remember? The country pulled together, and in a show of our united patriotism, everyone was displaying the flag. EVERYONE. EVERYWHERE. Why does this matter? Because Sam was captivated by the flags. He kept saying "Whassat? Whassat?", and you HAD to answer or he wouldn't stop. Wee little problem, though. He couldn't say "FLAG", it came out, "F**k". Yep, THAT four letter word, and amazingly, not only was his pronunciation dead on, he apparently enjoyed saying the word. So, say it, he did. OVER AND OVER. Oh, hello, nice elderly lady, sporting your flag sweater. Yes, this is our sweet child. Say "hi", sweet child. I don't have to spell it out, do I? He didn't say "hi". He pointed to her sweater, and said (you know).

Aside from his potty mouth, I have to say, he did pretty well, for quite awhile, on this marathon road trip, but then he started to lose his little toddler mind. At one point, he just started yelling. Not crying. Just yelling. So, I also yelled. That is when Scott looked over at me, like, "really?", but I kept on. Sam actually stopped, and he also looked at me, like, "really?", but, hey, it worked.

Then, there was the stretch of endless highway, where, out of sheer boredom, Sam began removing his clothing. No small feat, when you're strapped within in an inch of your life, in a car seat! He didn't JUST remove, though. As articles of clothing came off, he hurled them into the front seat, which I took to be an expression of displeasure (I'm quick like that). Luckily, his little chubby fingers couldn't get his Huggies undone, or this story could've taken a really ugly turn.

Kids are smart, too. They figure out pretty quickly, when the normal discipline regime has been abandoned by the parental units. You know how it is.....you're around other people, and you don't feel it's appropriate to scream, yank, or threaten their lives in front of witnes....I mean, strangers. So, Sam took full advantage, and became a mad man in the condo, in restaurants, at Great Grandpa's dinner table. At 2, he had perfected the ability to not look at me, therefore missing the steady GLARE directed at him. The one that says "I can't get at you right now, but believe me you, buddy, you're in for a world of hurt, when we get home."

When I look back, I am amazed that we even DID that trip. I don't recognize those people, who thought it would be "fun" to drive a toddler over three states. But, we made it home, in one piece. Sam is still with us, and other than the fact that he couldn't say "flag" correctly for THREE SOLID MONTHS, we completely recovered from our ordeal. Oh, by the way? To the Veterans who put on a pancake breakfast, with a large FLAG, prominently displayed? Sorry about that.

P.S. I just realized that I didn't finish the storyline of the lost wallet! Guess what? All along, it was in the toe of one of Scott's GIANT shoes. He had stuck it in there, as he carried stuff in the house, from his truck. Isn't that too funny? (not) He found it a couple days AFTER we got home, and to his credit, admitted it to me. I don't know why we're still married. I really don't.

Men & Women Were Not Meant to Share Beds

I don't believe that men and women are meant to share beds. Seriously, Ricky & Lucy had it right, although, I would take it a step further, and put those twin beds in separate rooms.

Ladies, if your husband doesn't snore, then count your blessings. I don't care if he's a cover-stealer, or a bed hog, there ain't nothin worse than a snorer. I'm not talking a little "light" snore.I'm talking a shake-your-bed, the-kids-can-hear-it-downstairs snore. In case you haven't guessed, I am married to such an individual. We'll call him "Scott".

On a couple of occasions, I was tempted to video tape him, so that all those females that think he's "so cute", could see what he looks like with his mouth all slack, and a line of spittle running down his chin.

And it's not just me that thinks he's over the top. I remember him going to a mens' camp with our church, and after that, the pastor told me that he had a "whole new respect" for me. Actually, from that point on, Scott was banned from their cabin. ACTUALLY, from that point on, they STOPPED having mens' camp altogether, but I'm sure that was just a coincidence.

Snoring isn't the only problem, though. "Scott" has no respect for pillows. I LOVE my pillows. They mean the world to me. I live by the motto "no pillow left behind". My husband (once) actually tossed some pillows ON THE FLOOR. You know what? I don't care if you can't get to the mattress for the pillows. The pillows have feelings, too! I have a system. Two pillows under the head, one pillow clutched to my abdomen, and one pillow ON my head (see "snoring" above).

The clutching pillow is something I learned after having abdominal surgery....it helps protect a fresh incision from, you know, splitting apart, etc. Now, it's just a security thing. I feel so protected. What do I have to protect myself from? I'm glad you asked....

Kicking, flailing, and other bed shenanigans. My husband works out, as in lifts weights. He has strong arms. Said arms do not feel good when they connect with my person. Nor do his giant feet. If he could rebut this (which he cannot, heehee), he would say that I AM the flailer, but methinks he's projecting.

Something else I don't get. How is it that he can get into bed, turn off the light, and FALL ASLEEP. Like, right away. That is soooo annoying! Especially, if we've been having a figh...., I mean "discussion", and he just drifts off to sleep without a care in the world, while I lay there seething, and plotting his death.

AND, of course, it goes without saying, that he NEVER heard our baby when he cried. Oh no, he slept straight through night terrors, projectile vomiting, and explosive diaper changes. He sleeps like a dead thing. I could be assaulted in the bed next to him, and he would never know it, until he woke up, and saw the chalk outline where my body WAS.

I'm assuming that on the few occasions when I WASN'T there, that he DID respond to our child, but that assumption is based solely on the fact that I never heard from CPS. It will probably come out in the counseling that our son will have in the future (some parents save for college, we're saving for counseling).

Lastly, what is the deal with making the bed? It is not hard. Really, it isn't. I make most of the bed before I ever get out (I will be happy to describe this technique, should anyone be interested), but that cannot be done unless there's no one else IN the bed. Since I have to get up at the unholy hour of 4am, Scott is always still in bed, therefore, it should fall to HIM, to make the bed, RIGHT? He does, sometimes, go on a "run" of bedmaking....sometimes lasting up to a week. I really love him during that week. I should say, I love him up until the moment he climbs back into bed and falls asleep, and starts........well, you know.

Road Trips

I grew up with a very distorted view of traveling via the automobile. My father was in the Air Force, and we moved many times over the years, usually, it seemed, across these United States.

My father had a singular purpose, and that was to make the trip in "record time". I know, I know, there are others who aspire to getting where they're going, as quickly as possible, but my Dad? He was a nut about it. One of his techniques for minimizing time lost when switching drivers, involved a tricky, death defying stunt, where my mother would scootch over as close as possible, on the bench seat, to my driving Dad, then he would start to slide towards the passenger seat. At this point, Mom would either be hovering over my Dad's lap, or may even, briefly, be sitting on his lap. Frequently, at this point, my mother would get the giggles, and could barely complete the maneuver. But, she ultimately would make it into the driver's seat, thereby achieving a change in drivers, WITHOUT STOPPING THE CAR. You must imagine two small girls in the back seat, eyes as big as dinner plates, watching this, and wondering if we were going to die in a fiery crash.

It probably goes without saying, that a stop for any bodily function, was out of the question. We had to limit our food and fluid intake for a couple days before the road trip, and then would only be given some form of nutrition if we started hallucinating.

I have, literally, been across the U.S., probably 6 - 9 times, but have no memory of any landmarks. As an adult, I got into an argument with my Dad, about whether or not, I had seen Hoover Dam. Turns out, my idea of "seeing it", and his idea......vastly different. The fact of the matter is, that we passed Hoover Dam at about 2:00 a.m., and Dad hollered (ala Chevy Chase in "Vacation"), "there's Hoover Dam, kids!". I don't even think I lifted my head off of the back seat, but, rather, glimpsed a freeway sign that said "Hoover Dam Exit".

Yep, those were the good old days......no seat belts necessary, thank you very much! Dad put some plywood over the back seat, thereby creating the equivalent of a full size mattress, and threw in pillows and blankets, so the kids could travel in comfort. Never mind, that the hasty application of brakes and/or or gas pedal sent us flying. What's a little bump on the head? Shake it off!

The really bad news about road trips, for me, was that I got extremely car sick. Seriously, even now, I can get car sick going down my driveway. A particularly bad experience involved my parents, my sister, and my three step brothers, all crammed into a full size sedan, careening up a mountain road on our way to go camping. Finally, I could hold it no longer, and begged for an "emergency stop". As we tumbled out of the car, I proceeded to hurl everything I had eaten for the two weeks prior, and THEN, all my siblings followed suit (apparently, vomiting is contagious).

As an adult, I find that I have inherited my father's tendency toward getting places, as quickly as possible, preferably via a little known shortcut. My Mom says that Dad and I are the only people she knows that come back from a trip to the airport, with weeds and burrs, sticking out from the wheel wells.

When I was about 30 years old, my Dad and I were driving together to Wyoming, and I was on a quest to make record time. He started seeing signs for "Fort Bridger", and started talking about how much he'd like to see it, how much historical significance it has, and how he probably won't have this "opportunity again". Are you kidding me? This is the same man who bypassed any and all historical landmarks, eating establishments, and rest stops, in his all consuming goal of beating his previous time! I pressed on, pretending not to hear, and eventually we approached the cutoff to Fort Bridger. Without slowing an iota, I called out "there's Fort Bridger, Dad!"