My family just got back from a ten-day road trip. Altogether we spent about 38 hours driving. Actually, the boys spent about 30 of those hours asleep, so it was pretty easy for them. That is a lot of concentrated time on the road. I know that many people who drive for a living see far more highway than that in ten days, but it seemed like a lot to me.
I took my little writer’s notebook with me and recorded a lot of random stuff I saw and heard (just like my Childish Adult friend Chris). There are no big revelations or insights here. Just the flotsam and jetsam of road trips. [Ever notice that you hardly ever see flotsam without its pal jetsam? Those two are like the Laurel and Hardy of the seldom used vocabulary world.]
Here is a little nugget from a Cracker Barrel somewhere in NC. Heidi has the impression that Cracker Barrel has the cleanest bathrooms on the road. We never ate a single thing there on this road trip, but I’ll bet we stopped at a CB at least a half a dozen times. I did buy a cup of coffee one time.
Well there is this little kid, maybe six, playing with a toy gun. It is a musket, the kind that you can cock. It gives a really satisfying click when you pull back the hammer and if you had those little round stick on caps it would make a loud bang and let out a cloud of smoke just like a real gun. I know. I used to have one just like it. I got it for Christmas once.
“I’m telling Santa on you. I said to put it down.”
“No, Mama. Please don’t tell Santa!” he cries in desperation.
Heidi came out at that point and I told her to look at those two. I told her the story when we were walking out of the store. I felt like tattling on that mama. No, I know it wasn’t in the Christmas spirit, but I felt like giving her the hardest noogie ever, one that would mess up her perfectly sprayed hair and leave a pink mark on her scalp for a long time. I felt like telling Santa on HER.
I mean it’s Santa, right? Good old Santa.