Winter Blunderland

This Christmas holiday trip was, more or less, a test. A test of whether we (my wife, daughter, and I) are doomed at winter travel or if 2008 just wasn’t our year. Well, it turns out that, although Carly and I could be a winning cross-country off-roading racing team, travel is not a companion worth shacking up with. Last year, after being thoroughly raped by the flu, we drove back to Pittsburgh only to stay shuddered in the deep, dark corners of our apartment for three weeks: barely able to hold our glasses of Emergen-C high enough to toast midnight’s New Year, then quickly shimmying to bed.

This year hasn’t been much different, so far. Carly was flu-stricken, first. Then I and Cora. We laid on Debbie’s (Carly’s mother) couches, covered in a myriad of blankets, shivering, taking turns running upstairs to vomit in the toilet, and calling a cacophony of coughs over ridiculous post-holiday TV programs like the marathons of NCIS and Pawn Stars. Our Maine to-do list was all but empty checkboxes. On the day before we had proposed to leave, we laid on the couches (the third day in a row) debating for hours whether we should/could leave the following day. We had yet to pack. Debbie’s house was an utter mess: Cora had managed to riddle the floors with popcorn, puffs, dried cranberries, toys, cooking utensils, ribbons, books, and dvds and vhs’. Carly and I still had tons of dishes piled in her sink, as well. We couldn’t leave without cleaning up. Another sleepless morning came and we were no better feeling. Trudging downstairs to set up for another day of blankets, couches, and mind-numbing marathons a sudden burst of energy had us packing all the bags, cleaning the floors, and doing the dishes. A quick breath came, and we managed to leave a slush rain Fairfield by noon.

We did learn something from this trip. One, we’re never traveling in winter — if we can help it — ever again, unless the final destination is a tropical location or the underworld. Two, reading aloud to each other during car drives and before bed is absolutely brilliant. After getting Bernard Bryson’s telling of Gilgamesh to read to Cora and realizing the content was too mature for her, Carly became hooked and we finished it in several nights;— to Carly whispering, half-asleep: “what a waste of life”. We are now reading Robert Jordan’s Eye of the World. (I am seventy-five pages from a wife willing to dress up with me for RenFest). Three, store-brand car parts are not worth the discount compared to brands like Bosch or STP. One realizes such a truth when driving through thick patches of snow and the months old Valucraft windshield wipers merely smear water across the glass causing a field of glowing blindness. Four, Bob Evans is the best rest stop one could take with a sore ass. That’s not really a new lesson for me, as a sister/friend of mine and I have been obsessed with Bob since high school. No matter, we now have a convert with Carly, Debbie, and Cora. And that leads me to the last lesson (and props): it is best to travel with a mother-in-law or mother, as they are the remedy for that 28lb beast in the back seat that will inevitably become bored with road vibration and begin to wail something the Sirens would be envious of.

Next trip: somewhere dry, hot, with a beach.