Thursday, December 5, 2013


It’s holiday time, and this means it’s time to pack the car and head north to visit our children and grandchildren. It’s also the time that the country will endure the worst blizzard in 30 years. Mr. Wonderful will experience the first symptoms of pulmonary distress, and the grandchildren will come down with the flu.

It takes approximately thirteen hours to drive from our home in the south to theirs in Michigan. Here is the typical scenario:

Hour One:  Mr. Wonderful starts coughing uncontrollably, and the roads begin to ice over.

Hour Two:  The windshield fogs up, and ice begins to build on the wipers. Mr.Wonderful has to pull over to blow his nose, and a salt truck rolls by and sprays his brand new dockers.

Hour Three:  We stop at a restaurant to catch a quick bite, and the waitress, who is working her very first shift, confuses our order with someone else’s and delivers lima bean casserole instead of scrambled eggs and French toast.

Hour Four:  Roads are now very slick, and snow is blinding. I turn on Serius, and they’re playing “Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, Feelings.”

Hour Five:  Cars are seen overturned in ditches, and Mr. Wonderful is asleep with his mouth wide open, drool visibly dampening his shirt collar.

Hour Six:  Time to stop for gas. Mr. Wonderful, now awake, offers to pump, even though it’s four below zero. The pump is out of gas, and the driver opposite lets his large boxer dog out of the car. The dog jumps on Mr. Wonderful, knocks him down and licks his face. Bad words can be heard as far away as Kansas.

Hour Seven:  Mr. Wonderful takes over the wheel. I lie back ready for a nice rest when suddenly, we hit a pot hole, and the car lurches off to the shoulder. Mr. Wonderful gets out in the snow and discovers that the back tire is flat, and the rim is bent.

Hour Eight:  A high-pitched whimper that sounds like Neil Sedaka on helium escapes from my pie hole.

Hour TWELVE:  AAA has just left.

Hour Thirteen:  We both swear we will never ever return to this place--children, grandchildren, to retrieve our lottery winnings---NEVER---donedonedone.

Hour Fourteen through Hour Eighteen:  driving, driving, driving. . . 

Hour Nineteen:  We pull in the driveway of daughter #1. We hug her and hubby, grandchild #1, Flossie and Bossie (pet puppies), and we say, “We love you, and we are so glad we’re here!”