cousins – Page 4 – Lemon Drop Pie

Note: I’m also guest posting today…will you do me favor and visit Esther, too, at Laugh With Us Blog? Tell her Ginny sent you! Thanks.

I didn’t fly in a plane until the summer after I graduated from college. Before then, the only trips I had taken were mostly car trips with the family.

Our family had four kids, so the six of us would pile into a wide car with bench seats. Us kids had assigned places so we wouldn’t fight each time we had to go somewhere. Dad drove. My little brother would sit between my dad and my mom in the front. In the back seat I was behind Dad, then came my little sister and my other little sister. This was mostly possible because my young siblings were not required to have car seats back then.

We always had to wear our seat belts even though that wasn’t a law yet, either. My parents always said seat belts were the best invention, because that kept kids from roaming around in the car. As if there would have been room to roam around with all six of us packed in like sardines.

1973 Torino — Traveling before my little brother and sister came along

Our vacations revolved around visiting family: my mom’s family in Iowa, and my dad’s family scattered around the Midwest. Every summer, we went to meet my dad’s sisters and brothers and their families at “The Lake”.

“The Lake” was Lake Huron. We would drive up to the tip of the thumb of Michigan. The family rented a group of cabins by the beach for the week. The morning our trip began seemed to last forever. And we wouldn’t even be driving yet. Our cabin was very basic so my parents had to pack everything. Food, sheets, towels, clothes, even toilet paper! To equip a family of six for a week was a big job. Dad had a big old car carrier with the picture of snail on it from Sears. It certainly felt like our vacation was starting at a snail-like pace.

Finally, with the trunk and car carrier filled to capacity, we were able to hit the road. While the drive was probably only about six hours, to us it seemed interminably long. Our favorite place to stop will seem silly now, but back then eating at Wendy’s was a novelty. There weren’t any in Illinois. We loved sitting at the tables adorned with replica Victorian newspaper ads. Eating a Frosty with an almond-colored plastic spoon was like heaven on a hot July day. As a kid, I knew of no other place that could provide such a cold, delicious treat. It was only when I was an adult that I realized a Frosty was nothing but chocolate soft-serve ice cream in a cup.

Even though our car had air conditioning, it tended to get hot riding in a car with six people. When we arrived at The Lake–the glorious, wide blue lake that stretched all the way to Canada–we would jump out of the car and wish to dash off to the beach! But if wishes were horses, we’d all ride for free. We were not allowed to dash off until the entire car and the car top carrier was unloaded. And then, only then, were we allowed to greet all the cousins (who had usually arrived before us and had already unloaded their respective cars) and dip our feet into the icy cold water.

Of course, the drive home was even worse than the drive to The Lake. Saying goodbye to all our cousins was hard. We would be tired and perhaps a little sun-burned with grains of sand still between our toes. Our week at The Lake was over.

On the plus side, however, there was less toilet paper to unload once we got home.

Go on a Car Trip with Gretchen at Second Blooming–visit her blog for more Spins!

When I was young, traveling meant driving in the family’s large, four-door brown Oldsmobile. We had assigned seats to prevent fighting among us four kids. My spot was behind Dad, the driver. My baby sister sat next to me, and my older little sister sat behind Mom. My baby brother sat in the middle up front, between Dad and Mom, where he couldn’t get into any trouble.

When I was older, traveling meant riding in a coach bus with a group of peers.

During two of my university’s spring breaks in early March, I traveled with the Concert Choir on tour. Mornings were taken up with driving, playing Euchre to pass the time, and trying to avoid the bathroom at the back of the bus. Afternoons were spent rehearsing, and when evening came, we performed our concerts. It seemed to me that the temperature of the churches during the afternoon rehearsals was usually chilly; I suppose the heat was set low to save on heating costs.

Before our concerts, we would don our choir robes. Girls were required to wear dresses, black ballet slippers and pantyhose under those robes. We filed out into the chancel of the church, took our places on the risers, and kept our eyes on our baton wielding, white-goateed conductor. The wide, open space of the church would have warmed up for the evening, and at times was a little too warm. We were all in fear of fainting on those narrow risers, and consciously kept our knees unlocked. The joy of singing filled us all as our voices filled the sanctuary with warm tones and interweaving harmonies.

After the concerts, it was time to meet our hosts for the night. We would pair up with our roommates and our hosts would drive us to their homes for a place to sleep. The good hosts would stay up and talk with us, feed us, and show us to our room. Sometimes (and we grumbled about this) we weren’t given anything to eat before we were shown to our beds. Sometimes we received a little something as a memento of our visit. For the most part, our hosts were generous and kind.

On the days that our next destination was close by and we didn’t need to drive much, we were able to sight see. We were given strict orders to return to the bus by a certain time, and then we were set free. I remember wandering around downtown Boston with a few of my friends. We shopped in historical Quincy Market, but being poor college students didn’t allow us to buy much. We began to search for a place to eat lunch. Somehow we stumbled upon a small doorway which opened to a narrow staircase. At the top of the stairs was a very small Italian restaurant with tables covered in white tablecloths. We seemed to be the only customers, and weren’t sure that the place was even open. But then out from the kitchen came a bustling large woman with an Italian accent. She showed us to a table, took our orders, and went back into the kitchen to prepare our meals. When my plate arrived, it was filled to the brim with piles of thick, homemade fettuccine smothered with the creamiest, most wonderful alfredo sauce I have ever eaten. For years afterward, at every Italian restaurant I ordered the fettuccine alfredo, hoping to find some as delicious as that homemade entree I was served that day in Boston. Nothing has come close!

During my two tours with the choir, I was able to see Niagara Falls, New York City, Washington, D.C., Colonial Williamsburg, and Monticello. I had so much fun traveling with friends and seeing new places; however, even traveling gets old.

On the last tour I went on, at the last church we sang at, I was in for a surprise. When I saw my host for the night, I burst into tears of exhaustion and joy…my aunt and cousin had come to take me to their house! For some reason (my poor sense of geography) I didn’t realize our last stop on the tour was close to my aunt and uncle’s house. After spending so much time on the road, what a relief it was to stay in a familiar house with my beloved family!

After ten days of traveling, rehearsing, and singing, I was ready to go home, but being a part of those two choir tours was a wonderful experience. It could very well be the reason that I feel eager to travel when I hear my husband announce, “Road Trip!”

I am guest hosting “My Young Adult Years,” a project to record my youth, over at Mommy’s Piggy Tales today. This is the third post out of six.