MEMORIES OF ATTACKS BY FLAMING MARSHMELLOWS AND FISHING HOOKS

`````I got off work this morning, and I am now officially on vacation leave. When we were kids, we always spent the Labour Day long weekend at the cabin. I know that's how I got my amazing bladder control. The roads would be a mess, with old men in hats holding up the wagon train in their Winnibego behemoths. Dad would manage to pass these people, and he certainly wasn't going to pull over to use the bathroom only to start all over again. Dad would do well on "The Amazing Race."
`````What is it that tells a person to invest in a house on wheels at the very time in their life that driving skills begin to go down for many? They would look terrified as they plowed their way through "Hell's Gate" and the aptly named "Jackass Mountain." They would somehow rediscover the gas pedal everytime there was a passing lane. Other then that, there was so much flashing of red from their brakelights that it should have enduced epileptic seizures in those so prone. You knew that if the licence plates came from the great plains or prairie provinces, you were doomed. Every corner, every hill, would set off a chain reaction as they panicked. For those used to being able to see their dog running away for a week, the canyon was a nightmare. I could never figure out the irony of naming something that moved like a tank after a swift animal. Who were they kidding? Forget the cat-like monikers. Let's just call this thing for what it is; the Turtle.
`````Once the roads forked off, we'd stop to eat in a hot town in a valley basin. The same guy was always sitting on a bench in the front. Dad would veer off for the bar, probably to drown his sorrows over stupid drivers, while we'd head with Mom for the cafeteria. I've come to the realization that nobody ever actually buys those wienies on the metal post; the ones that whirl round and round like some meat hamster cage. A product that can cook forever and not change consistancy cannot be good for you. The same went for those desserts; featured in a twirling glass case. It was a collection of variously coloured cubes of Jello, with fake cream dolloped on top. They looked like treasured jewels from Tiffany's as they spun on their mirrored platforms.
`````Mom would never order any food for herself, but would then insist on picking off my plate. It was years before I learned that mind-trick that the calories don't count if it's not eaten from your own plate.
`````Of course, this stop provided us with the opportunity to finally (FINALLY!) use the washroom. Here was my introduction to pay toilets. There was one free stall at the far end, and obviously, this one never got cleaned. In return, it had the best graffitti; who was passing through from where. Who was a no good man stealer that all women should watch for. Funny how the stuff scribed into stalls in men's rooms puts down women, but so does most of the reparte in the female section. There's never a comment about what a no good dog some guy might be. Nope; there's the name and number of the Scarlet Woman herself.
`````If we were lucky, my cousins would be up at the lake for the duration of our stay. My male cousin never once managed to cast a fly-rod. It forever missed the water, but would imbed itself into the flesh of some victim instead. It was like playing "Go Fish" combined with tag . It didn't really matter where you stood, that hook would hit the spot. It was probably how the citizens of San Francisco felt when the Zodiac killer was loose. Poor guy; things didn't go well for him. I still have the scar from a lava like mix of cinders and marshmellow that bored its way into my hand. I figure that's got to be what the China Syndrome will be like when it takes place.
`````The worst thing was the trek to the outhuse if you had to go at night. It would mean tossing on shoes and making a dash for it in the fairly cool night air. By then, the brisk walk would have you wide awake. A person had to be diligent about doing the spider check before they sat down, too.
`````We spent most of the time in or on the water. Going swimming, now in hindsight, was like a physical enactment of that "Bones" song...you know...the toe bone's connected to the anklebone, etc. The water was cold, and we'd slowly immerse ourselves in it, before taking that faithful plunge. Our boat was called Fred, and we were left to our own devices as we rowed around the lake. At night, we would try to tune in radio stations from far flung places. This, of course, was the electronic version of the licence plates we'd watch for when we drove here. A collection of other places, not here. Night also meant campfires and ghost stories, accompagnied by the wienie that fell off its stick and into the flame just as it was finally ready. I always had a stack of books with me too, which I'd devour along with my sunflower seeds. They got better and saltier towards the end of the book.
`````My brother has taken his family up to the lake, and now there's portable DVD's and carry along toilets. We were never bored, but kids now need their gadgets.
`````I still crave a roadtrip; a drive to no where as long as it still includes the proper collection of Pixie Sticks, Diet Pepsi and good music. My mind would still scan for the exotic plates; I kow it would. But, alas, my road trip partner has had his fair share of train museums and my eclectic tastes. So, I'm having to spend this holidy close to home. No exploring the old mine that I want to do, no wax museums, or eating black bean cakes in a Chinese garden. Oh well, now I don't have an excuse for not cleaning the house.