A Classic Family Vacation (for us, anyway)

At last; the long-awaited documentation of our recent flying-of-the-coop.

To keep things short, succinct and sweet around here, I decided to just post the general itinerary of what we did and where we went in the good ol’ PA. (Because I’m all about keeping things short, succinct and sweet.)

(Kind of.)

Each morning, I’d just jot down what we had done the previous day. Good system. Worked well. Got writer’s cramp. However, on the sixth and final day, the morning was a little rushed. Insane might be a better word for it, but who am I to judge such things? After all, I spent an entire 45-minute drive in the backseat with Max, recording videos of the two of us bashing into each other, slapping, punching, etc., and then watching the videos in slow-motion. I mean, really, who am I to judge insane?

But I digress. The morning was hectic. The food was in short supply, and I barely had enough time to slip away for a few quiet moments of Bible reading and prayer. So I neglected to write down what we’d done the day before.

And then we went out and did a bunch of other stuff “on the way” home, which caused us to arrive home around 2 am.  Anyway, since I was foolishly lax in my journalism, and my memory fails me, I’ll have to just go by the pictures I took to remember what we did.

Except I just remembered – I didn’t take any pictures the fifth day. An unknown thief burgled all our re-chargeable batteries.

And she’s not actually unknown. Her name’s Paige.

And she’s not actually a thief – she’s a ruthless thief who thinks only of her own photographic pipe dreams.

And…is burgled a word?

Well, I’ll figure something out. If Paige had need of all those batteries, she better have taken some darn good pictures. I’ll do some investigative work there and see what I can come up with. For now, here’s what we fanny-packing, knee-sockin’ tourists did the first few days…

(Minus the fanny-packs and knee socks.)

Our Trip
A short, succinct itinerary
(or not)

Thursday: Plan to leave at 6 am. Leave at 9 am. Drive. Drive. Drive some more. I drive over the Delaware Memorial Bridge. MAGENTA SIDENOTE: I was pretty much psyched out of my mind about driving over said bridge. It was officially out of our way, but after my dad casually mentioned to me how high it is…and that state trooper’s are stationed at each end because people get to the top and freak out and refuse to drive over…I HAD to drive over it. Call it a whim, a spur-of-the-moment impulse or whatever, but I really had to drive over that bridge. I had to fulfill my newly-born dream. And so my awesome dad – at the coaxing of my equally awesome mom – consented.

AAAAAND….despite the “If in crisis, call 1-800-TALK” signs at either end…it was a tiny bit of a letdown. Still very cool, but not terrifying like I was hoping. [Indeed, there is something wrong with me.] Nevertheless, after crossing, I drove for approximately 3 minutes in the state of New Jersey – something I’d never done before. So in my book, the entire detour was worth it.

End of magenta side-note #1.

Thursday, continued: Arrive at Leaman’s Lodge. Eat a late-night dinner of pizza from an Italian place owned and operated by an authentic Italian family.

Friday: While having my morning devotions on the porch, see authentic Italian guy drive by in his Fiat. Grin.

Go to farm auction. Stick out like sore thumbs. Eat lunch at Dienner’s. Head to The Green Dragon where I buy green dangly earrings and a cheese cookbook. We also buy 18 whoopie pies. (If the previous two sentences don’t completely sum up my life and identity, I don’t know what does.)

Stop at the house, eat snacks – (leftover slab of pizza for myself) – get all spiffed up and head to The Sight and Sound Millenium Theater in Strasburg.

(Click here to see what the Strasburg theater looked like. [My picture doesn't do it justice.] That really cool, ginormous building on the Sight and Sound website is actually the theater in Branson, MO.)

Magenta Sidenote #2: I think I’ll just keep on with these so-called “sidenotes” when I feel the need to expound on something. It’s like I’m writing a lengthy, rambly, newsy post without actually rambling. Or so my twisted logic tells me. Anyway, about the show. It was absolutely INCREDIBLE. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Faith and I officially made plans to travel back this winter for their Christmas play.

Saturday: Me and the Padre wake up at crack of dawn – okay, 6:30 – to make a big breakfast. I discover how much I value standard kitchen items, like baking sheets and frying pans.

We visit the following:

- The Wilbur Chocolate Factory – I buy a cookbook. (*Collective gasp*)

- Dienner’s to pick up the next day’s lunch and dinner. (Obsessed much?)

- Bird-in-Hand Bake Shop – (A tourist trap – literally. People were packed in there like sardines. We barely made it out alive and with our dignity intact. Something about crawling on the floor to get out of a swarming mass of humanity.)

(Just kidding on the crawling part.)

Next up, a little “scenic driving” as we attempt to – and eventually succeed in finding Hayloft Homemade Ice Cream, Candles and Petting Zoo. (What a combination, eh?) Except the shop was closed – you could only walk through the petting zoo. But that was uber-cool.

Yes – uber.

Last but not least, Aaron and Jessica’s Buggy Rides. I felt like a complete and utter tourist, and I wanted to slink down in my seat every time a real Amish buggy passed us on the road. But it was one of those things that you just can’t pass up. It’s all part of the experience.

MAGENTA SIDENOTE #3: As small children, Faith and I were officially scarred by going on one such ride. On a previous visit to Amish country – (yeah, we like it up there) – we rode in the front of the buggy, ecstatic and eager and quite certain that everyone would think we were cute little Amish girls. Our excitement was effectively squashed, though, when we felt a sudden spray in our faces – coming from the general vicinity of the horse’s rear end. Like I say, we were scarred. So I guess you could say this buggy ride was kind of like a healing process we needed to go through.

It wasn’t until later that we realized it was most likely the poor creature’s saliva, not equine urine.

Or so we like to tell ourselves.

End of Magenta Sidenote #2.

Sunday: Like complete heathens, we skip church, get up early, go to Gettysburg, where we spend 4-5 endless hours in museum. Take driving tour until dark. At twilight, stop at Little Round Top – otherwise known as The Top of the WORLD!

I don’t know who those people were. But they were kindly ignorant as I inconspicuously snapped their photo from a boulder 60 yards away, so they deserve a little screen time, I think.

Plus, it’s cute.

Now.

We drove home on Tuesday, making lots of stops which I cannot remember. All I know is that I spent around $35 somehow, in transit. Maybe I’d rather not remember.

So unless I unearth some telling photos or manage to pick someone else’s brain, the last two days of our trip will remain a mystery. A black hole. A big section of my life that’s missing. But that’s okay. Mystery’s are cool. They make me feel like Nancy Drew.

Uhm…or not.

Post-Vacation Recovery

When I was little – and even to this day – our family went camping. A lot. Not so much now, as changing schedules, salaries and educations have gotten in the way. But we would go camping at least once or twice each summer. At least once in the fall, and occasionally in the spring. A state park an hour or so away was almost always our destination, and I loved it there.

Loved it so much, in fact, that I would cry when it was time to go home. And I would be downcast and mopey for days afterward, lamenting over the “boring-ness” of home.

My, how the times have changed. Suffice it to say, there were no tears from yours truly upon our return. Don’t get me wrong – I had a total blast and wouldn’t trade a minute of it…

…but I didn’t realize how much I value alone time until I was crammed into one room with 6 other people for as many days. And into one double-bed with a certain younger sister who kicks like a mule and steals the blankets shamelessly.** And into a small car with 3 other males with predominantly male senses of humor. I mean, I wouldn’t have it any other way, but seriously – please contain your rude mirth for the sake of the poor driver!

Perhaps I jest – or maybe just exaggerate.

Or maybe not.

It’s no lie – my family’s not The Brady Bunch. (The Crazy Bunch is more like it.) But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I wouldn’t trade ‘em for anything.

Except, perhaps, 16 pounds of Wilbur milk chocolate. More on that later.

**(Once, I was rudely awakened by Paige’s hand, flung with sleep-induced abandon across my face.)

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P.S.

I took 683 pictures of our trip.

Paige took probably twice as many.

And Faith actually snapped a few.

So suffice it to say, there are lots of pictures to be sorted through. I’m sifting through them, laughing, grinning, gagging, and laughing some more. And deleting quite a few – Max hijacked my camera once or twice. And I’ve been known to take a pointless picture (or 15) before.

A few candid snapshots may follow – if, that is, I can un-bury myself from this mountain of pictures, and sucessfully separate the wheat from the chaff. (Or…something poetic like that.)

Unfinished Business

Two things.

1. First of all, I recently realized that long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I began a series. A little series about our weekend-long exile to the big(ish) city.

2. Then I realized that I never finished it. And not finishing something – though it’s a common practice of mine – makes me want to break out in hives and have a panic attack. It bugs me. It bugs me bad.

3. And by the way, whatever possessed me to entitle the series, “Sabbatical”?! What kind of a word is that, anyway? I can tell you one thing, after typing it approximately 243 times, and reading it approximately 3,629 times, the word “Sabbatical” is now dead to me.

Amen.

Oops, that was 3 things. Oh well. You know structure’s not my thing.

So anyway, to prevent the double catastrophe of me breaking out in hives and having a panic attack, I’m going to wrap this thing up right here and now.

When we left off, we were desperately searching for a hotel, being mildly accosted by hoodlums and thugs, and cruising through creepy Wal-Mart parking lots at midnight.

So what did we do?

We drove through the night. All night. Towards the end there, we were singing and whistling and yelling and blasting cold air and the radio just to keep ourselves awake.

It was bad. Real bad.

But we made it. We pulled into the driveway at 5:08, just as the sky was lightening and the sun was peeking up through the trees.

Then we fell into our respective beds and slept for 36 hours.

And that, my friend, is the sixth and final installment in a certain pesky series that shall remain nameless, and was also very nearly the death of me.

Oh yeah – one more thing…to satisfy my whacky sense of symmetry and completion…

The End.

There.

Hark! She Departeth Earl-Eye In the Morning

Tomorrow morning, at dark o’clock, I’ll be outta here. The Madre will be driving me to a faraway location and leaving me there. Then she’ll drive off, cackling wildly.

Well, it’s not too far away. And it’s only for a few days.  This Wednesday through Saturday will be training for camp.

But don’t get excited – I’ll be back.  Armed with a full camera and hopefully brimming with stories to tell. Until then, I bid you adieu. And a very fond farewell. Aufedersein. And all that jazz.

*Sniff, sniff*

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Well…you can if you want. I mean, I wouldn’t eat a live octopus tentacle, but if that’s what makes your skirt fly up then by all means, be my guest. Just don’t let me see it, because I’ll probably get nauseous.

Did I have an original point here?…

Oh yeah. I did. It was to say…

Goodbye.

(It’s four measly days! I have an illness. Also, I’ve packed an obscenely large duffel bag for those four measly days. Did I mention I have an illness?)

Thankfully, I’ll be too busy to miss this delightfully geeky little blog. (I think.) But I’m gonna pretend that it will miss me. Illnesses and all.

Love,

Abbie

P.S….bye!

Sabbatical, Part V: Lost and Freaked Out

My dad’s voice over the phone was comforting. But what he had to say was, in a word, alarming. “Well,” he said. “You’re about 6 hours from home.”

I gulped and gave a nervous, high-pitched, unnatural laugh. “Heh heh heh…well that’s just…peachy.”

Confession: when I get nervous and shaky and uncertain and sorta-kinda-scared and also very tired, I say stupid stuff.

The Madre, I have to assume, knows this about me. Because when I said that, she snatched the phone from me. While she talked with the Padre, I reminded myself to keep my perspective. This was a funny adventure! We weren’t hopelessly lost. All we had to do was get back on the highway in the right direction. Now cheer up and find the humor in this situation!

The Padre told us to head for a town about an hour away. The Madre was beyond punchy – she was dead tired – and we hoped to just find a hotel for the night. So there we went. Meanwhile, at home, the Padre and Faith were busy looking up hotels in that town, trying to find a relatively affordable vacancy.

Oh yeah, and it was Memorial Day Weekend. I don’t think I mentioned that. They gave us the names of the few hotels that had vacancies, which we went to one by one. Hotel #1 had a serious infestation of hoodlums. We drove quickly around the parking lot in our little black car, then gunned it out of there, thoroughly freaked out.

Hotel #2 had a serious infestation of thugs. We repeated the quick drive-around in the tradition of the last hotel, and then went to drive down the exit road, which ran parallel to the main highway. More thugs! They were walking in a line across the street. At this point, I started shaking violently. Then I locked the doors.

The Madre drove up behind them. They parted for the car – and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least they weren’t going to stand blocking the way with guns and force us to either get out or run them down. (My imagination definitely does not run wild. Ever.)
But then the Madre started slowing down for the stop sign…and the thugs behind us started hooting. And banging on the back of the car.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop – just go.” A voice said. It couldn’t have been mine. Because I was feeling shrill and panicked. This voice was eerily calm. But I was surprised and a little creeped out to find that it was mine.
The Madre gunned it outta there. By this time, my entire body was quivering so fiercely that I was felt like I was vibrating in my seat.

I can’t remember hotels #3 or 4, so completely terrorized was I by our far-from-pleasant adventure so far, coupled with severe sleep-deprivation. Plus, due to the spasmodic tensing of my body, instinct had kicked in and I needed to find a restroom, and pronto. I was really feeling that Sheetz coffee.

Since the other hotels didn’t work out for similar reasons, the Madre decided just to head for the Wal-Mart parking lot – at least she could park there and catch a couple hours of sleep. And I could use their blessed bathroom.

We parked and I went in, dragging Max along with me for protection and peace of mind. A little walk was just what I needed to stretch out my muscles, tense and sore from constantly keeping them rigid, and I felt much better when we walked back out to the car.

But my mother was feeling far from better. While she and Paige waited in the car for us – Paige thankfully asleep – the Madre observed the following:

• One incredibly dimly lit Wal-Mart parking lot.

• One loud and raucous group of people congregating nearby.

• One strange character sitting in the open side door of a van, drinking something and watching us intently.

• One man wandering around the parking lot with a suspiciously unsteady gait.

“We can’t stay here,” She said. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.”

So we decided to just drive home. It was midnight. We had five hours to go. This was gonna be a  long night.

To be continued…