When they (there they are again) say, "boy, she really packed on the weight" - how come mine is in jiggly plastic carry-ons, and not in hard-sided American Tourister luggage? Do they even make hard-sided American Tourister luggage anymore? Is it even cool to be seen with an actual suitcase? Do the airlines charge you triple for actual suitcases? You can tell it's been a while since I've traveled.
I used to love to travel by air. It was an event - E.V.E.N.T. Everyone spiffed up, all spit-shined clean and coiffed for a trip on an airplane. No jeans, no pants-down-to-your-knees...
Segue - how on God's Green Earth can those homeboys keep their pants from pooling around their giant sneakers with every other step? What if they have to hurry along? And, do we want to see their undies? I think, generally, NOT.
I'm back. You could sit comfortably in your seat in those days. Your knees were not up to your chin. There were no yowling babies - it was too expensive to bring the whole family. Plus, I do believe that people weren't in the habit of hauling mere infants all over the place just days after birth. You got a free: blanket, pillow, meal, beverage. It was just lovely. The last time I flew, I flew overseas to attend the wedding of a very dear friend to the love of her life. Given that the last time I flew was after the world was turned on its ear, the security was amazing. Bags were thoroughly searched, as was I. We were shuffled through long lines, herded onto a plane that had been reduced to a narrow aisle lined on both sides with hundreds of tiny seats. I half expected to see Temple Grandin waiting for us as we boarded. We were "served" by an overworked, unhappy, cranky bunch of flight attendants, and my headphones didn't work. Ack. The best part was landing in Amsterdam and getting on the train to Eindhoven and seeing Els when I alit. The return was just as grim, plus there was the added bonus of a drooling, snoring drunken seat-mate to contend with.
Enough of that. Let's do a little tip-toeing through my childhood memories, okeydokey? We did not fly anywhere. We drove. My parents were of the thought that all car trips should begin before daylight. This added to the excitement - the car had been packed the night before. We were awakened in the dark and bundled off into the car in our pajamas. The car was almost always a Dodge. With spectacular tail fins. It was BIG. We slept through the first hours of our trips - and that was probably the only peace and quiet my parents got on the trip. The rest of the time was non-stop jabbering (by yourstruly), punctuated with pleas to stop (we learned to hold our water - my father didn't believe in stopping for anything but gas), and rousing games of License Plates, I Spy, and 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall (which we thought was a daring, wicked song because it was about....beer).
I still sing in the car. An while vacuuming. And to the dogs, cats, chickens, sheep, and goats. The dogs and goats are particularly moved by my vocalizing, although it worries Bernie if I get too wound up in a rendition of an Aretha Franklin song. Are you a closet singer?