Family vacations conjure, for those who have endured such and had their sanity live to talk about it, comical scenes of self-inflicted psychological torture like those depicted in National Lampoon’s movie Vacation. In the midst of mine, I cannot say that I saw Christie Brinkley smile and whiz by me in a Ferrari while driving down the Shenandoah Valley, but there were some notable moments on a par (in comedy or insanity) with the movie:

• Why was it easier to move tens of thousands of allied troops across the English Channel on D-Day than get my family in the car and on the road?
• No matter what, I’m happier to be here than in my parent’s ’69 Chevrolet station wagon as a kid on vacation.
• Can we get new suppliers for the restaurants on the Turnpike who seemingly charge multiple times what they charge other restaurants? I don’t enjoy paying $6 for a cheeseburger, no matter how much I like them.
• Eating a cheeseburger, feigning to listen to the wife, speaking to the kids and driving, all at the same time, is a feat that defies the scientific truism that the human mind can only handle one act at a time.
• Eating a cheeseburger, feigning to listen to the wife, speaking to the kids and driving, all at the same time, should be illegal and have a minimum jail sentence, regardless of whether or not it has a happy ending.
• At any given moment, anything, from a billboard to a sneeze to a comment about a seemingly benign subject like the cars on the road or the weather, can trigger a firefight about conflicts past, present or even future.
• There was a brush-fire on the highway we drove on in the Shenandoah Valley while trekking down. As North-easterners, we saw what was unimaginable: a merge into one lane which people respected a mile before they had to. It was something you would never see in the New York City metropolitan area. Finally, 2 cars came barreling down the empty lane to merge right before they had to at the fire-trucks…..they had New York license plates.
• No matter what, I’m happier to be here than in my parent’s ’69 Chevrolet station wagon as a kid on vacation (this is not a typo redundant to above; I’m just showing my gratitude).
• While I realize the church has its hands full with issues like clerical marriage, birth control and the like, altar boys who look like girls (who I saw at Easter Mass today) should be a top church concern. Altar boys should look like boys, period.
• UPDATE: the parking lot of a church is still one of the most dangerous places in the world immediately after mass is over.
• Once a year, my family goes all out at an Easter brunch at the Hotel Roanoke in Virginia. It is a celebration of food…..and in my case, gluttony.  This is what I envision heaven to be along with a large-screen TV. playing endless football games and a beer keg that never runs out.
• I noticed the Easter Bunny at brunch had bourbon on its breath and was going to call him out on it until I realized that it was I who had the bourbon-breath.
• Watching Bubba Watson hit a great recovery shot during sudden death at the Masters Golf Tournament in Augusta, Georgia and being cheered by the crowds as a triumphant warrior like Eisenhower, Sherman or Caesar, I realized I had a long way to go in understanding and appreciating golf, and I probably didn’t want to ever get there.

Only half way through this family odyssey, there’s plenty more to see, I’m sure.

-I.M. Windee

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 10th, 2012 at 5:45 pm and is filed under Ruminations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.