Back in the land of the living
Well, it was a wonderful, rewarding, and fulfilling trip to get our travelers.
Laurie and I left mid-afternoon on Sunday. First surprise was the van, which I envisioned as the Van That Has Seats For Everybody. As it happens, this 1986 Chevy Clunker was The Van That Was Barely Running And Has A Squeaky Fan Belt, a somewhat disturbing quality considering the mission was to pick up two travelers who were driving The Car Of Doom.
Fortunately, Laurie, who thinks these things through a little bit better than I, dismantled her sofa and was pulling the cushions out of her Hyundai when I met her at our alma mater, who generously lent us the vehicle. I went to charge the cell phone and found, after having patted myself on the back for remembering to bring my charger, that the van had no cigarette lighter. With the cell phone registering one bar on the battery, we idled Laurie's car until we gave it enough juice for the trip. We removed a rusting bandsaw from the back of the van and stashed it in the school's athletic shed for budding Freddie Krugers to inflict damage on the opposing team.
The van wouldn't start easily. Laurie and I looked at each other.
"We just won't turn it off," she said.
"Who SAID we don't plan things out?" I said, envisioning Laurie's ex-husband Fred and beadtific cringing and shaking their heads. Laurie gunned the engine and a minute later, the van pulled out onto Route 2. I can say with some confidence that she squeed, despite her unfamiliarity with the exact term.
We had a lovely trip through the burnished glory of autumn in New England and the Adirondacks, driving through tiny towns with names like Voorveehisvanwinkleschulkill. We stopped at Wal-Mart in Cobleskill, N.Y. (The suffix -kill means "river," and The Fiance pointed out that he's read that the town of Fishkill gets undue attention from PETA, thinking it's sanctioning piscatory murder.) With my hand firmly in place on my AAA card, Laurie turned the van off and turned it on again, and we left secure in the knowledge that the van was sufficiently warmed up to be reliable. I wedged something in a piece of vibrating metal that was making what beadtific would refer to as an "irritating repetitive noise," which must have been pretty damned irritating AND repetitive for me to have noticed it.
We arrived in Binghamton around 7:30, a little early given the ETA. I gave myself extra time, since I'm me.
We fond some ambiguity in the directions to the diner, which were passed to me from Susi, who got them from adina_atl, who got them from her mom, who got them from her buddy in Binghamton. Unfortunately, an additional Mobil station threw us off the scent. Luckily, 411, the cell phone, and a nice woman from The Spot Restaurant came through. Turned out that we were one curve away before we turned around thinking we were going in the wrong direction.
So we arrived at the diner, brought in the New York Times, and waited, alternately reading delicious anti-Bush venom from The Liberal Media and noticing that our waiter, despite my telling him we were going to linger at the table for an indeterminate time while waiting for friends and NOT ORDER UNTIL THEY ARRIVED, glared at us as if we were vermin.
We got word that they were about an hour away, and Laurie and I chilled out, distracted only by Mincing Rude Waiter overtly pointing to us and obviously complaining about us to his boss.
Finally, lostgirlslair and mrtwstedwhsprs arrived with adina_atl's mom, Rita, soon followed by her friend, Intense Former Coast Guard Guy Whose Business Card Is Upstairs. We unilaterally moved to an empty bigger table and endured more withering glares from Mincing Rude Waiter, who when he actually spoke to us did so in a mocking tone. The travelers gamely engaged in heavy conversation with Intense Former Coast Guard Guy, who, when we were all set to go and had said our goodbyes, asked Lost Girl and The Fiance, "So, what do the folks in New Orleans think of Bush?" I was torn between being enjoyed listening to the conversation and remembering that it was freakin' 11:30 p.m. and we were four and a half hours away from home.
Lost Girl and The Fiance are even nicer in person than they were on the phone, and we had some easy, sleepy conversation on the way back home. We stopped off at a gas station on I-90 between New York and Massachusetts and had the most delightful conversation with a big, booming African-American proprietor named Eddy and his younger associate. Lots of good will shadowed our travelers into Massachusetts.
Susi was waiting for them at the apartment when we arrived in a still-dark Shelburne Falls at 4:30. We walked upstairs with the two cat carriers, and LG and The Fiance were visibly relieved to have finally arrived. Lots of happy hugs and introductions. We met the four cats, and they started exploring the rambling apartment. Sweet notes from their neighbors, Nathalie and Ken, and their daughter Lucie, awaited them on the kitchen table (itself a gift from the owners of The Sweetheart, a defunct historic inn down the street). They'll learn in time the curious array of cool furniture and stuff that reflect the love, affection, and goodwill of our small town and see how it's mixed with the new stuff that came from all of their friends here, who gave so generously. You aren't here, and I barely know any of you yet, but let me assure you that your gifts, commissions, and effort has made a difference. I'm proud to have seen it firsthand. In time, I know you will all know how grateful these guys are.
As I was loading my stuff into my car after Laurie and I returned the van to the school -- a van that performed admirably for people who had hit their limit with cars letting them down -- the sky slowly started to lighten, and a rooster started crowing. It was a new day -- new for everyone, especially for our friends, who by this time were safe and tucked into their new bed.
Laurie and I left mid-afternoon on Sunday. First surprise was the van, which I envisioned as the Van That Has Seats For Everybody. As it happens, this 1986 Chevy Clunker was The Van That Was Barely Running And Has A Squeaky Fan Belt, a somewhat disturbing quality considering the mission was to pick up two travelers who were driving The Car Of Doom.
Fortunately, Laurie, who thinks these things through a little bit better than I, dismantled her sofa and was pulling the cushions out of her Hyundai when I met her at our alma mater, who generously lent us the vehicle. I went to charge the cell phone and found, after having patted myself on the back for remembering to bring my charger, that the van had no cigarette lighter. With the cell phone registering one bar on the battery, we idled Laurie's car until we gave it enough juice for the trip. We removed a rusting bandsaw from the back of the van and stashed it in the school's athletic shed for budding Freddie Krugers to inflict damage on the opposing team.
The van wouldn't start easily. Laurie and I looked at each other.
"We just won't turn it off," she said.
"Who SAID we don't plan things out?" I said, envisioning Laurie's ex-husband Fred and beadtific cringing and shaking their heads. Laurie gunned the engine and a minute later, the van pulled out onto Route 2. I can say with some confidence that she squeed, despite her unfamiliarity with the exact term.
We had a lovely trip through the burnished glory of autumn in New England and the Adirondacks, driving through tiny towns with names like Voorveehisvanwinkleschulkill. We stopped at Wal-Mart in Cobleskill, N.Y. (The suffix -kill means "river," and The Fiance pointed out that he's read that the town of Fishkill gets undue attention from PETA, thinking it's sanctioning piscatory murder.) With my hand firmly in place on my AAA card, Laurie turned the van off and turned it on again, and we left secure in the knowledge that the van was sufficiently warmed up to be reliable. I wedged something in a piece of vibrating metal that was making what beadtific would refer to as an "irritating repetitive noise," which must have been pretty damned irritating AND repetitive for me to have noticed it.
We arrived in Binghamton around 7:30, a little early given the ETA. I gave myself extra time, since I'm me.
We fond some ambiguity in the directions to the diner, which were passed to me from Susi, who got them from adina_atl, who got them from her mom, who got them from her buddy in Binghamton. Unfortunately, an additional Mobil station threw us off the scent. Luckily, 411, the cell phone, and a nice woman from The Spot Restaurant came through. Turned out that we were one curve away before we turned around thinking we were going in the wrong direction.
So we arrived at the diner, brought in the New York Times, and waited, alternately reading delicious anti-Bush venom from The Liberal Media and noticing that our waiter, despite my telling him we were going to linger at the table for an indeterminate time while waiting for friends and NOT ORDER UNTIL THEY ARRIVED, glared at us as if we were vermin.
We got word that they were about an hour away, and Laurie and I chilled out, distracted only by Mincing Rude Waiter overtly pointing to us and obviously complaining about us to his boss.
Finally, lostgirlslair and mrtwstedwhsprs arrived with adina_atl's mom, Rita, soon followed by her friend, Intense Former Coast Guard Guy Whose Business Card Is Upstairs. We unilaterally moved to an empty bigger table and endured more withering glares from Mincing Rude Waiter, who when he actually spoke to us did so in a mocking tone. The travelers gamely engaged in heavy conversation with Intense Former Coast Guard Guy, who, when we were all set to go and had said our goodbyes, asked Lost Girl and The Fiance, "So, what do the folks in New Orleans think of Bush?" I was torn between being enjoyed listening to the conversation and remembering that it was freakin' 11:30 p.m. and we were four and a half hours away from home.
Lost Girl and The Fiance are even nicer in person than they were on the phone, and we had some easy, sleepy conversation on the way back home. We stopped off at a gas station on I-90 between New York and Massachusetts and had the most delightful conversation with a big, booming African-American proprietor named Eddy and his younger associate. Lots of good will shadowed our travelers into Massachusetts.
Susi was waiting for them at the apartment when we arrived in a still-dark Shelburne Falls at 4:30. We walked upstairs with the two cat carriers, and LG and The Fiance were visibly relieved to have finally arrived. Lots of happy hugs and introductions. We met the four cats, and they started exploring the rambling apartment. Sweet notes from their neighbors, Nathalie and Ken, and their daughter Lucie, awaited them on the kitchen table (itself a gift from the owners of The Sweetheart, a defunct historic inn down the street). They'll learn in time the curious array of cool furniture and stuff that reflect the love, affection, and goodwill of our small town and see how it's mixed with the new stuff that came from all of their friends here, who gave so generously. You aren't here, and I barely know any of you yet, but let me assure you that your gifts, commissions, and effort has made a difference. I'm proud to have seen it firsthand. In time, I know you will all know how grateful these guys are.
As I was loading my stuff into my car after Laurie and I returned the van to the school -- a van that performed admirably for people who had hit their limit with cars letting them down -- the sky slowly started to lighten, and a rooster started crowing. It was a new day -- new for everyone, especially for our friends, who by this time were safe and tucked into their new bed.