My Trip

So, anyway, on Monday I am going in the truck with my Jimmy, again. And despite the fact that I got a perfect score on the "What kind of truckdriver are you?" quiz over there on facebook, I still have to promise that I will at no time, under any circumstances whatsoever, attempt to drive the truck.

They're awfully fussy about that clause. Why? Do wives and children often threaten to drive the trucks? You wouldn't think it would be an issue. It's a big truck. It's noisy, and most of us don't even understand how to make it move, and if we accidentally succeeded in doing so I am sure we would pass out immediately from shock.

Still, I am willing to state for the historical record that I will never, ever attempt to drive the truck.

I am still hoping to meet one of those Lot Lizard women and have some coffe with her and have her answer all the questions I have about the prostitution industry as it relates to truckdriving, but I have already promised that I wouldn't let her get in the precious truck, so I don't see what they get so excited about when I mention it.

It's a perfectly straightforward proposal, I get the hooker in the truckstop and we get chatty in a nice booth, and she tells me everything I ever wanted to know. Like what is the REAL story behind that rumor that lot lizards were selling chicken in the parking lot and why did I think they might also do laundry?

Jimmy says that idea is accounted for by those nice little TIAs I have had since I had that heart surgery, but I think that TIA story is just what we trot out when we don't want to answer the questions.

Jimmy swears he does not patronize lot lizards, not because he is morally opposed so much as because it takes all his money to maintain me. And I'm sure he is right about that.

So, anyway, having promised to not drive anything and confessed to my plans to see a hooker, there's not a lot more to do to get ready for this next trip. I filled the perscription for the Lorazapam in case we have to go over any mountains or that skyway thing they're so wildly fond of in Chicago, and I already packed my bag a week ago.

Since the grandchildren have all been so busy this summer I have had beau coup time for packing, believe me. I tried making a fort out of Jean's mattress and attacking the Triangles by myself, but somehow without Aiden it just doesn't have the same zing.

And my neighbor showed up right in the middle of it to drop off the chocolate milk and I am pretty sure she wasn't buying that story that there were more people than me upstairs and besides, a lot of people answer the door with a tinfoil sword in one hand and a princess hat in the other.

There was no need at all for her to suggest I might want to call the nice gentlemen at the psychiatric facility. Anyway, they didn't have time to play with me, either. Something about rules or work or actual people with real problems or some bunkum like that.

Still, I'm babysitting Emma tomorrow and she's 3. You can usually count on a three year old for some good imaginary play.

Of course, Emma will want to go to the playground, which in Viola some brain surgeon planted right next to the river. If you aren't already aware of this, let me point out that playground equipment is interesting to toddlers for roughly ten seconds.

After that, the the only thing anyone can think of is catching minnows off the boat landing. I don't even know why we have a boat landing, and having one, why is it in the park next to the playground?

You can't drive through the park so how are you going to get your boat to the boat landing? Boats are heavy.

In addition to which there is only one vaguely four by four spot in the river deep enough to float your boat. That would be directly in front of the boat landing. After that the river is about a foot deep and your boat isn't going to be a whole lot of use to you. Unless, of course, you want to sit in it to fish your grandchildren out of that deep spot after they fall in chasing that school of minnows .

Explaining to little people why it is not fun to wade in the river because the mud is deeper than you are tall is basically just a waste of time and energy. Your grandchildren don't care about that, they are only interested in making you sing a loud chorus of "What will we do with a drunken sailor" as a bribe to get them back to the slide.

Which is invariably when the Pastor drives by with a couple of deacons, leading to rumors that some of the congregation may have taken to drink.

And having gotten back to the slide you had better be snappy with a suggestion about why we should leave the park (and the river). Sometimes a bribe, like walking to the quick stop for a bug juice will work, but remember that involves herding toddlers three blocks down the street and back.

Once you get them in the quick stop it's not too bad, except that half of them raid the candy shelves (all within reach of the three year olds, tell me that's an accident) two of them want to help run the cash register and at least one of them insists on opening his bugjuice in the Deli, thus making hay with the sandwiches.

But eventually everybody gets home, and spongebob comes on, and we all get a cookie and fall asleep together in my chair. Now that I think of it, I'm going to miss that while I'm on the road.

On the other hand, getting to just ait still and watch the scenery pass is kind of a restful thought. And Grandpa doesn't say, "Grandma, whatch doin'?" repeatedly til you cry. And he almost never wants to have deep, philosophical discussions about frogs or where the sun goes at night.

He also has almost no interest in catching fireflys, chasing squirrels or trying to brain a Robin with a rock because shaking salt on it's tail did not noticably slow it down. No, I didn't make that up.

And he has never asked me to explain the mating habits of mosquitos on a level that reproduction can be understood at the age of four. Happily, Grandpa already knows all about reproduction and no longer feels any need at all to discuss it.

Anyway, I will tell you all about it when I get home. Whether you want to hear about it or not. That's why I have a blog, so I can talk as much as I want to.

By now, no doubt, you know why I need one.