Category: Travel

What pray tell is “Fantasy of Flight?” I really have no idea; however, out front there is a plane taking a header into the ground with a flight-suited man hanging from the tail. Please, take me!

Once again, this entry comes to you courtesy of a ride in a car. It must be a welcome change from the death watch at the allergist. Me? I could go either way.

We finished up the mother of all mini vacations today. A word of thanks goes out to the patron saint of good timing. (Who would have guessed that I’m not really up to speed on my saints?) We practically walked right on everything yesterday. Need a bus to Epcot? Just step right up and one appears at the stop. Want to see the Little Mermaid show at “Disney’s MGM Studios”, the one you’ve never seen due to the long lines? Just step right up, you’re the first in line for the next show. How about the Indiana Jones Stunt Spectacular? Well you’re in luck folks, the show’s just starting. Come on in!

Un-freaking believable! All on a holiday weekend no less!

There’s just one problem: nature’s check book always balances at zero. All that good fortune is bound to create the ultimate equal and opposite reaction. I hope I’m not around when things snap back.

It has ben suggested that the world that Disney built would be a good place to visit on Labor Day weekend. I have suggested that we want to reward Beth for a good start to the new school year, not punish her.

“whaa whaa whawhaa?”
“ugh.”
“JOHN!”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to go to Adventure Island today?”
“Let me sleep. Just one more hour? Please?”

“John, it’s been an hour. Get up and get dressed. You can eat your breakfast in the car.”
“uuhh… ”

Later that day at lunch in the park, a father and his child are playing a spelling game. One person spells the word and the other says it…

“How about B-O-A-T Beth?”
“Boat!”
“That’s right”

“How about O-N-T-A-P daddy?”
The daddy spins around and sees a Budweiser sign behind him on the wall and chuckles.

A young man speaks with a young woman at a theme park. He tries to be cool but he comes across awkward. When he walks away the girl laughs, seemingly at the young man’s expense. Is this me?

The scene was real, but I was only an observer. I felt pity for the young man until my thoughts turned inward. It was then that I wondered how often I have been the young man in scenes like this. How would I know? Why should I care? How can I stop?

It all started with a slap on my thigh. I was sitting on an over-crowded, amusement park, parking lot tram – so I figured it was just an accident, one that could be attributed to the extremely close quarters. But then it happened again. I looked over (and down) at the little person sitting next to me. It was a small child about Beth’s age – maybe a little younger. He was looking at me with a devious grin on his face. In a calm, measured tone, I asked him not to do that again. I was very conscious of the fact that I don’t like strangers disciplining my child, so I was careful not to be angry or aggressive with this child. I turn around and start talking with my father again, when I immediately feel another slap to my thigh. I turn around to face the child again… and he smacks me in the face with his amusement park map.

I feel it is necessary at this point to clear up a few things. One, I had nothing to do with this child prior to the slapping. Two, none of my activities prior to the slapping had any effect on this child. Three, I don’t believe I’ve ever met this child or any of his family. I was spending my time talking to my father, who was sitting on the other side of me. I don’t recall what we were talking about, but it had nothing to do with the child or anything that might offend him. My point is that this was a completely anonymous, unprovoked slapping. I am the only victim in this story.

So what would you do after a public slapping by an anonymous child? I turned around, again in a measured tone and whispered an ultimatum to him. I turned back around towards my father and resumed our conversation.

So how do you suppose this child’s behavior affected me? Would you believe that it left me in a pretty good mood? One of the early thoughts that crossed my mind (after the little urchin slapped me in the face) was that I was sitting in the presence of a child that was behaving much worse than my own. YES!!! Gone were all of the memories of other children Beth’s age obediently sitting next to their parents like their cool aid was spiked with Phenobarbital. Suddenly my child was the beacon of light in the room; the example for all to aspire to. It was a really good moment for me.

Later that night Cheryl asked me about the incident. Specifically, she asked me what I said to the little Cretan after he slapped me in the face with his park map. I told her that I advised him that I would take that map from him if he did that again. As I alluded to before, my gaze did not linger on the child after our brief exchange – I was busy talking to my father. Apparently, the child’s look said something akin to “you can’t do that to me!” Since he didn’t hit me again, I assume the message he got was one of two things: “this isn’t much fun, he’s not nearly angry enough to make this interesting”; or, “he might actually do it”. Cheryl told me that it wasn’t right to discipline someone else’s child. I told her that I agreed, but that I stand by my right to defend myself. Once out of harms way, I’m more than happy to leave the discipline to the parent. Was I so wrong?

It was the night before Monday and all through my mind, no pleasant thoughts were stirring, and definitely no joy. The day before we had returned from our vacation in the Georgia mountains. The day had gone by in a fog. Somewhere out there was the fading glow of our vacation, but you could not quite see it. Somewhere else out there was the deepening gloom of Monday, but I had my back to it so I wouldn’t have to look. The day was pleasant enough, sitting around relaxing, fiddling about as the last hours of our freedom burned away. We laid down in our bed chamber with nothing better to do early that evening. Our only child had lain down for the night and the house was quiet. The relatively early hour put my mind at ease; knowing that there was still a buffer between myself and work. I opened my eyes and it was dark. The alarm was going off next to me.

&*%$! (Censored)

Yes, there was more to the trip than practicing methods of torture on myself, but good news is a lot less entertaining than bad news – just ask your local news director. Never one to worry about readership, I press on. We made it to our cabin on Tuesday night. As I’ve noted before, that first night was pretty cool; literally and figuratively. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday were not so cool in temperature, but just as cool in spirit. We did many of the things we wanted to do. We took Cheryl’s parents on a driving tour on Wednesday. We saw Helen, GA; a city with the distinction of having more tee-shirt shops per capita than any other city in the U.S.

On Thursday Cheryl, Beth and I went on a hiking tour of Rabun County, GA. Our first stop was the Talula Gorge State Park. The distinguishing feature of this park is a large, deep gorge (go figure). What surprised Cheryl and I was just how big and deep it was. Visions of our trip to Utah filled our minds. This hole in the ground was much greener than the canyons in Utah, but it rivaled some of the canyons in size. We destroyed our legs on the staircase down and back up from the bottom of the gorge, but it was worth it. (You try climbing 700 feet worth of stairs and see how you feel.) Sitting on a rock at the bottom, looking across the river, I was at peace. It lasted all of three minutes when Beth announced, “I have to go to the bathroom!” Other than the river, the nearest place to take a tinkle was 700 feet above us. As tempting as the river was, we decided to climb up and seek more conventional means of relief. After climbing out Beth was almost too tired to remember she had to go potty. It was a rare opportunity to see Beth run out of energy.

And on the fourth day, we rested. We did interrupt our day long slumber for a session of horseback riding. I feel nervous letting Cheryl drive; so how do you think I feel being at the mercy of a non-sentient animal that out-weighs me many times over? Every twitch seemed like a sign that the beast was going to go rodeo on me. The ride was mostly pleasant, but when it was over I was glad that I could get off and put a little distance between us on my own terms.

Today we’re driving back home. I’m tired, but it is a good tired. I am filled with the peaceful feeling that we’ve spent our time well; taking in sights and sounds that enrich our memories, living experiences that remind me that there is some good in the world, and best of all – sharing it all with the two people I love most in this world.

Have you ever used one of those peeling thingies to peel a potato? If you have no idea what I’m talking about, then this entry will hold little interest for you. Even if you have it’s probably touch and go. Anyway, imagine what happens to the peel when you use the peeling thingie on a potato. It works so well because it is open on top to allow the peeled substance to drop away. This is precisely why your finger nail makes a lousy peeling thingie (that and it’s not nearly as wide as a peeling thingie, but that’s not important right now). Peeling a potato with your finger nail is not recommended because it’s just not the best way, but at least it won’t cause any permanent damage to your finger. Trying the same exercise on wood paneling is another matter. While a potato is significantly less rigid than your finger, shards of wood paneling are significantly more rigid than the tissue under your finger nail. Imagine my surprise when I notice the shadow of a 3/4 inch piece of wood paneling under my finger nail. Now imagine me hoping around, going through the list of words I don’t want Beth to say.

Let me leave you with this nugget of learned wisdom: it hurts just as much to pull it out as it does to shove it in.

Cold. Rain. Fireplace. Dig it? We had the misfortune of starting our vacation in the Georgia mountains with Tropical Storm Bob. Some might find this a bit of a drag, but I didn’t. I like my vacations to be relaxing. I can’t conjure up a more relaxing image than a mountain cabin in the woods, a hundred miles from the city, rain patting the roof, with a fire crackling in the fireplace.