DRUM ROLL PLEASE

Sadly for us, but happily for Crystal she is still safe and sound with her mother in the hay-filled barn at Crystal Creek Ranch.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

CRYSTAL THE CROSS COUNTRY KITTEN

Crystal was cold.

She’d been nice and warm while the gentle Great Pyrenees had surrounded her with white fur, but now the dogs were gone and she wasn’t quite sure why.

Maybe it had something to do with the big black car that had come to a creaking stop on the dirt road next to where she’d found herself when she’d crawled out the open barn door late last night.  It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.  She’d been so curious about what was outside the hay-filled confines of the only home she remembered.  But as soon as Farmer Bill had shut everyone in for night, Crystal had known she was on the wrong side of the door.

She heard strange noises and could sense creatures beyond her limited vision whose interest in her was not friendly.  She’d made a big mistake.  She sat in the field mewing faintly and shivering as much from fear as from the chill night mountain air.

From out of the dark two shaggy forms had materialized, circling her as they sniffed.  She’d mewed desperately hoping against hope that her puffed up fur would scare away these huge creatures.

The shapes had moved closer and Crystal had backed away as fast as her unsteady legs would let her; but before she knew it there’d been a cold wet nose in her face.  She’d closed her eyes and curled up into a ball, crying piteously.

That was when the two dogs began their nightlong guard, wrapped around the tiny terrified kitten.  The unlikely trio had stayed like that all night, until the noisy minivan had come rattling down the road in the predawn light.

Now the warmth of the dogs was gone, and Crystal’s tiny mews reached new ears.

Getting out of the car, the woman in pajamas tried to figure out where the obviously very young kitten had come from.  She scooped up the shivering ball of fur and held it close, trying to give some of her body warmth to the tiny creature.

“It’s okay, Sweetie,” she cooed.  “It’s okay.”

Crystal like the sound of her voice and crawled up to snuggle into her neck.

“Oh, you’re so cute,” said the woman.  “How do you think she got out by the road?”

“I don’t know,” came a much lower voice.  “But why don’t I hold her while you drive?”

Crystal was handed to a man who held her up to look into her face.

“She’s very young.”

“I’d say about two or three weeks,” answered the woman.

The man smelled like milk and Crystal realized she was hungry.  As soon as he held her closer she searched for the source of that smell.  When she finally found it, she started licking and sucking as she would have if her mother had been there.

“She’s sucking my lip,” he laughed.  She continued, though it was frustrating not getting any milk.

“Here,” said the woman, “wrap her in this and I can hold her on my lap as I drive back.”  Crystal was smothered in soft green fabric that warmed her instantly.  “See you later,” called the woman as the man rode away on his bicycle.

As the car rocked its way back onto the farm, Crystal forgot her hunger and let herself doze off in the warmth of the woman’s lap.

She stirred vaguely as she was carried into a tidy little cabin, but didn’t fully wake up until that smell of milk came to her again.  This time it was on the woman’s fingers, and it was warm.  Crystal licked the fingers and nibbled at them, but couldn’t get as much milk as she wanted.

“Not too much, Sweetie.  It’s not really good for you, but you just seem so hungry.”  This woman knew what Crystal was feeling.  And she was so gentle.  Crystal liked her.

She tried to purr to let the woman know how happy she was, but she was too busy trying to get more milk.  She was concentrating so hard, in fact, that she didn’t feel the woman move her to the soft bed.

“Sarah,” she heard, “open your eyes.”  Only inches away, a pair of light brown eyes looked directly into her own and widened.

“A kitten!”

She was scooped up again to repeat the process.

“William, open your eyes.”  This time the eyes next to hers were bright blue.  And a pair of dark brown ones popped up over William’s head.

“She’s so cute!  You put her in my polar fleece!  Never ever wash it!”

From that moment things were a commotion of petting, cuddling, and cooing.  Crystal was in heaven.  She’d never had this much attention before and she definitely liked it.

Even when they left the little house and walked past the barn she’d been born in, she was content to stay wrapped in the soft green polar fleece as Sarah, William and James took turns begging their mama.

“Can we keep her?”

“Where’s her mother?”

“What if she has no mother?”

“What if she needs someone to take care of her?”

“Kiddos,” their mama protested only half-heartedly, “I’m sure she has a mother.  Besides, we’re living in a minivan.”

“She’s so small.  She won’t take up much space.”

“But, guys, what about Lily?”

“Lily would want to take care of her.”

“We can introduce her to Lily like you’re supposed to.”

“But we’re staying in hotels, and a lot of them don’t allow pets.”  Mama’s protests were definitely getting fainter and they could sense victory within their grasp.

“Then I’ll sleep out in the car with her.”

“Sarah.  You can’t sleep in the car.”

“Then we can sneak her in.”

“Yeah.  She’s not very noisy.  Just that little tiny mew.”

“And I can put her under my shirt.”

“She’s too young to leave her mother.”

“But what if she doesn’t have a mother?”

“But I’m sure she does.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“If she doesn’t have a mother, can we take her?”

“I don’t know.  Let’s not talk about this any more.  We’ll ask Bill about her.”

“Just promise you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Really?!”

“Really.”

“You’ll think about it.”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.  Enough.”

Crystal listened to the arguments and tried to figure out what she wanted.  She liked this bouncy family, but she loved the warm hay in the barn that tickled her nose with its smell.  And now she knew the gigantic dogs were her friends.

“Oh, you can take her if you want her,” said Farmer Bill.  “She was dumped here a few days ago.  People do that all the time figuring we’re a farm and can take care of the animals.  But we have no mother cat to nurse her and no time to hand feed her ourselves, so she’d probably be better off with you.”

“Really?”  The children were beside themselves.

 “Mama?”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but if she has no mother … then, well, yes.”

Crystal snuggled into the green polar fleece and for the first time in her three week life she purred.

ALTERNATE ENDING:

Crystal listened to the arguments and tried to figure out what she wanted.  She liked this bouncy family, but she loved the warm hay in the barn that tickled her nose with its smell.  And now she knew the gigantic dogs were her friends.

 “Oh, she has a mother,” said Farmer Bill.  “She’s in the barn.  There are other kittens in there, too; but I haven’t seen them.  I’ve only heard them.  Do you want to help me bring her back there?”

“Okay,” the disappointment of the children was obvious but Crystal wasn’t sure how she felt.

As they opened the door, two kittens came bouncing out of the shadows welcoming their sister back into the fold.  The children played with the three balls of fur as they tumbled in and out of the hay until it was time to go.

Crystal watched them leave and felt almost as sad as they did.  But then her mother licked her and she remembered she had her own family who loved her, and for the first time in her three week life she purred.

So which ending do you think is the real one?

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

LUCK BE A LADY

Ah …

Silence.

It’s six’o’clock in the morning and the usual wild hubbub of three frenetically happy children has been replaced by the gentle singsong of two sweetly waking birds.

It is a big day.

Sarah, William, and James are riding with Daddy for the first part of today’s seventy mile leg.  I’ll pick the boys up in Selkirk about twelve miles away then drive on another eighteen miles to Marianthal where we’ll wait for Sarah.

But for the moment I have an hour and fifteen precious minutes to myself.

What to do?

I eat a leisurely breakfast while reading a year old copy of "Better Homes and Gardens" and ponder the possibilities.

I try to get on-line to check my email without three little heads alternating their mutual “Can I get on the computer?” query.  In this lovely cottage there is no wifi, but I’ve had a bit of luck tapping into the unsecured networks of the houses around us.

No such luck this morning.

I attempt to call my voicemail and check messages in this signal deficient hamlet where “No Network Coverage” is about the only text message I’ve received for days.  Every so often, though, I can grab a stray edge of the cell service that seems to float overhead like an elusive jet stream; and touch base with my life back home.

No such luck this morning.

I do some yoga stretches to loosen up my 52-years-old-in-six-weeks back, which has out of the blue decided it doesn’t like sitting in the car for two or three hours a day.  Neither does it like lugging heavy bags to and from upper story walk-up motel rooms every day.  Nor does it like sleeping in beds that vary from rock hard to saggy soft every night.  For the past two weeks my yoga and Pilates classes have really paid off by giving me tools to help ease the stiffness at the start of each day.

No such luck this morning.

I drive over to the old water tower I spotted yesterday hoping to get some nice early morning shots for a photo study I’m working on.  A frail mist of clouds floats in an anemic blue pool of sky.  I’d wanted a bright expanse of cloudless azure to contrast with the ragged edges and dingy silver of the tower.  Ah, well.  Perhaps the similarity will actually create a more dramatic shot than the disparity I’d been envisioning.

No such luck this morning.

I shoot what I can and head back to the car with exactly forty-five minutes to go till I have to meet mi famiglia.  It's precisely enough time to have a leisurely drive to our meeting point, and then indulge in one of my secret pleasures.  Tweezing my eyebrows.  Yes, my favorite location for that grooming ritual is parked in a sunny spot with the car facing directly into the early day’s rays while I use the driver’s seat mirror to pluck any errant hairs.  And my shaggy brows are screaming for their toilette.

No such luck this morning.

The minivan’s self-locking system, which has never worked before, has decided to spontaneously repair itself this morning.  Perhaps it was because of the unaccustomed quiet in this town of 741 (according to the 2010 census).  Perhaps it was because of the tender loving care the car has received from me.  Perhaps Tribune, Kansas is some sort of Lourdes for motor vehicles.  Whatever the reason, it has done so with my keys and admittedly useless cell phone sitting on the front seat.  The nice man who stops to help tells me that the sheriff “should be here in a couple minutes.”

No such luck this morning.

Forty-five minutes later I thank the sheriff and finally get in the car.  The clock reprimands me.  Gene estimated they’d be traveling about eight miles an hour, so I may still have time to get ahead of them and film my three progeny on the road with their Dad.

No such luck this morning.

When I arrive at our proscribed meeting place, the children are in various phases of melting in the already blazing Great Plains sun.

“Where were you?”

“We’ve been waiting almost an hour!”

“Daddy was having vivid doom-filled fantasies.”  (Sarah loves to quote my blog back to me.)

“They went faster than I thought they would,” Gene told me after I explained what happened.

"How was it?" I ask.

“It was great!”

“We rode twelve miles!”

“We’ve never ridden that far.”

“I’m hot.”

“I’m tired.”

“I need water.”

"I need air conditioning."

“Do you have a snack?”

Ah …

Cacaphony.

Sometimes you don’t know how lucky you are until your luck runs out.

 

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

HERDING CATS … ON BICYCLES

The Will Rogers Highway, The Great Diagonal Way, The Main Street of America, The Mother Road.

Whatever you choose to call it, Route 66 is arguably the most legendary piece of pavement in America (apologies to Broadway and Wall Street).  So it came as no surprise that Gene’s excitement at riding its famed blacktop would rub off on the kids.

After rising ridiculously early to backtrack to Ash Fork so Gene wouldn’t miss those 17 miles (see yesterday’s blog), the four of us headed back to our luxurious Motel 6 accommodations (see yesterday’s blog again) with plenty of the time for the Sarah, William and James to have a swim in the indoor pool before donning their Connor’s Army Ride Across America jerseys.

When Gene pulled into the hotel’s parking lot two hours later they all hopped on their bikes and, with various versions of “Get Your Kicks on Route 66” playing in their imaginations, they headed off to live out so many people’s fantasies.

I, of course, drove ahead to chronicle this historic moment in Connor family history.

As I filmed the four of them weaving their way through the morning tourist traffic I almost cried at the amazing memory they’ll have for the rest of their lives.  Then they passed me and all I heard was:

“Stay in a single line.”

“Stop at the stop sign.”

“Don’t ride next to each other.”

“Look before you ride across the street.”

“Single file!”

“Guys, pay attention to the cars.”

And I felt a moment of guilty but gleeful validation as Gene experienced for a half hour or so what I’m going through every day.

You see, there are three of them and there’s only one of me.  Controlling them when they’re excited and want to run off in three different directions is as difficult as keeping three cats in a straight line through a seafood market.  And on this trip they’re excited about something almost every day, so I spend a lot of my time herding cats.

Of course, I’m usually doing it on foot without cars whizzing by within inches of their pedaling legs so he was definitely getting short end of the stick.

I let myself spend a few moments zenning out while listening to my music on the radio, before gathering my kittens and heading off towards our next stop.


For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com

To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org

To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org

To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

WE'RE GOING LOONY TUNES!

Driving down an Arizona desert highway I saw an honest-to-god real-life roadrunner.  About ten minutes later William saw a desert fox.  We chose to believe it was a larger cousin and named him Wile E. Coyote.  Beep, beep!!


www.ConnorsArmy.org
To make a donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056
Check out Gene's blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com

IF IT’S GREEN IT MUST BE A VEGETABLE

The one of hardest things about traveling for two and a half months with an entire family in tow is keeping up the healthy diet we’re used to at home.  The temptation is eat the way you do on vacation when you throw caution to the wind, indulge your every culinary whim, and eliminate the words ‘healthy’ and ‘diet’ from your vocabulary.  Big restaurant breakfasts on warm oversized plates complete with hash browns and toast, fries with every carb-rich lunch, and Thanksgiving-size dinners every night.  Not to mention lots and lots of ice cream.

For the first week I let everyone revel in the summer vacation feeling.  After all, we were spending most of our time stuck in a minivan on the interstate.  We needed something to look forward to every few hours.  But now I’m faced with nine more weeks of living on the road in places where if vegetables even make an appearance on the menu it means canned green beans cooked to mushy perfection.

Last night I worked hard to keep my children, who love green beans from the farm stand, from making faces and calling the green mass they received at my insistence disgusting.  Although I have to admit that it was.

Today I was told about a great grocery store here in eensy-weensy Salome, Arizona that had wonderful produce.  Since this recommendation came from the New York ex-pat  who owns the funky motel we’re staying in, I allowed myself to get excited at the thought of broccoli or spinach or (dare I hope) asparagus.  By this point even the kids are excited at the thought of fresh vegetables.

We walked into the tiny all-purpose grocery, liquor, general store with hearts high and mouths watering.  I found plenty of onions.  Potatoes, too.  A few wilted stalks of celery.  Over-ripe peaches, green bananas, and some apples.

“Where are the vegetables?” my disappointed taste-buds wailed.  “We want cauliflower.  We want Brussel sprouts.  We want dark green leafy things rich in iron.”

“Be patient,” I cajoled them.  “We’re in the middle of the Arizona desert.  Fresh produce has a very different definition here.”

I put two bags of frozen mixed vegetables into my basket and dreamed of Kansas farmland.

I’M THE THIRD WHEEL ON THE BICYCLE

I’m feeling superfluous.

Today was probably the day we were most worried about.  Only three days out and Gene would be riding through some of the most barren, arid, sun-beaten desert we’ll pass through on our whole trip.  And even more distressing, there was that forty-five mile stretch between Brawley and Palo Verde with absolutely nothing, not even a rest stop, for him to get water.

He had the bladder, which holds a liter, filled with ice and three large water bottles.  But the way he’d been sucking down water on the first two days, we knew they’d never last the whole stretch.

We carefully planned.

He rose early to beat the desert heat and was on the road by 5:45am.  We were to follow at 7:15am so we could catch up with him around the thirty mile mark, after about two hours on the road, with three gallons of water and a cooler full of ice.

Imagine my panic when we awoke at 7:45am, a full half hour after we were already supposed to have left!  The kids ate breakfast while I loaded the van, but it still took me 45 minutes to get us all out of the hotel and driving down Route 78.

My stress level built with each mile of deserted sand dunes and each hour of unrelenting sun that had passed since he left.  The only thing we went by was a Border Patrol checkpoint, where the guards held back their contraband sniffing dog and assured us that my husband hadn’t looked dehydrated when he’d gone through there forty-five minutes earlier.

I breathed a sigh of relief but raced onward nonetheless, picturing him hallucinating and heading out into the desert on his bicycle to wander aimlessly until finally succumbing to the heat and leaving us to find his bleached bones months later.

I’m very good at creating vivid doom-filled fantasies.

When he finally appeared in our windshield view, there was much cheering and gathering of cold water bottles.

We jumped out of the car expecting an exhausted and water-craving man.  Instead we were met by good spirits and the information that he had plenty of water because he’d found a small place to refill his bottles, and his bladder was still contained half its icy water.

I was both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

I mean, if he didn’t need us today on this most grueling of rides where hydration could really mean the difference between life and death, why were we here?  We were supposed to be his support team, his link to water and sustenance, his spirit lifter when it all seemed too much for him.  Instead he was well equipped for all the obstacles that had come his way so far – mountains, desert, long distances, heat.  I’m very proud of him for how prepared he is for this journey.

Now I need to find my purpose and reason to be here.

DO I WANT TO BE ON TOP OR ON THE BOTTOM?

I’ve discovered that there’s a major decision to be made each day when I check into our hotel.  If it’s one of those cute old-fashioned middle-of-the-country motels with only one story, then it’s a moot point.  But if it’s got even one more story, I’m faced with a conundrum worthy of Solomon.

Do I want peace and quiet, or peace of mind?

In other words, do I want to stay on the top floor so there’s no one walking above us, or do I want to stay on the first floor so we’re not walking above anyone?  In the first instance, we have a better chance for an undisturbed night and morning; but I’m faced with the effort to keep my kids from jumping around, bouncing on the beds, leaping from bed-to-bed (a favorite forbidden activity), and being generally elephantine.  It’s exhausting and leads to yelling, so that we’re not only annoying the people below us, but also those on either side.

It’s been ten days on the road, and I have to admit that so far the selfish side of me has won out every time.  After all, once I’ve calmed down my three darlings and gotten them to sleep, the last thing I want is some heavy-footed businessman or, god forbid, a family with kids making noise above us that might wake them up.

AN UPHILL BATTLE

After they rode the first four miles with Daddy, I packed the kids into the car and took off for our much looked forward to first day.

After an uneventful and relatively level first half, we met Gene in the parking lot of a 7-11 to refill his water and give him encouragement.  To be honest, I was thinking to myself that this was pretty much like every other ride he’s done on many weekends; and after waiting an hour for him to arrive I was wondering if we should change our plans to meet halfway each day and the kids and I would just head directly to each new hotel.  Especially after he told us that he’d stopped at another 7-11 to get water and didn’t need our supply.

“He normally rides 40 or 50 miles without me bringing him provisions,” I thought.  “Why does he need us all there now when he can take care of himself?”  We headed off for the second half of the drive to our pleasant little motel in Pine Valley with thoughts of change in my head.
In each small town we passed through, I pictured him stopping to use bathrooms or replenish his water supply.  I was fairly certain our strategy would be altered by tomorrow.

Then we hit the mountains.

Twenty miles of hot arid climbing with no place to turn when in need of water or support.  Every time I had to pump the gas pedal to put the car into overdrive and listened to its struggling engine, I thought of my husband on a bicycle trying to make it up the same climb.  My husband who hadn’t been on a really grueling ride in months.  My husband who had just spent the past seven days sitting in a car for ten hours a day.  My husband who was 49 years old and not necessarily in the best shape of his life.

By the time we got to our motel, I was convinced he was sitting on the side of the road dehydrated and despairing because the mountain had beaten him on his first day.  I gave the kids lunch, filled up the water bottles with ice and cold water, and we jumped back into the car to retrace our steps on a mission of mercy.
By the time we’d driven twenty miles back, I was nearly frantic with worry.  Why hadn’t we seen him?  Had he been hit by a car and knocked into the brush at the side of the road?  Had he been overcome by water loss and rushed to some strange hospital?

The return drive was tense as I tried to hide my concern from the children, but I could sense that Sarah had many of the same thoughts.

As we passed the “Pine Valley 5 Miles” sign we caught sight of a familiar jersey up ahead.

“Daddy!” yelled all three kids simultaneously.

We stopped to offer our now not-so-needed water and support, and to hear a few quick tales of his first day’s journey- including the conversation he was having with some fellow riders as we drove past on our outward-bound search.  By the time the kids and I had gotten back to the motel and settled in he was there.  But my thoughts about changing our planned daily routine had vanished.  I’ll be meeting him halfway every day – at least until we’re out of the 100+ degree temperatures and the 4000 foot climbs.  And I’ll have lots of water with me.

A SHORT MEDITATION ON ANXIETY

Gene is nervous about starting the ride tomorrow.  Although he hasn’t said anything about it to me, I can tell because he’s channeling his anxiety about the great unknown ahead of him into unfounded worry over everything else.  The car that just successfully made a 3,000 mile journey relatively unscathed (except for the air conditioning compressor that blew because of all the bugs we didn’t clean off the grill) is a lemon that’s falling apart before his eyes.  Someone’s going to steal his bicycle from the locked bike rack on the back of the car in broad daylight in the middle of the Legoland parking lot.

I, on the other hand, am quite vocal and open about my anxieties.

I worry that chasing this dream is going to cost us more money than we’re going to raise for Sunrise.  I worry because the perfect house/cat-sitter we finally found is suddenly unnerved about staying in our house because she got bitten by a bug in our bed on her second night there and has asked us to find someone else to take over … now that we’re on the road and have to do long distance what we nearly found impossible to do when we were home.  (Note:  I can’t really blame her, though, because I’d probably react the same way if I was in her shoes sleeping in a strange house that belonged to people I don’t really know and I got eight itchy painful bites in their bed.)  I worry that, while my husband is going to lean out from cycling 3,600 miles and be in peak shape when we get home, I’m going to become a flabby mass of unhealthiness from driving in a car all day and eating every meal in a restaurant.  I worry that my children are going to turn from caring, fun-loving, agreeable people into whiney, bored, adversaries all intent on claiming the same seat and arguing for 3,600 unbearable miles.  I worry that I haven’t given any of this enough thought, and that all my plans are built upon flimsy ideas with no real knowledge or research behind them.

But mostly I worry that we’ll both be so caught up in our anxieties and our planning that we’ll miss the amazing adventure we’re about to embark upon, and the wonderful opportunity we have to slow down and spend some unprecedented time with our children and with each other.

I guess there are times when a little worry can remind us what's most important about the things we do ... or the things we're about to do.

A STORY TOLD IN NUMBERS - FINAL PART

Day Six

Hours of sleep - 3 or 4
Gushing bloody noses in the middle of the night - 1 (James)
Migraines from lack of sleep - 1 (me)
Miles driven - 285.1
Wildfires seen in the distance - 5
Miles from Mexican border - 1/4
Border Patrol checkpoints passed through - 3
Guns seen at Border Patrol checkpoints - 10
Guns not seen but present at Border Patrol checkpoints - unknown
Feet above sea level -  -16
Minutes spent watching the GPS for exact moment we went below sea level - 68
Fabulous lunches in hole in the wall Mexican cantina in El Centro - 1
Time arrived in San Diego - 2:30pm
Time hotel room will be ready - 4:30pm
Trips to Gene's Mecca (a.k.a. the actual Performance Bicycle store) while waiting for hotel room to be ready - 1
Ice creams consumed after Gene's trip to Mecca - 3
Children in the pool the moment we checked into hotel - 3
Excellent Thai restuarants found for dinner - 1

A STORY TOLD IN NUMBERS - PART FOUR

Day Five!

Time the kids woke us up - 5:30am
Miles driven when we hit the road nice and early - 692.7
Hours on the road - 12
Time zones crossed - 1
Children fooled into thinking it was earlier than it was by crossing the time zone and changing the clock when they weren't looking - 3
Trailers abandonned by the side of the road - 1
Pounds of "Cline's Famous Fudge" bought at "Cline's Famous Rest Stop" - 1
Minutes to consume said fudge - 2.5
License plates from different states found - 35 (our new record for one day!)
Casinos passed in Oklahoma - 5
Dust devils seen - 5
Dust devils actually driven through - 1
Children who want to see a tornado - 3
Children satisfied with seeing a dust devil instead of a tornado - 0
Cars on the longest train seen - 124
Funky diners eaten in for lunch on  Route 66 - 1

A STORY TOLD IN NUMBERS - PART THREE

Stats for Day Four:

Actual sleeping hours I got with Sarah kicking me all night - maybe 3
Make-your-own waffles made by the children - 3
Make-your-own waffles actually consumed by the children - 1 half, 1 quarter, and 2 bites
Hours to repair air conditioning - 3.5
Thank you's written by Sarah while waiting for the air conditioning to be repaired - 42
Thank you's remaining to be written by Sarah - about 125
Cost to repair air conditioning - $1,054
Bugs cleaned off the car's grill which caused the compressor to blow - millions!
New tires needed after mechanic repairing the air conditioning observed them to be bald - 1 (no, wait - 2)
Hours spent in K-Mart waiting for two new tires - 2.5
Food items the kids asked me to buy in K-Mart - 12
Food items bought - 4 (5 if you count the water)
Brilliant ideas conceived in K-Mart - 2 (buy a universal remote to replace the missing one from the minivan's DVD player, and buy three padded mailers to keep the Kindles and Nook in)
Brilliant ideas that worked - 1 (the universal remote didn't do the job - darn!)
Miles driven once we finally hit the road - 347.1
Hours on the road - 7.25
Time zones crossed - 1
States driven through - 3
Temperature outside the car - 101 degrees
Gratitude for repaired air conditioning - immeasureable
License plates found - 27
License plates found in parking lot before leaving the hotel - 9
Wind speed - 40 mph gusts
Sprawling wind farms rotating in the wind gusts on the Texas plains - 5.5 (one was under construction)
Tumbleweeds seen before we stopped counting - 20
Dead armiadillos - 2
Live armadillos - 0, but still hoping
Bloody noses - 1 (James)
Speed limit in Texas - 75 mph
Trips down Memory Lane - 1 (as we stopped at a rural Stuckey's in the back hills of Oklahoma and Gene relived childhood memories of road trips with his family)

A very big thank you to Cindy the office manager, Scott the mechanic, and Zane the owners of Zane's Auto Repair who got us on the road and kept us both cool and safe!

A STORY TOLD IN NUMBERS - PART TWO

Stats for Day Three:

Miles driven - 638.6
Father's Day cards given - 2
Father's Day gifts given - 3 (2 handmade coupon books and a "Hardcore Carnivore" tee-shirt purchased at Dicky's BBQ in Oklahoma where kids eat free on Sundays and the brisket is to die for!)
Movies chosen by Daddy - 5
Movies chosen by anyone else - 0
Hours on the road - 14.25
Hours without air conditioning - 6.25
Number of complaints from the kids about how hot they were - 0 (I love my children!)
Bags of ice gratefully consumed during the un-air-conditioned part of the drive - 1
Mississippi Rivers crossed - 1
Songs from the "Cars" soundtrack air guitared by William - 3
Trucks blowing their horns after seeing me playing with my arm in the wind outside the window - 1
Trucks almost hitting us - 1 (a different truck)
States driven through - 3
Boats on trailers but with no car in sight seen at the side of the highway - 2
St. Louis Arches seen - 1
Rolled hay bales - 1000's
Bright golden haze observed on meadows in Oklahoma - innumerable

A STORY TOLD IN NUMBERS - PART ONE

I started to wrote a prose- ical entry but realized that the story of our initial days can best be told in their stats.  So here are the stats for Day One/Two:

Hours late to start - 2.5
Hours on the road - 27.5
Miles driven - 1,086.3
States driven through - 6
Number of times a child threw up, aka puked, aka barfed - 2
Fill-ups - 5
Dead deer at the side of the road - 5
Wind farms turning gracefully on mountain tops - 1
Wind farm turbines seen on flatbeds on the highway - 4
License plates found in the license plate game - 33
Movies watched - 5 (plus 2 episodes of Mythbusters)
Hours slept in the car in a Pennsylvania rest stop - 4
Minutes of rain - 4.5
Numer of times windshield pooped on - 3 (only when I was driving because birds have a thing against me)
Time zones crossed - 1
911 calls made when Sarah saw a brush fire actually start next to the highway - 1
Rest stops - 7
Important items forgotten at home that Claire the housesitter is overnighting to us - 2 (webcam and laptop power cord)
Less important items forgotten at home that we aren't asking Claire to send to us - 3 (my watch, Sarah's iPod charger - she'll share Gene's - and Sarah's phone charger - she'll keep it turned off unless she needs it)
Women waving to us on the Turnpike - 1

CHANGING HORSES IN MIDSTREAM

So I was spending the day before the day before we leave (got that?  It's Wednesday and we leave Friday) barbequing in the rain for 800 middle school students; and I got a really great suggestion that completely changed the way I plan to pack.

"Wait a minute," you say.  "Go back to the beginning.  Why were you barbequing for 800 middle school students?  And why were you doing it in the rain?"

Good questions!

It all started last year when Sarah was in 6th grade.  My favorite food is ice cream and when I saw that the PTSA throws an ice cream party for the entire school on the last day of classes, I volunteered to help.  One thing led to another, and I ended up chairing the ice cream event.  It wasn't very difficult and everyone had a great time, so when they asked if I'd do it again this year, I immediately responded in the affirmative even though I knew it'd be only two days before we were leaving.  But when the notices were sent out to the entire PTSA, it turned out I had volunteered to chair not just the ice cream portion, but the entire barbeque!

Of course, true to my insane desire to never miss out on anything, I figured I could still handle it - on top of planning Carla and Rita's wedding, Sarah's benefit, and a fundraising cabaret.  And all of this was taking place within two and a half weeks of our leaving!

On the day of the barbeque it was raining, so we had to make alternative plans on the fly.  The kids were moved inside, but the barbeques themselves had to remain outrside.  And we couldn't even move them underneath the breezeway because the smoke set off the fire alarms last time they tried that.

So there I am, soaking wet in the middle of four and a half hours cooking in the rain; and one of the other moms tells me about a friend of hers who always packs for family vacations in plastic bins instead of in suitcases.  I swear that if you looked closely enough at me, you would have been able to see the giant light bulb going on above my head.

I went straight to Home Depot to buy a bunch of shoebox sized bins, and now Sarah is busy clearing toys out of the big plastic bins in the playroom.  Hey, on top of learning to do things at the last minute, I'm also learning to be flexible.

NOTHING SAYS “WE’RE DRIVING CROSS COUNTRY” LIKE A MINIVAN

I have now done something I swore I would never do and that I’m a bit ashamed to admit to.

I bought a minivan.

Well, my husband and I bought a minivan, which was a great victory for him and a huge loss for me.

You see, for the past 12 years since we moved from New York City to Long Island I’ve fought an ongoing battle against the forces of suburbia.  All my life I’ve prided myself on being different.  I’m a five foot tall, left-handed, ballet dancer and actress who spent most of her adult life living in an apartment and leaving town every few months to do shows all over the world.  Even having a baby was unique in my world.  But Sarah was very much a baby of the city.  She wore black as an infant, and was dandled on the knee of our dear neighbor who just happened to be a drag queen.

So you can see what a shock it was when I entered the world of soccer moms and SUV’s.

Being an actress I found it very easy to blend in.  I ditched the black for both Sarah and me, and donned the suburban uniform of khaki’s and sneakers.  I joined a playgroup and a mother’s center.  I went to the playground and the mall.  I drove a Volvo sedan.

Then I got pregnant with twins and everyone joked about the soon-to-be-purchased minivan.  That’s when my instincts for self-preservation kicked in.  What had happened to me?  Who was this pastel-wearing woman?  Where was the uninhibited actress?

I balked, refusing to fall into the predetermined mold.

No minivan for me.

I spent weeks searching for a car that would fit three car seats across the back, and finally discovered that a 1999 Volvo wagon would do just that.  As luck would have it, our local Volvo dealer had a ‘certified pre-owned’ (aka used) one on his lot.  We bought it immediately and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

I would never, I swore to myself, buy a minivan.

“But,” argued my husband, “we’ll need more space on the cross country so that we can carry everything we need.”

I held my ground.

Then we took a six hour drive to Washington DC with all three kids lined up along the back seat like sniping sea gulls battling for supremacy of the dock.

I relented.

Our 2007 Chrysler Town and Country minivan comes complete with automatic doors and that dream of every suburban parent – a DVD system.  My husband has named it the Vannikan Roadwalker, an action I refuse to sanction.

“Don’t name it,” I tell him.  “You’ll get attached to it.”

“But she’s great,” he gushes.  “She has so much room.”

“It’s not a she, it’s an it.  Any way, that’s not even a girl’s name.”

“She’s like a ship.  They’re all she’s.”

“This is not a ship, and it’s getting sold as soon as we get back.”

“But we love her, Mama,” chime in all three children.  “She has a DVD player!”

“It’s not a she, and I’ve already composed the Craig’s List ad.”

Everyone tells me I’ll grow to love it.  They all laugh behind my back at my insistence upon my dislike for it.  No one expects me to follow through on my threat.

And I do see their points.

I can’t tell you how lovely a long drive was with all three children sitting in very separate seats glued to the movie showing on the DVD.  And with only one back seat out, it certainly can hold an enormous amount of stuff.

But the other day I pulled into the parking lot at a Little League game in my own car.  Amidst the sea of minivans and SUVs, mine was the lone station wagon; and I felt a surge of latent individuality.  Yes, I may be stubborn.  Yes, I may be impractical.  And, yes, I may be pulling my hair out the next time my kids are crammed into the back seat as we travel four hours to my sister-in-law’s house.

But I’ll be doing it in my own unique impractical, insanity-inducing way.

Anyone want to buy a minivan?  It’s cheap and available in September.  The only shortcoming is that you’ll have to pry my husband and children out of it.

THE TALE OF THE CAT WITH THE MAGICAL PURR

I am obsessing about a cat.  And the fact that we’re going to be away for seventy-four days, and still haven’t found anyone to stay in our house.

I wouldn’t be so worried about it if it weren’t for Lily, the aforementioned feline.  Oh, we’ve had several offers from friends and family of various possible ways to make sure she’s fed and watered for the ten plus weeks we’ll be away.  But with Lily there are other concerns.

Let me tell you a little story.

Once upon a time (about thirteen or fourteen years ago) a kitten was born.  She was your basic grey tabby domestic housecat.  Nothing special.  Or at least, that’s what everyone thought.  But this particular kitten was indeed special … very special.

She had a magical purr.  If she looked at a man and purred, that man instantly became loving and gentle.  His hands could not help but pet the little kitten or scratch her neck.  His voice would soften so as not to jar in the little kitten’s sensitive ears.  And the kindness he felt towards the little kitten would carry over into the rest of his life, so that he was loving and gentle with all he met.  The little kitten’s magical purr made many people happy and served her well for the first few years of her kittenish life.

But then she met a terrible creature.  An ogre with a hearted so hardened that even her magical purr could not soften it.  Try as she might, she could not make the ogre loving and gentle.  Instead he became angrier and meaner, and he imprisoned the little kitten and beat her for no reason.  The little kitten’s heart was pure and sweet, and she thought she could save the ogre from his own meanness; but the more she purred, the angrier he became and the crueler he was to the little kitten.  Eventually all the magic was drained out of her and she spent her days hiding from the ogre’s painful smacks and kicks.  In time she even forgot that she’d ever had a magical purr.

Still imprisoned in the ogre’s castle, she grew into a cat.  All the anxiety and fear she lived with day in and day out began to affect her health, and she became very sick.  She was so nervous about running into the ogre that she wouldn’t even leave her hiding places to go to her litter box, which angered the ogre even more.  She couldn’t eat because stomach was constantly in a knot.

Finally the ogre decided he didn’t want to have a prisoner any more.  He put on thed special mask he used to move among the humans and packed the little cat – because of her illness she hadn’t grown much bigger than a large kitten – into a box.  He took her to an animal shelter and left her there.

The people at the shelter held out little hope of this frail, sick, frightened cat ever finding a home; but they took her to the veterinarian to try to help her get better.  At the vet’s office she sat in a cage as many people, some of whom even looked like the ogre’s disguise, came and went with their own healthy well-cared for animals.  Day after day she sat there, sick and terrified, hiding under her blanket whenever one of the people came too close.

One day a teenager who was studying at the office learning how to be a veterinarian thought that his mother’s friend might be able to help.  He knew this little cat was sick and scared of people, but something told him to call his mother’s friend.

Now, his mother’s friend was a kind lady with a gentle voice and magic in her hands.  But she was very sad because her dear sweet loving cat had just died, and she knew she wasn’t ready to take in another one.

“No one could replace my Boo Kitty,” she said.  “But I’ll come meet your sick little cat.”

When she walked into the office, she saw the little cat in her cage hiding under and faded blue blanket and her heart went out to the poor creature.  She knelt by the cage and touched her fingers to the bars.

“It’s okay, sweet thing,” she cooed, “I won’t hurt you.”

The little cat observed the lady from the safety of the blanket cocoon.  She was small, too, just like the little cat.  And she had a sweet voice.  And there was something about her hands.

The little cat poked her head out of the cocoon and sniffed.  The lady smelled gentle, but the little cat couldn’t be sure.  Her memory was filled with kicks and yells and smacks, and being chased even into her safest hiding places.  She hesitated.

The lady moved her finger on the cage and whispered, “Look how beautiful you are.”  There was something about those hands.

The little cat knew that the bars of the cage would protect her, so she crept carefully out of her safe blanket and moved closer.

“That’s it, sweetie.  It’s okay.”

The little cat’s peach-colored nose inched closer until it brushed one of the lady’s fingertips.  That was all it took for the lady’s magic hands to melt a tiny bit of the fear that had lodged itself in the little cat’s heart.  And they both knew.

It would be a long road, but together they would work to find the little cat’s magical purr.

And that is exactly what they did.  It took four years of love and care and gentleness, and the little cat’s health – both physical and emotional – is still delicate; but her magical purr fills the lady’s small home, and all who enter are touched by it.

Now the lady with magic hands is worried that the delicate little cat with the magical purr will think the lady and her family have abandoned her just the way she was abandoned before; and if they take her to someone else’s house, she may think that they’ve given her away.  The little cat’s loving heart might break if she thought her family didn’t want her any more.

In other words …

Our cat, Lily, was so badly abused that she developed inflammatory bowel disease and chronic diarrhea.  Then she was yelled at so much for the mess that she became afraid to poop and rather than use the litter box she hid it all over the house, which got her beaten even more and made her even more terrified.  Then she was dumped at the shelter.  Two different families tried to take her in, but brought her right back.  By the time we got her she was afraid of the litter box, afraid of men, afraid we’d be taking her right back to the shelter, and afraid to come out from behind our bathtub.  She was on steroids for nearly a year, had a special diet for two years, and still has occasional issues with sudden movements.

But through it all she had this incredible purr for me.  All I had to do was look at her and this giant rumble would come out of her … no petting, no talking, nothing.  Just look at her and puuuurrrr.

Now she’s a completely different cat.  She climbs into almost anyone’s lap, follows me around the house like a dog, and that purr is still there.  She’s friendly, loving, and trusting.  The last thing I want to do is destroy that trust by sending her someplace else to live and making her think that the people she’s grown to love so much have abandoned her.

So you see why, I really have to find someone loving and gentle to stay in our house and keep Lily happy till we come home to her.

SHE’S BA-A-A-A-ACK!

Let the planning begin.

Step One:
Start working with Gene’s helpful but basic schedule of where we’ll be on what days.

Step Two:
Realize that Gene’s schedule is woefully inadequate for my purposes.

Step Three:
Spend five hours rewriting the schedule as an Excel file with date, day of the week, city left, miles traveled, city arrived at, miles left till we reach New York, Chamber of Commerce contact information, hotel options with pricing and contact information, confirmation numbers, cancellation policies, dining possibilities, activity possibilities, PR possibilities, and whatever else comes to mind to add on in the future.

Mama is on the job!

IN WHICH I HAVE A TERRIBLE DREAM ABOUT BEING TRAPPED IN A MINIVAN WITH MY CHILDREN … OH WAIT, THAT’S NOT A DREAM, IT’S A PLAN

I’m beginning to have serious doubts about my ability to survive this trip.  It has nothing to do with stamina – after all I’m not the one cycling seventy-five to a hundred miles a day.  It has nothing to do with comfort – I’ve finally convinced my entire family that, while camping our way across the country sounds exciting in theory, it is an entirely different thing when you have to live that way for almost three months.

It has to do with the fact that after two or three hours in a minivan every day I just might have to kill all three of my children and end up on death row in some conservative Midwest state where they don’t understand Northeastern mothers’ stress levels.

Actually, I may not have to kill all of them.  Only Sarah.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love my daughter.  In fact I am amazed every day that I’ve been allowed to be mother to this brilliant, creative, altruistic, funny, and beautiful child for the past twelve and a half years.

But right now – this particular day – I wonder how someone managed to replace that brilliant, creative, altruistic, funny, and beautiful child with this whiney, temperamental, irritable, diffident and petulant tweenager without my noticing it.

And I wonder if there’s any way we might possibly be able to leave her home while we traipse around the country for the summer.  I mean, if you go away for the weekend, you can leave your cat with plenty of food and water; and know that three days later it’ll be fine when you get home.  It probably won’t even have noticed you were gone.  If we leave Sarah with a computer, a phone, and a freezer full of veggie burgers I’m fairly certain the same thing will happen at the end of the summer.

And her brothers, especially William, will be so much happier.

I’m not sure what it is, whether they’re too different or too much the same, but Sarah and William are like rubbing alcohol and chlorine – mix them together in a confined space and there’s bound to be an explosion.  This would be fine if we could just put them in a room together and let them conflagrate themselves.  James and I, though, will be in a minivan that seems spacious right now when peacefully compared to my station wagon; but that will get infinitely smaller when we’re stuck in there with two screaming dragons dueling to the death.  Invariably, they’ll survive to lick their wounds for another battle while James and I will be the collateral damage in a sibling war waged on four wheels.

And my husband will be happily zenning out on his bicycle.

The reality of this trip is hitting home now and a very practical and not-so-exciting way.