Friday, July 3, 2020

DAY 9, KIDNAPPED HAPPY CAMPER

Day 9, Kidnapped Happy Camper

Plop!  We plopped all our stuff into our motel room, Mary, with a twinkle and a smile, turned to John who was settling in for a good nap, "Explain yourself!"

His witty response? "I've been kidnapped."

Yah, he's been kidnapped all right, by the sandman! (Since we were at Tybee Island at the beach that pun's intended.)

We'd shared the driving, John and Mary maybe once, me rarely.  I'm not a good passenger.  The older I get the worse I get.  It all started before interstates existed, when I was a toddler.  Weaving up and down and around the mountains of Kentucky to visit grandma I'd invariably get car sick.  

Here I hold up my hand, I admit that as a passenger I tell others how to drive, especially to save my stomach.  I want the curves smoothed out, the speed controlled, and please don't tailgate -- leave wrecking room.  My argument?  The guy ahead could be distracted by family or phone, could be a jittery octogenarian, or could be on TheraFlu!  


My final plea, as I switched lanes on I-40 forgetting to use my turn signal, "Listen to your elders."


Spencer spoke up, "I do...their advice is good, but their driving needs critiquing."

At this point I digress to revisit a shop in Tybee called the Tybean Art and Coffee Shop.  We ladies were separated from the men but when they reappeared they were drinking coffees!  How dare they!  Where did they find such nectar??  They took us to some wooden steps that led to a deck that had a little window for ordering and an even littler window for pickup.  I asked if the barista could make me my own creation and she said they could so while I waited for my light roast, sugary, peppermint loaded coffee to arrive I turned right to see quite a sight.  Those three men, 2 sons and a hubby, were looking like FBI Men in casual clothes...all hats and sunglasses black observing from the shadows with a watchful stance and the patience of a stake out agent.  I was nonplussed, then amused.  Goofballs!

One final night in a motel room in Tennessee, miles from Sandy Feet Retreat, admittedly still dark out, we'd decided to start extra early to avoid heavy traffic to make good time, but Spencer complained he couldn't get Calvin up, that he'd fallen back into bed with one sock on, so I decided to stir him with an adjusted nursery rhyme.

"Diddle Diddle Dumpling my son Calvin, went to bed with his jammies on, 

one sock off, one sock on, Diddle Diddle Dumpling my son Calvin."

Then, because we'd seen a sign for Drury Inn, "Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, who lives on Drury Lane."


Neither stirred him. You know what did the trick?  Spencer stood at his bedside and sang, "All I Want For Christmas" and "Oh, Christmas Tree".  That got him UP!

Hungry.  We were as hungry as we'd ever been, and began searching the advertising signs for an agreeable place to eat.  When there's 4 people, each with eating qualifiers, that can be a challenge.  And don't forget the call for face masks, social distancing, and possibly no dine-in which made it that much more difficult.  Then we saw one we'd never seen before, First Watch.  And people were milling about waiting for their party to be called; it was a good sign.

I guess Calvin hadn't seen such a salad as he'd ordered and received.  He was forking it and poking at it and asking. "What is it?"   As he raised a green blade that had a similar shape as an oak leaf, I suggested it was mixed greens, a little iceberg, some spinach and a bit of arugula. 

"Look at it!" he insisted spearing the arugula,  "I can find this in my front yard, and I have rabbits!"

The last day at the last motel we plopped all our stuff on the beds to repack, I turned to John, "Were you a happy camper?"

His witty response?  "It doesn't get any better than this!"

The Beach Bum!


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