Our 2006 Road Trip, Part 1: Our Milkman’s Chariot Awaits

[Welcome to the first installment of a very special miniseries, representing the original travelogue from our family’s 2006 vacation to scenic Wisconsin and Minnesota, home of much forestry, many lakes, and very odd things. Some hindsight editing and modern-day commentary will be included along the way as value-added bonus features for readers old and new alike.

All photos were taken with one of two cameras: one Kodak EasyShare that was obsolete when we bought it, and one 35mm camera whose film had to be dropped off for developing and whose pics were scanned using an equally obsolete, poor-res scanner. Very little about these entries will approach 1080p quality. Back in our day, this is what history looked like. When these travelogues were written, they were as much about the writing as they were about the pics. Consequently, some entries will have one photo, while others will have several.

I’m adding some present-day commentary in spots as value-added epilogues. I’ll also be inserting several photos that we’ve never shared publicly before. Even our internet friends who read the original entries will be seeing previously unreleased material for the first time.

Enjoy!]

2006 Jeep Commander. UGH/

Day 0: Friday, July 21st

As with last year’s vacation, rather than submit either of our own cars to hundreds of miles of wear and tear, we rented an SUV for the extra space, comfort, and intimidation factor — what better way to announce to the townsfolk of other locales, “Back off, man! We’re TOURISTS!” Granted, we had to prepare ourselves to spend extra money on gas, but that falls in line with my own little personal plan to help save America: the way I figure it, if every one of us works together to use up all the gas in the world as quickly as possible, down to the very last drop, then we’ll be forced to make the transition to alternative fuel sources that much sooner.

Right this way for a complete lack of sales pitch…

The Days Are Saved, Thanks to Scrapbooking!

Short entry because I’ve spent much of the night immersed in one of these:

Scrapbook!

For preserving our family’s experiences, I have my writing and my wife has her scrapbooks. When my memories falter, her photo spreads help jump-start the recovery process for those old, lost anecdotes. She’s been assembling these for years and years, building up quite the family library. Vacations, conventions, special one-time outings, random notable occasions, family holidays — if we did something besides work, sleep, eat, or stare at screens, she’s scrapbooked it.

I’ve delved into this one tonight to retrieve several old 35mm photos from our 2006 vacation for future use. A few were previously scanned, but not all of them. It’s so weird looking back at my son, tall for an 11-year-old yet far from his adult height; my wife, timeless as always; and me, the year after my diet. And many of the shots with her 35mm camera looked better than the results from the frustrating digital camera I had at the time. Quite unfair. So I’ve been scanning and scanning and scanning and scanning the night away and I’m really, really tired of staring at the scanner and waiting for the platen elves to hurry and make with the magical uploading.

Sometimes we’ll share her scrapbooks with friends, walk them through with tag-team narration. For the most part, they’re for our own future use, especially for revisiting in those golden years (so to speak) when individual tales begin to blur, vital details vanish, names become scrambled, and punchlines lose their impact. If either of us are stricken with one of the worst-case-scenario kinds of conditions, the ones that pulverize mental faculties and effectively sever any connections to prized talents and qualities, I want these scrapbooks right beside us as our reminders, as our life-savers, as our virtual tour guides to ourselves, imbued with all that we were and all that we meant.

The above pictures-in-picture are from a small-town Wizard of Oz festival we attended in 2006, a cavalcade of Oz cosplay, surviving Munchkin actors, arts-‘n’-crafts booths, and general whimsy. One day we ought to share that story, but I kept it in reserve for a few reasons, none of them personal. When the time is right and the story yearns to be told, either to ourselves or to others, the scrapbook will be waiting.

Every Father’s Day is a Fixed Point in Time

Father and SonThe photo at left was taken by my mom back in 2002. The original is surely stuck inside one of her many photo albums. All I have is this poorly scanned, cropped version that I once used as my LiveJournal profile pic. My son was seven, maybe eight years old. To this day it’s one of my favorite pics of the two of us, despite the distance and the low-res haze. Something about our shadowy faces and that sunbeam between us strikes a certain poignancy for me.

Like most all-purpose bloggers, I’ve written about various holidays at length in the past. Father’s Day is one of those for which I wish I could present you with something warm, fuzzy, life-affirming, and role-model-ish. Truth is, he and I play the day so low-key that I imagine some relatives probably worry about us. He’s not the most expressive or enthusiastic when it comes to holidays, family gatherings, or mushy moments, and I’m not one to force hugs and pleasantries from others. That’s my wife’s zealous area of expertise.

For us Father’s Day typically means dining out, doing something fun together (either video games or a movie, typically), and calling it a day. He’s now living up at college year-round, but this year’s get-together will look similar, a benign combination of food and entertainment. I love him and I always look forward to spending time with him, but cards and presents aren’t a part of the process. I wouldn’t turn down free stuff if he offered it, but I’m not the kind of Dudley Dursley to demand it.

As for how my Father’s Days work in the other direction…

Farewell, My Creepy-Looking But Beloved Childhood Home

childhood home, moving out

Last night around 12:30 in the morning was the last time I’ll ever step foot in the home where I grew up. After forty-one years my mother finally made the tough decision to downscale to a smaller, more affordable place for the sake of long-term retirement planning and easier living space management.

My wife, my son, and I spent six hours Saturday helping her pack and fifteen hours Sunday helping her move. With just the four of us working on it, and with her unable to lift anything heavier than a bag of groceries, it was extremely slow going. By the time I called it a night around 1 a.m., I could hardly stand to look at my old bedroom anymore. That was partly because I was tired of being there, partly because I was just plain tired, and partly because by the time we hollowed it out…well, as my son put it while we stood there surveying the room one last time, it looked like the set of a disturbing horror film.

This way for memories and such…

Our Mother’s Day Suburban Archaeology Project

encyclopedias

Behold the encyclopedia that time forgot!

What we have here is a complete, 29-volume set of the 1983 Funk & Wagnalls Encyclopedia. This product was sold through Marsh Supermarkets to discerning shoppers at the rate of one new volume every week until their collection was complete and informational victory was achieved. For a little extra you could buy single companion volumes such as a medical encyclopedia, a legal encyclopedia, and the Funk & Wagnalls Hammond World Atlas in case you wanted to see all of the USSR or learn what kind of currency was used in Zaire.

Up until a couple weeks ago, my mom still had all twenty-nine volumes on her shelf, thirty years after the original purchase. Just in case.

This way for more about our weekend plans…

“Philomena”: Penance, Piety, and Parenthood Postponed

Judi Dench, Steve Coogan, Philomena

The Academy Awards aren’t complete without at least one token high-caliber British nominee on the Best Picture shortlist. Leave it to director Stephen Frears (whose past nominees include The Queen and Dangerous Liaisons) to fit the bill this year with a transatlantic odd-couple quest for reconnection or closure, for truth or justice, and for fury or forgiveness.

Regarding the search for one middle-aged baby…

Empty Nest Update #3: Handling Our First School Shooting

Purdue shooting black ribbon, 1/14/2014

For Andrew Boldt and family. Our prayers and thoughts are with them tonight.

Today during the course of one of our usual workday back-‘n’-forth email volleys, I thought it odd when my wife sent me another, separate email with a new title: “Purdue Shooting”. She knew she’d have my full attention.

Within the same minute that I opened her email, my son the Purdue freshman texted me. In case I heard about a shooting at Purdue, he wrote, he wanted me to know he was fine, even though he’d been in the same building where and when the shooting occurred.

That disrupted my concentration for a while.

In case you missed the news…

Stalking the Great White Elephant

White Elephant OfferingLike too many others, our extended family on both sides has given up on the ancient tradition of buying gifts for everyone they love. Few of us can afford to buy that many gifts, and it’s likely that the affluent minority wouldn’t have a clue about our interests, hobbies, or character traits. Heck, I don’t even know what some of them do for a living.

Some years we’ve agreed to buy gifts only for the kids, who were easier to treat as interchangeable when they were younger. As they’ve aged, they’ve become just as finicky and inscrutable as their parents. The process might be simpler if we lived near each other and/or spent time together. I hear that works well for some families. It’s not that we hate each other — if that were the case, Christmas gatherings wouldn’t be scheduled in the first place. But we seem to be a bit more fractured and preoccupied with our own doings than those families you see in movies or TV shows that do everything together. We can glean minutiae about each other from Facebook, but in most cases it’s not enough to influence our major Christmas purchasing decisions.

For the last few years, some factions in our families have livened up Christmas gatherings with a white elephant gift exchange. You chip in for a gift; you receive a random gift in return. It’s a way to say “I acknowledge you as part of the family” without designating a specific person as the recipient of the sentiment. More succinctly put: “Dear whoever: you technically matter.”

Preparations for this year…

The Fading Attraction of the Family Gathering

family dinner gathering, Gray Bros. CafeteriaOnce again it’s that time of year when Christmas pervades our thoughts and retailers, when we have hard decisions to make about which relatives and friends deserve free tokens of affection or obligation, when our diets are at their most compromised, and when every family or circle remotely connected to us tries to fill up our December calendar page with nonstop, wall-to-wall action and excitement.

Wait, no. They just want everyone who meets their invitation criteria to get together, eat a meal in the same room at the same time, and check off the item on the holiday to-do list that reads “mandatory visiting”. Action and excitement are optional. Too, too optional. Sometimes it’s best not to ask about presents, either.

More on this…

A Very Special MCC Thanksgiving Haiku-tacular

Thanksgiving dinner leftovers

Thanksgiving success / is measured by the lack of / pretty leftovers. [Source: file photo from / our two thousand eleven / meal to end all meals.]

Just because I can
Write a Thanksgiving haiku
Clearly means I should

Does it get worse? Let’s find out!