Tag Archives: Travel Bug Tales

Lakeside Baptist Church – My Other Family

Mom and I with Eddie Jo, one of Mom's dear Lakeside friends.

Mom and I with Eddie Jo, one of Mom’s dear Lakeside friends.

TRAVEL BUG TALES: KIN BY THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB

As I’ve chatted about beaches, I’ve also mentioned Mrs. Lide.  Mom and Mrs. Lide were besties.  I get that, because I have a bestie.  But having a bestie doesn’t short circuit the ability to have other very, very good friends.  My mom taught me that and I am grateful.  I feel sorry for people who are so wrapped up in one another there’s no room for the rest of the world – whether the other is a spouse, a best friend or a relative.  When we moved to Texas, Mom lost her close daily contact with Mrs. Lide, but it didn’t cripple her.  She just set about filling her life with other wonderful people.  No one ever replaced Mrs. Lide in her heart, but the fun she shared made for a great life. 

From the Archives!  The Caves had attended for 20 of these years and my sister is still there these 30 years later!

From the Archives! The Caves had attended for 20 of these years and my sister is still there 30 years later!

The Lakeside Connection

When we moved to Dallas, one of the first things Mom did was take us church shopping, but it was a short trip.  We visited the Baptist Church closest to us, but it didn’t pass the Ruth test.  Nothing wrong with it, beyond the fact that it wasn’t what Mom was looking for.  The next Sunday we ventured a little further down Garland Road to Lakeside Baptist Church.  Mom hitched her wagon to Lakeside and she was set for the rest of her life.

Back in those days, the Baptist Sunday Schools were divided up by age and marital status and there was no getting around it. Nowadays they call them Life Groups and the age/marital status rule is not so hard and fast.   Mom landed in a group of ladies called the Grace Class.  They did life together for decades.  They prayed for one another when there were problems and sickness.  A death brought out casseroles and potted plants. If one of my parents were in the hospital for an operation, the entire waiting room filled up with Lakesiders.  I can’t begin to tell you how much I loved those people or how much they loved me.

As a side note, my dad was a Sunday School Rebel.  The wives and the husbands of my parents’ classes would meet together for a general assembly each week, to sing a few hymns, make announcements and pray together.  Then they’d divide up into several smaller, sexually-segregated groups to study the lesson in their quarterly.  Dad’s biblical curiosity dug deeper than the quarterly, so when a Bible scholar started a survey class, open to both men and women, Dad defected.  Mom didn’t approve.  She called the Bible Survey Class members kooks and weirdos. To hear her tell it, you’d think Jesus Christ Himself had ordained the Baptist Adult Quarterly.

A peek at Mom's Sunday School Class

A peek at Mom’s Sunday School Class

The 42 Group

By some sort of natural selection,  several of the Lakeside couples started a group which played 42 together once a month.  This started as a simple game of dominoes with a few snacks, but it didn’t stay that way.  It quickly morphed into elaborate table decorations and a three-course meal before the dominoes came out.

My Dad, the Sunday School Rebel, didn’t approve of the ordeal which this simple monthly game of dominoes turned into.  Probably none of the men did, but the women were in their glory.  To them, the annual assignment of homes for the get-togethers was more important than the Paris Peace Talks.  Popular assignments were February and October, because Valentines and Autumn Leaves were easy party themes.  Ending up with December was a fate worse than death.  Being the December hostess meant you had to decide which restaurant would win the honor of hosting the Christmas gala and you had to be sure your Christmas decor bested the previous year’s display.

There were unspoken, elaborate rules attached to the monthly game and as my parents aged the rules evolved.  Choosing a replacement couple for someone who was unable to attend in a given month was a monumental task, carefully discussed during multiple phone conversations.  The ladies also discussed how put upon they were by the necessity of finding another couple.  Hadn’t they been having this game on the second Friday night of the month for a long time?  How could the missing couple dare to put everyone through this ordeal?

Then there was the first couple to quit for medical reasons.  I heard much discussion about whether that had been a decision of necessity or convenience.  Another milestone was the first death.  Should widows be allowed to continue and who would serve as partners?  Every season of life brought its own challenges to the 42 Group and finally an end.

Most comical to me was the ride sharing.  As these dear ones aged, some of them weren’t getting around so well.  To complicate matters, while the group had started out in a close knit geographical area, over the years some of the couples moved.  The result was a flurry of monthly phone calls about who was going to ride with whom – and more than a few discussions about why anyone would move out of East Dallas.

Memories of these dear ones bring me both laughter and tears.  It seems impossible, but I couldn’t find a single shot of the 42 Group among Mom’s photos.  There were plenty of her friends from that monthly domino game and I have so many memories, but no photos.  So, you’ll have to use your imagination.

Come back next week and we’ll go to Padre Island with one of the 42 couples.

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Other Beaches Mom Didn’t Love

Except from my scrapbook

Except from my scrapbook

TRAVEL BUG TALES: MORE TEXAS BEACHES THAT DIDN’T CUT IT

In our efforts to find a beach my mom could love in Texas, we visited other beaches along the coast over the years.  While the Caves managed to have their usual good times, nothing could replace Myrtle Beach in Mom’s heart.

Corpus Christi

On another trip we went to Corpus Christi.  In its defense it’s only a bay behind a barrier island on the Gulf of Mexico, so it starts out with a handicap.  Like Galveston, the beach is on one side of the street and the hotels are on another.  For kids who grew up playing in the dunes along Myrtle Beach and Edisto Island on the Atlantic – well, it’s just not the same.  When we visited Corpus Christi we made a ferry trip to some island and visited something called Searama, but I think underwhelmed would be a good description of our reactions.

I do remember seeing families riding around in bicycle surreys and I thought that looked like a good time.  I guess it was a little out of my parent’s budget, because we didn’t do it.  In those years Mom was all about saving to buy a house, so we were quite economical.  Decades later I visited with Bill and he wasn’t too keen on the surreys either.  I guess I’m going to have to drag my bestie down there, because she’s always game for whatever I cook up.

The highlight of the trip with my parents was dinner at an ocean-side restaurant.  While I distinctly remember the delicious meal and panoramic views of a harbor, I can’t remember the name of the place and in later years I couldn’t find anything comparable.

Padre Island

I love Texas and I rarely tolerate anyone saying anything derogatory about it, but the fact of the matter is that it’s not a great state for beaches.  The East Coast has all those long, wide sandy beaches with pristine sand dunes.  The West Coast has the drama of rocky cliffs and haystacks in the water.  Then there’s Florida, which is just a strip of land with two coasts of gorgeous beaches and the marvel of the keys.  Even the Gulf Coast States have some pretty beaches with amazing seafood restaurants and other attractions, like golf courses to entertain the beach-goer.

Texas just doesn’t.  Padre is the prettiest beach in Texas I’ve been to, but it’s also a national seashore and that has curbed development.  You do get a lot of beach and pristine dunes, but good luck finding anything else.  To me beach means an early morning walk looking for shells followed by a hearty breakfast.  Then you do a little shopping, see a local attraction or play a little putt putt.  Lunch is something quick, because you’ll be in the water all afternoon.  The evening meal is a big deal.  Then it’s time for bed.

Looking for shells on Padre is a waste of time.  There’s nothing to do out there except the beach, so you have to give up a whole day of beach, if you want to visit civilization.  The few restaurants out there are mediocre.  Is there a beautiful beach?  Well, yes, but the truth of the matter is that the adult me is not as crazy about water and sand as my younger version.  Slathering on suncreen and getting caked-over by blowing sand, while my force of nature (my head of hair) goes wild, is just not one of my favorite experiences.  I can take about half an hour of that and I’m done.  Sitting by the pool is more pleasant and with a good book I can last an hour.

With that being said, my family did manage to have a pretty good time in Padre during Mom’s search for a Myrtle Beach replacement, so I’ll tell you about that next week.

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No Beach Like Myrtle Beach

Mom at her beach.  This was the year she took a wig!

Mom at her beach. This was the year she took a wig!

TRAVEL BUG TALES: GALVESTON BEACH JUST DOESN’T CUT IT

My mom’s happy place was Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  Part of that happiness had to do with her bestie, Mrs. Lide, who was always with her there.  I have to give Mom credit, though.  She never quit trying to find a happy place closer to home.  Nothing ever seemed to satisfy her like a walk along Myrtle Beach, but she never gave up and she was always optimistic.  So she visited a lot of beaches, but for her, there was no beach like Myrtle Beach.

Galveston

The first beach my mom tried to love in Texas was Galveston.  Our first summer back, we visited family down in Houston and made the trek to Galveston.  That’s when my Uncle Billy lost his wallet while he was fishing – one of my favorite stories, but I’ve already shared it.

The family made another trip down there, but I can’t pinpoint the date from the photographs I have.  It could have even been on one of the family vacations we made from Georgia. In Galveston, you have a seawall and above the seawall you have a road.  We stayed in a motel along Seawall Boulevard, right across the street from the beach.  I thought I’d shared this story before, but I couldn’t find it here, so if you’ve heard it, excuse me.  Even if I haven’t blogged about it, I know I’ve told it a million times, so some of you may be familiar with it.

p-man-o-warMy Drama on the Beach

As soon as we got to Galveston, Susan and I were dying to hit the beach, but my folks wanted a break from the drive. Because we’d grown up hanging out at the beach and were aware of the dangers, Mom and Dad felt parental supervision was unnecessary.  Honestly, I was still young enough to be a little anxious about it, but old enough not to want to admit it.  I was particularly concerned about crossing the busy highway.  I was old enough to know all the rules, but had rarely had the opportunity to use them on my own, in a similar situation.

We crossed the road at the light, found a spot on the beach for our paraphernalia and waded out into the water.  Very likely, I was holding Susan’s hand, because she was quite little.  Within a few seconds of entering the water, Susan was attacked by a Portuguese-Man-o-War.  In case you’re unfamiliar with the species, it’s a particularly nasty type of jellyfish.

I will never forget the absolute terror I felt when Susan screamed.  I knew she wasn’t drowning, but I couldn’t immediately figure out what was wrong.  Her leg was turning red and swelling, so even though I still didn’t know what was up, I knew I needed reinforcements.

Jane to the Rescue

I have become the overly-responsible sort.  My husband laughs at me for my propensity to overthink a situation.  Whether I am planning a party or packing a suitcase, I think through every possible scenario.  This means I usually buy too much food for the party and carry entirely too much luggage, but I’m ready for anything.

 I remember very distinctly, on that day at Galveston Beach, being torn between two necessities.  I needed to get Susan to my parents, but I was also responsible for our belongings.  I was nearly crazy with fear for Susan, but I was also scared to death of being chastised for being irresponsible about my possessions.  I was still under scrutiny for the BBQ joint incident, which most likely contributes to my current state of hyper-worry.

So with a screaming sister in tow, I dutifully grabbed up our beach gear and headed toward the official crosswalk, when what I wanted to do was tear across the street, leaving everything behind and ignoring traffic signals.  As soon as we made it across Seawall Boulevard, I was ready to give up my responsibilities and just be a scared kid.  I made a beeline for our room and by then, I’m pretty sure I was yelling almost as loudly as Susan was screaming.

Sardines and Crackers

I’d be very surprised if we’d been away from the room for more than ten minutes.  When my dad opened the door, I remember my mom was setting up a sort of picnic with sardines and crackers.  Every time I see a can of sardines, I am transported back to this moment (which has greatly reduced my taste for these delicacies of the canned food aisle.)  My parents didn’t immediately pick up on my panic.  I’ve been known to overreact – another thing my husband points out to me frequently.  I’m sure they thought, “What has Jane gotten into now?” (Which I’m sure my husband also thinks from time to time.)

However, in almost the same breath, they figured out this was the real thing and started trying to ascertain what to do, which I am sure was not exactly easy.  I was yelling in panic, Susan was screaming in pain and we had no idea what caused our distress in the first place – only that we wanted it to end.

Almost immediately, someone else came into the room.  Susan obviously wasn’t the first kid attacked by a Portuguese-Man-o-War.  The desk clerk had seen us head to the beach and then return in a screaming panic.  He’d seen that before and showed up with a bottle of ammonia.

Return to a State of Normalcy

Within moments Susan’s screams turned into whimpers and my eyeballs returned into my sockets.  My parents were extremely grateful for the help and expressed their never-ending appreciation to the desk clerk.  Eventually, I was asked for a recap and during my telling of the event, I am sure that I pointed out that I had remembered to pick up our towels – not that it relived me from hearing about the BBQ joint incident with great frequency.

Poor Susan…she was the cause of so many of my childhood traumas.  She was still an infant when she split open her head by crawling into a piece of furniture.  I couldn’t stand to watch them stitching her up and I couldn’t stand not to.  Then there was the time she got lost at Mount Vernon and the awful bug bite.  A schoolyard feud that followed me into junior high arose because someone accused her of something she swore she didn’t do.  I may not have always been the best big sister in the world, but she knew then what she knows now – when you’re in trouble, Jane will help.

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Myrtle Beach SC in the Good Old Days

BPS01252016_0018TRAVEL BUG TALES: A GROOVY TIME AT THE BEACH

Sorry to leave you hanging.  It was almost two months ago that I shared my sad tale of woe about my embarrassing day in Williamsburg, VA.  The worst thing about it was the knowledge that my busted lip and scabbed-up arm and leg were going to really sting when I got into the Atlantic Ocean.

Back to the Beach

After Williamsburg, we were headed to Myrtle Beach.  I’ve already talked about how much my family loved visiting the Lide’s beach house.  This trip was much the same, but this time Ann didn’t come.  Her brother Bobby was there and I admit I crushed on him in an embarrassing way, but hey, I was 14.

The highlights of Myrtle Beach include:

  • the carnival with a ride called The Scrambler
  • seining the ocean
  • dinner at The Captain’s Table
  • putt putt
  • driving to Calabash NC for flounder

Nothing Stays the Same

Myrtle Beach was the icing on the cake of a great vacation.  It was the last time we stayed in the beach house.  The Lide family sold it and bought a condo.  I never stayed in the condo, but my mom and dad returned year after year to play in the sand with their good friends.

These visits back to Myrtle Beach were something my parents cherished.  The guys would play golf and the ladies would shop.  Then they’d make the required visits to Calabash and The Captain’s Table, but they’d also try out everything else on the strip.  I was a little jealous that my younger sister got to go along on many of these return visits.  I was away at school or out being a career girl, so I was not supposed to mind – but I did.

In later years I would take mom back to Myrtle Beach for one more visit.  We rented a condo in a high-rise building and it was very nice, but it wasn’t the old beach house.  The carnival with The Scrambler was gone, but the main drag had become one long garish carnival with three million putt-putt courses.  The Captain’s Table was still there and the line was still long, but either the food wasn’t quite what it should have been or my tastes had changed.

The most disappointing thing about that final return to Myrtle Beach was Calabash.  In my memory, Calabash was a tiny town with a main drag peppered with the best seafood restaurants in the world.  I can still taste the fried flounder, hush-puppies and cole slaw.  We, of course, had our favorites, but you would have been hard-pressed to get a bad meal anywhere along the street.

On our final return, there was only one seafood restaurant.  Every other restaurant was a member of the usual chains you see everywhere.  The one seafood restaurant that remained was devoid of ambiance.  It was a huge barn of a place with formica-topped tables, while my memory clung to white tablecloths, impeccable service and flickering candles.

But that trip was long after my return in 1969.  I’ll tell you about it someday.  In 1970 we went to Corpus Christi for our family vacation, but I have only fleeting memories of it that wouldn’t make for much of a blog post.  We also visited cousins in Oklahoma City.  I remember a remarkable roadside tribute to Native Americans on that trek, but we didn’t have any pictures.  Though I’ve researched it in hopes of making a return, it has apparently disappeared, which is really sad.

In 1971, we moved into a new house – the one I always think of as home, so vacations took a back seat.  In 1972, we took a trip to South Texas with some friends from church.  Come back next week and I’ll show you around.

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A Day I’ll Never Forget

Mom & I in the stocks. Yes I'm the one in the tri-corn hat.

Mom & I in the stocks. Yes I’m the one in the tri-corn hat.

TRAVEL BUG TALES: HOW DO PARENTS DO IT?

So I’m not sure why parents want to have kids.  So far on this trip we’ve nearly lost my sister, I’ve been testing my teen-aged angst and I’m about to ruin the day for everyone –  and I didn’t even mean, too.

A Day at Colonial Williamsburg

I’d reached the auspicious age of 14 and fancied myself to be very sophisticated.  I’d had my first lobster (albeit a salad not a whole lobster), we were staying at a resort, I was in junior high and I thought I knew everything.  However, I was still a kid and I was gaga over history.  Yes, that was dorky, but I couldn’t help myself.  Mom had been priming me for our day in Williamsburg for months on end and I was anxious to get there.  I was also anxious to get back to the resort later, because I’d been promised we could swim in one of the pools.

One of the benefits of staying at the resort was transportation to the historical section of Williamsburg, because you weren’t allowed to drive your car there.  I’m pretty sure the transportation was some kind of horse drawn vehicle, but I really don’t remember.  We had breakfast in the cafeteria where we’d had dinner the night before, but I don’t remember that either.  We had all our meals there, because I’m sure anything else would have busted my parents’ budget.

I do remember strolling the streets of Colonial Williamsburg, shopping for souvenirs in quaint shops and visiting various historical edifices.  Which ones I can’t exactly remember, but I was filled with wonder as we roamed the city and its buildings.  Making the whole thing seem surreal were all the costumed guides strolling around in colonial garb.  I was fascinated.

My husband would tell you that I get a little excited when I travel.  I speak too loudly, walk too fast and often get ahead of myself.  That’s exactly how I was that day in Williamsburg.  The day was incredibly hot and humid, but I was bouncing around like a tennis ball.  Inside the buildings the a/c was blasting to protect the valuable artifacts on display; antique furnishings, tools and other valuable items.  So outside we’d bake and inside we’d freeze.

I picked this sweetie up in a Williamsburg toy shop and her hat came from a milliner down the street where I also picked up the tri-corn hat above. She sits on a shelf in my office until today.

I picked this sweetie up in a Williamsburg toy shop and her hat came from a milliner down the street – where I also picked up the tri-corn hat I wore that day. The doll sits on a shelf in my office until today.  I’m not sure where the tri-corn ended up.

My Williamsburg Waterloo

Each house had timed tours and we had tickets to a certain number of houses, but the tours were timed to give you plenty of opportunities to shop in their expensive boutiques.  It was time to see the silversmiths house, so I charged in like a bull in a china closet.  Once inside I started to feel woozy.  I tried to stay with the tour, but finally I felt as if I had to get out of the house.  I’d gotten cold and hot one too many times and there was some acrid smell associated with the demonstrations of silversmithing.  I grabbed the handle of a door that I wasn’t supposed to and popped out of the house.

The next thing I knew I was lying on the brick sidewalk and a great fuss was being made over me.  Once it was established that nothing was broken I was hauled into an alcove off the street and my mother hovered over me.  Someone was asking if we wanted an ambulance.  I was saying no, but Mom was saying yes.  Mom won, because someone came to doctor me up, but I refused to get in the ambulance and be taken to a hospital.  I was already so embarrassed that I wanted to die.  While I don’t remember riding in the carriage that morning, I do distinctly remember the discomfort of riding it back to the resort in the afternoon.

I had not broken anything, but I’d managed to get pretty beat up.  As I’d stepped out of the silversmith’s house and onto a small porch, I’d already started to lose consciousness.  I careened across the porch, fell down a couple of steps and slid across the brick sidewalk.  I busted my lip and scratched up my face, arm and legs pretty badly.  I’d also shaken every bone in my body.  Within days I was black and blue and scabbed.

Here’s the rub.  There was no way my parents were going to let me go to swimming pool, even if I’d mustered up the strength to pretend I wanted to.  I was put to bed for the balance of the afternoon, while everyone else went swimming.  My mother checked on me several times, but I was 14 after all.

I mustered up the courage to eat in the cafeteria that evening, because I didn’t want a tray to be delivered to our room.  While I’ve always enjoyed attention, that wasn’t the kind of attention I wanted – at all.  Besides that, Mom had started to make noise about heading back to Texas rather than heading to the beach to rendezvous with our friends at their beach house.  No way I was missing the beach, so I had to suck it up.

Come back next week and we’ll go to Myrtle Beach!

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The Caves Visit Colonial Williamsburg

BPS08112016_0001TRAVEL BUG TALES:  MY FIRST STAY AT A RESORT

I still remember my wonder as my family’s baby blue Pontiac pulled up to our accommodations in Colonial Williamsburg.  A little browsing around the internet leads me to believe we stayed at what is now called the Williamsburg Woodlands, a budget-minded choice for families, but to me it seemed like Waldorf Astoria.  Let me tell you about it.

Bellmen and Multiple Pools

As I said last week, my family was not the resort type.  We usually stayed in Holiday Inns.  These practical motels would have a few two-story buildings clustered beside the road around a modest pool.  Some would be a little bit nicer than others, but it was very, very low key.

The colonial part of Williamsburg is tightly controlled by a foundation.  This protects the authenticity of the historical city, but it also keeps Holiday Inns at bay.  I remember Mother being almost frantic about our arrival at, what was then called, the Colonial Williamsburg Resort Motel or some other similar name.  She’d been nervous about the expense of staying at the resort, but she felt the proximity to the historical attractions justified it.

I’d been traveling with my parent’s for over a decade by this time, but we’d never had a bellhop deliver us and our luggage to our room.  I remember my father getting out of the car to check us in and then being escorted through the property by a uniformed bell hop.  I wasn’t even sophisticated enough to understand this was a big deal, but I do remember being absolutely blown away by the property.  There were multiple pools and each one was huge.  The property featured many walkways, inviting benches in shady nooks and amenities like croquet and tennis.  I knew I was living the high life.

When we reached our room I wasn’t quite as impressed as I had been with the other parts of the property, because our room looked a lot like our Holiday Inn rooms.  It didn’t phase me too much, because  I was all for taking a swim in one of the pools I’d seen, but my parents were beat.  This was the day we nearly lost Susan at Mount Vernon, so they’d already had about all the monkey business they wanted out of us.  Instead of swimming, we got cleaned up and headed to the cafeteria…yes, I said cafeteria.

The property had a huge cafeteria serving meals for the budget-minded.  We’re talking trays with partitioned sections to separate the various foods on your plate and a slot for your silverware, just like many schools use.  The tabletops were Formica and you picked up your condiments at a station very much like fast food restaurants have today.  I was getting less and less impressed with this resort.  Perhaps they had a nice restaurant tucked away somewhere, but my family never went there.

I was dying to check out the pools and other amenities, but I knew the drill.  Once we had our baths there would be no swimming.  We’d gotten cleaned up to go eat and we were supposed to stay that way for the next day.  I’m sure I was displaying all kinds of teen-aged angst, but in truth I was never much of a rebel.  We’d been promised that we could swim the next day, but that didn’t pan out either.  Come back next week and I’ll tell you why.

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A Vacation of Lincoln, Washington and Jefferson

lobster_dinnerTRAVEL BUG TALES: OUR AMERICAN HERITAGE VACATION

This vacation is one I touched on while reviewing Primarily Presidential Destinations four years ago.  FOUR YEARS AGO!  I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for that long, but there you have it.  While traveling we saw Lincoln historical sites, Mount Vernon, Monticello and Arlington National Cemetery.  If you want to read about those destinations, then you should follow those links.  In this blog I’ll chat about some of the things which happened in-between these historic landmarks.

Looking at Different Parts of the Menu

Sometimes I feel like an exotic bird among birds of a different feather. It’s like someone dropped my egg into a nest of another species.  We’re all birds, but we’re not alike.  At first no one noticed and they were always good to me even when it was obvious I didn’t quite fit in.  Some of the differences were apparent on this wonderful trip my Mom had carefully planned.

Along with the attractions listed above, we visited places like the Smithsonian Institute and drove all over D.C. , but I didn’t want to just visit museums and drive around.  I felt like there was more to this travel thing than that.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, because this was the most sight-seeing we’d ever done, but everything felt canned.  To an extent I still feel the same way.  I have a great time on vacation and I explore things other people never find, but the real excitement seems just out of my reach.

Take the night we went out for an elegant dinner in D.C.  I have no idea exactly what the restaurant was, but we were very dressed up and the menus were ginormous.  Within moments after opening the menu my Dad announced we’d all have the ground round.  Our usual dining experience was either the local cafeteria, Shoney’s Big Boy or a BBQ joint, so I was thrilled to be in this place with linen tablecloths and candles.  However, I wondered how my dad could know what I wanted before I even finished reading the menu.

I suspect my dad looked at the right side of the menu before he checked out the descriptions on the left.  We sat by quietly while my dad ordered our dinners and obediently ate what was served, but I’d seen the word “lobster” before they took away my menu.  I didn’t know what lobster was and I wasn’t quite ready to let go of it, even after I’d been served my ground round.

I Finally Got My Lobster 

I can only guess what it must have been like to be my parents over the next two or three days.  I probably asked 3,297,000 questions about lobsters.  Somewhere around question number three million I was able to ascertain the undesirability of lobster at a meal was not related to the crustacean itself, but actually to something called “market price.”

When I figured that out I must have posed a question like this, “So, if I found lobster on a menu and it had a price listed instead of just market price, could I order it?”  “Theoretically,” my father replied.  I probably didn’t understand exactly what “theoretically” meant, but I realized it wasn’t a no.

To my parent’s dismay, it wasn’t long until lobster salad showed up on a lunch menu.  I was old enough to understand less than and greater than.  The price of the lobster salad wasn’t the cheapest thing on the menu, but it was in line with the other items, something else my parents must have discussed with me during the lobster conversation.  I confidently informed my family I would be having the lobster salad for lunch.

Oddly, it was my mother who started making a case against the lobster.  She warned me it would not be a whole lobster, but pieces of lobster in a salad and it might give me the wrong idea about lobster.  I imagine I had a look on my face my husband is familiar with. They’d laid down the circumstances in which I could have lobster and I was going to have it.

Dad certainly recognized the look on my face, so he announced I would be having the lobster salad – and that was that.  The lobster salad was good.  It would be years before I’d dip a lobster claw into drawn butter, but for the time being, my parents could talk about something other than crustaceans.

Come back next week and we’ll go to Historic Williamsburg.

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