Monday, October 5, 2009

Eastbound and Back

Sorry folks, vacation's over. For me, and thus, for you.

Did you miss me?

Don't answer that.

Friends, meet Vickie. She is my cousin. She is just one year younger than I. We grew up over 500 miles apart, but we spent significant chunks of time together each and every Summer. In high school, we decided to simplify things a bit by dating two boys who were also cousins (with each other, not with us). Our young loves didn't last, but we both learned a thing or two about second serves and deuce and match point. Now, when I think of my youth, it is nearly impossible not to think of Vickie. She and her parents are at the root of our PA vacay.

So, the trip. After spending over an hour in the parking lot of a local machine shop fending off car woes, we were on our way. Two hours later, we hit the door of my on-again bff, Cracker Barrel. (For those keeping track, we actually made two stops during the course of the trip. What can I say, 4 slices of sourdough French toast with peach topping can cover a multitude of sins.) We were fortunate enough to meet up with the Fun Funks. We dissected plot lines of Mad Men over various breakfast foods and forgot that we had numerous small children with us several different times. The Country Store stood unscathed and our brief time together was just what we needed to propel us into the 9 hours of road time ahead of us.

Next up - the late-night pit stop. The kids saw 1am and couldn't have been more pleased with themselves. When asked about his favorite part of vacation, Calvin keeps saying, "The hotel!" Each time, it gives me the feeling of buying your child an expensive Christmas gift, then watching as he visibly prefers the carboard box in which it arrived.

Within 30 minutes of arriving at our destination, we were whisked off to the trout hatchery.

I can't tell you how many bag of fish food I emptied as a child.

Head tilt!

We also spent an entire morning here.

Ruby "posed" by this mouth-watering blue door on the way out. It was a little sunny.

In general, I was a big fat slacker when it came to taking photos. As soon as Cory gets organized, I'll have more to share.

In the meantime, a word of advice:

Only order your pizza from Italian joints that advertise beer in neon lights and grow massive pots of basil on the back stoop. I'm no beer drinker, but it appears to be a true recipe for success.