Car Talk
by
Jeff Stimpson © 2005
Jeff's wife Jill provides this week's essay.
"Cookie! Cookie! Cookie! Cookie! Cookie! Cookie!
Cookie!"
"C?mon, you son of a bitch. MOVE IT!"
"Door? Door? Go to bed? Go to bed?"
How we reveal ourselves on vacation (which is
pretty much the way we reveal ourselves at home) starts in the car
on our way to Cape Cod. Ned is demanding, insistent. Jeff tense,
distracted and dissatisfied, mad at someone whose face he'll never
see. Alex trying to make sense of the world. Me: a paragon of
sweetness and helpful service as I deal out cookies, sandwiches,
driving advice, most of which is immediately rejected.
I like car trips, and not just because Jeff is
doing all the driving. I like the sense of fun times about to
unspool. The beach is waiting. There's music to sing along to (I
brought the iPod accessory thing-y that plays it through a car
stereo, and insisted on stopping for triple-A batteries to power
it). When we're hungry, no crappy McDonalds for us: The latest
sandwich (see below) is tightly wrapped in the cooler. Behind us:
laundry, e-mail, bills, deadlines. In front of us: fried oysters,
racks of brochures for outlet shopping and pirate adventures,
driving back from the beach wearing a bathing suit in such low
humidity that our hair is dry when we get home.
So I enjoyed the drive to the Cape even though my
car job is the non-stop caterer in the front seat.
The first time the four of us went on vacation,
Ned was just months old, Alex hadn't yet started school, and the
open road stretched out for about 12 hours. That trip was memorable
for Alex puking in the car and Ned being pretty calm in every
situation: sitting on the beach with a friend of Jeff's he'd never
met, and being rescued by a family in a restaurant when Jeff and I
both had to clean up Alex after an accident so monumental I didn't
think I could change him anywhere but the open air of the parking
lot. For all Ned knew, he'd never see us again, and this nice
Downeast family in the pie restaurant was now going to take care of
him. He took it well. I never got my pie.
Last summer Ned had a series of tantrums. Jeff
watched one of them from inside a pizza place, where all he could
see was Ned's mouth, silent but open in the darkness.
It wasn't really clear then what kind of travelers
we'd be, but now on our third trip, I think I'm getting the picture.
A journey of a thousand miles starts with one step, but a lifetime
of family vacations starts with one trip. Pile up enough road miles
with your family, and the pattern starts to emerge.
Ned is either a bundle of nerves ("I'm afraid of
the seaweed." "The sand will hurt me." "Will there be sharks?"), or
just likes to present himself as unusually discerning. Alex is
notable for being near impossible to pin down. Last summer he ate
fried chicken from local roadside stands without a peep; this summer
nothing but crackers, except for the fried oysters he decided to
help himself to. Jeff is consistently crabby on the way there, a
trait I first saw on our way to London years ago ("Why are we even
doing this? Is this going to be any fun at all?"), and an
enthusiastic planner of return trips on the way back.
I'm always interested in what we'll be eating.
Notice I still remember some pie I didn't get to have at a really
promising looking restaurant in Maine four years ago. Highlights of
the Cape include the kale soup (I'm not in love with kale, but this
has slices of linguica, a Portuguese sausage), fried oysters,
soft-serve coffee ice cream and a new discovery: the very addicting
dirt bombs from the Cottage Street Bakery in Orleans.
Ned doesn't sing much, but on the way back from
the Cape he sang constantly: Jingle bell, jingle bell, all the,
all the way... oh my god, dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah-dah-dah HEY!
(Repeat about 60 times.)
Alex didn't run away. We had strange weather over
our five days. The ocean was refreshing on a hot day, confusingly
icy on a cold day. We arrived in blazing heat, sleep-walked through
the next day. We awoke to one day so perfect we went to Long Pond
early. No one was there and the water was well-balanced between cool
and warm. Alex enjoyed the water enormously. Ned was concerned about
small fish. ("Will they bite me?") Alex was interested in having me
hold him and walk him out a few feet so he could be cling to me and
be fully wet, but not have to do any actual work.
Ned learned how to pop the trunk using the
automatic panel on the rental car keys. He also pressed the red
button just to see what it would do. Ned ate -- and liked -- fried
oysters. Alex ate a couple, too, amazingly. Jeff thought they were
slimy.
Vacation hours in the car don't seem to have
increased Ned's tolerance for being strapped in. "We've been riding
in the car ALL DAY!" he informed me recently. We'd been in the car
for about 10 minutes.
Our new car sandwich (in case anyone's
interested): a pressed Italian sandwich you make the night before by
scooping out most of the insides of a crusty round Italian loaf and
filling it with layers of black olive paste, roasted red peppers,
salami, marinated artichoke hearts, provolone, fresh basil and
parsley. You drizzle with balsamic vinegar just before serving so it
doesn't get soggy, and you can find the complete recipe on Martha
Stewart's Web site.
Copyright 2005 Jeff Stimpson, all rights reserved
