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April
14, 2004 |
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To the “Heartland”. Jan’s Mom turned 85 a couple of weeks ago and a party was in order. So we loaded up the Odyssey and headed east for Boone, Iowa. A stop in Denver picked up two of our daughters plus granddaughters, aged one and two. “Travel Nebraska with two under two?” a friend asked, “Why that could cause your hair to fall out.” Then he remembered, “I guess for you that’s no big deal.” Traveling with tykes has certainly changed from twenty some years ago. Back then we turned down the rear seats of the family station wagon (for those of you under 30 and not familiar with the term station wagon, either ask your parents or imagine a mini-van with a squished roof). What one then found in the rear of our Oldsmobile was a flat play area to which we added toys and sleeping bags allowing our offspring to play and nap their way across Nebraska. When boredom approached, usually around Kearney, a request would come from the rear area, “Hey Dad hit the brakes hard so we can somersault.” Brake assisted somersaults were a huge favorite with the Maynard youngsters in the late seventies. Today, gymnastic performances in the rear of an auto doing 5 miles per hour over the speed-limit on I-80 are an activity not only frowned upon by child safety experts, it’s also against the law. Once upon a time long ago Asian cultures bound the feet of baby girls in an effort to keep their tootsies tiny. Why? It seems what passed for “hot” in that far distant time were geishas with bonsai feet. Though this practice eventually was deemed cruel to the max, today, by law, we bind the entire bodies of young females and males alike in small cramped toddler car seats forcing our next generation to sit in one never moving spot all the way across Nebraska. This cruel and inhumane activity is done in an effort to save lives in car accidents. Try explaining that concept to a one year old whose patience has expired by Sterling, Colorado and don’t even consider a couple tricycle jockeys ages one and two sitting perfectly still the entire four hundred mile journey across Huskerland. Ah but modern technology has come to the rescue by pacifying grandma’s little angels while at the same time saving the sanity of all other adult passengers. It’s DVD’s to the rescue. Of course the car’s driver is not permitted to watch the feature film offerings. Movie screenings are limited to the back two seats. The driver is allowed, or forced; take your pick, to only hear the soundtrack. I’ve never actually watched “The Lion King” but by the Hastings, Nebraska exit I had memorized the lyrics to Hakuna Matata, “What a wonderful phrase, Ain’t no passing craze, for the rest of your days, Hakuna Matata. Not that the involuntary memorization ended with The Lion King. On our return trip we had barely reached the York, Nebraska exit when sound osmosis had firmly implanted in my memory the entire soundtrack of “Finding Nemo”. So strong was the recall that for at least a week after the caravan, whenever fumbling or dropping the simplest of objects, you would hear me yelling a Nemo seagull-like “Mine, Mine, Mine!” Not that the trip was limited to feature films for ankle-biters. Far from it. We also had repeated showings of “selected short subjects” better known as the Baby Einstein DVD’s. I listened, they watched, one showing after another of Baby Mozart, Baby Bach, Baby Beethoven and one other whose name escapes me. Maybe it was Baby Motley Crue. I kept hoping for Baby Allison Krause or Baby Toby Keith but no such luck. By the time we rolled into Denver late Sunday, the two year old and her younger cousin were sound asleep, their mothers exhausted, and grandma sad the trip was over. (Grandma’s are like that, you know) Truth be told it was a pretty good weekend for Grandpa too. Life doesn’t get much better than a two year old smiling your direction while exclaiming, “Grandpa, gimmee some fin….noggins, Dude!” |
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