Return from Red Oak

I listened to James' plan and agreed to it while mentally adding two hours. I did wake up at 7:00 AM by the children next door as alarm. That's a strange thing. The children in rooms all around, next to mine connected by two doors, and across the hall, and down the hall, all sound the same as the two boys. The same non-language vocalizations, the same pounding across the room, the same yelling. I'm not complaining. I love the sounds of life. But I kept thinking, "Did James bring his family next door?" Then when I saw them they turn out to be girls and turn out to be different ages. And yet, the exact same sounds.

And I did knock on their door at 8:00, his idealistic planned time for departure, then went downstairs to the lobby to wait developments and talk to whomever I met. I was not expecting other members of my family to appear one-by one until the whole clan assembled. I had no idea who else was staying nor anything about anyone else's plans. And they had no concern whatsoever about James' plan nor his need to get going in order to be in Denver by any reasonable time. They manipulated James emotionally to one last breakfast together at their favorite place they discovered, the Rainbow Cafe.

Later, I told James the refusal goes like this, "I said, no."

But I was saying that to the guy who emotionally manipulated me into attending the whole thing in the first place. By his impressive sacrifice of driving his family halfway and back instead of just flying the whole way. Understand that included renting a van, buying fuel, and two days driving. Now, that's some heavy duty dedicated emotional manipulation. Wouldn't you say?

I am against breakfast at the Rainbow Cafe. But I do not let it known. James is driving. It's his family put out. So I keep myself out of lobbying. See, I'm also being agreeable. Sometimes we come out of character.

"Daddy, can I make a necklace from Fruit Loops?" 

"Son, we don't have any string." 

This is where artistically minded Uncle Bo comes in to interject his unique creativytah, "Do you have any dental floss in your bag?" 

Does anyone actually use that stuff? Yes. James does.

"James, isn't it such fun sweeping out crushed Fruit Loops from the creases in the seats of your vehicle?" 

They did make two necklaces in the time it took breakfast to be served and consumed. It kept both boys focused the whole time. One boy on each side of me. I get them that way by saying I want to be with the cool kids. 

I also tried to get Matthew near me but that effort failed. My sister's family is tight. Way tight. They have this pattern of clustering together whenever out in public. It's as if they need each other. I don't think it's insecurity, just habit.

My deaf friends did this as well. This is sad, but eventually we found it best for all not to mix them. It was easier for them in groups to cluster together and that inevitably led to two separate parties in one. Nothing we thought of worked. It was just more comfortable for them, and for the hearing, to cluster together in their own groups when intermingling took more effort for both and focused dedication to mingling. Whereas when invited apart from their group then they do make the effort and intermingle just fine. But not when there was a critical mass more of them. My sister's family behaves the same way. There were two breakfast parties at the tables pushed together. So there was no real point in pushing the tables together when all conversation occurred in two groups. 

And we knew that it would. 

And still they insisted on doing this. They don't have any deaf friends, nor did they ever host parties with them included to make this comparison by that particular insight. And that caused a wildly unnecessary and ridiculous delay in departing.

I'd really rather not have eaten there. We've been there before. Whatever they make we can do better. And breakfast comes with our rooms. And I'd rather not eat that either. I'd rather not eat at all. I'd rather just go. But I did eat there. Because I'm being agreeable. Then later I wished that I hadn't. 

The drive there took eleven hours. The drive back took nine hours. The drive there we stopped for a leisurely lunch, a rather long rest involving climbing a tree, gasoline refills that involve restrooms, then a leisurely dinner. The way back was delayed by breakfast and

v-e-r-y  l-o-n-g  g-o-o-d-b-y-e-s

And we stand there in the near freezing cold shivering to prolong our hugging and stretch our goodbyes.

And our serial hugs. Then down the road another un-rushed pee break at a rest stop with nothing else of any interest.

"How did you know which bathroom to go into?"

"They have signs."

"Oh. With a little picture of a person wearing a dress and the other one has picture of a person wearing pants."

"No, the signs say, men and women."

"Oh. So you can read, then."

"Sometimes."

"This is just like Driving Miss Daisy."

Nothing of interest except for an acorn tree. With acorns on the ground. Another tree providing irresistible interest. And that means the boys must race around gathering acorns like two frenetic little squirrels. And having gathered acorns they must somehow be released. And that doesn't mean simply letting go of them. No. Anything like that, especially shaped like a bullet, automatically becomes a projectile. And what is the obvious target? You are. You can see this coming a mile away.

"You can put an eye out with those things, you know."

That's an ongoing joke that started yesterday.

Earlier James was talking about our names beginning with B, except James, and who is named after whom. Their conversation died down. I was not a part of that conversation. James was doing the talking. I leaned into it and stated James is named after our father's brother who died very young in his first car very close to their house. Before that he was blinded in one eye by a BB. gun. Because of that my grandmother kept insisting every little thing can put out an eye. Barry and I weren't allowed to own a BB gun. I couldn't have a bow and arrow. We were never allowed any type of toy that could possibly damage an eye. And where I began admiring my dead uncle who died before I was born,  I developed a resentment toward him for being so careless and ruining my boyhood fun.

So the joke is to find a blinding aspect in any innocent object, like an acorn.

I could ride all day without eating but the boys and Alona cannot. And James can live off his body fat for a week. 

Enter "salad, North Platte, NE" into your browser and see what you get." As always, James asks us to research, asks us our opinion, then does the easiest thing and that is how we ended up at Applebees. 

Their menu is designed to kill you uncomfortably. By pouring the food equivalent of lead into your stomach. I ordered the lightest thing. And it was delicious. It was a good idea in theory. Tender grilled chicken on rice and quinoa and apple drizzled with lemon juice. Then got so gassed up it released the entire rest of the way home. Out of my butt! And believe me when I tell you, that will never happen again. 

Bean soup would have been more comfortable. Stir fry with broccoli, cabbage, onions, eggs, Brussel sprouts, would have been less active.

It makes me angry that healthful food is so difficult to locate on the road. I am disgusted with middle brow fare. I resent nearly every single element. And driving through America's breadbasket, and passing endless fields in mathematic rows and driving by all those silos, and largely comprehending how food industry works, and works very well at meeting its aims, and seeing firsthand the astonishing money involved, the impressive farm equipment is displayed right there at the road, and stopping at the places that offer food along the way where the entire outlet is dedicated to great tasting but dead awful highly industrialized food, with one thin sorry shelf for two day old salads that come with industrialized dressing,  one can see fairly clearly why there are so many obese and regularly heavyweight  people all around and concentrated at weddings. 

You should have heard them bragging about the hotel omelets. Everybody says that they're great. With no dissenting opinion.  I expected to see a professional omelet maker based on what I was told.  And further, I fully expected him or her to be rather bad at what they are doing. I expected to regret having ordered one. Now, that's bad. But they were worse than my poorest expectations. I asked the woman I saw back there, "Who is the omelet maker?" 

She answered, "Oh, we don't have one. We buy them." 

Good Lord. 

They were tiny one-egg affairs, puffed up to foam and cooked in a pan that folds in half, with scant processed cheese, or some unknown vegetable mix that I was afraid to open and look. You take them out of their wrapper and microwave them for one minute. That's industrialized food. So far removed from its origin, so full of industrial and commercial imperative that it is unrecognizable. And everyone thinks it's just great. And everyone is fat. 

That's what I leaned on this trip. The food situation in America, its remarkable abundance, is a very very very bad thing for the health of Americans and for their very comprehension of food. This is not valid food. 

But that doesn't mean we cannot have fun as we're killing ourselves. 

The Applebee's children's menu comes with games. In a corner, tic-tac-toe hatches are marked out with crossing spoons. The boys do not know how to play. They don't know the game has finite number of moves. If you go first then it's possible to win and second player must play defensive unless the first player does something stupid. So even though the boys went first, they kept being stupid. I go, "Look, five-year-old little angel, you must think about what I will do to win, not just how you wish you could win. You must think, how I will block you and how I could win" 

But they never do. I did not want to play this game, but I did not want to be a dud uncle even more. So I played. I go, "Look, Loser, since you insist on doing this and insist on losing, then every time you loose you must hop up and down, flap your arms and say, I lose, I lose, I lose."

The second time you lose you must hop six times.

The third time you lose you must hop nine times. 

Twelve times,

Fifteen times, and so on. 

The little guy loses and jumps down from his stool, races to position, and does fifteen jumping jacks saying "I lose, I lose, I lose" fifteen times. and upward. And it is hilarious! 

Every single time I cracked up laughing. It's too funny. 

And I thought each time,  Oh my God, look at this. Lord, look, right now. This gorgeous moment passes too quickly. Next year this boy will be different. For me this is a one-time thing, then it's gone. He will never be this enthusiastic about losing. He will never be this childishly hilarious. Let's lock this into our memory and save it to cherish. 

Blurred because he's hopping and flapping and I'm laughing.

His brother is on the other side of the table losing in tac-tac-toe to my brother and his penalty chosen by my brother is to do the chicken dance, which to him is no penalty at all. 

Then it's fun and games blocking my photo taking. They signal having enough. Then that becomes a game. 

Reserved at first they cannot maintain that barrier of caution with their little hearts so wide open. This boy kept grabbing my arm and pulling it to his chest. Repeatedly he kept returning to a tug-of-war with my arm. He wanted physical connection. These boys only just met me and they already love me.