Wayback Machine to National Parks

Summer road trips always began with my mother loudly singing "We're off to see the Wizard" unless it was Thanksgiving, in which case it was "Over the River and Through the Woods". Some time later, they always included my sister barfing into the towel I was holding. I blame my dad's driving. Not that he was a maniac, but there was that one time when he decided to do a Y turn on highway 1. There was a dead drop inched past the road. As the car back towards it, my sister whispered in my ear' "Goodbye, life". 

Back in those days, there were maps. Maps were specifically designed to end marriages. But sooner or later we made it to the designated national Park. 

One year, we stayed at the Awahnee Hotel in Yosemite. My sister and I decided to go exploring down at the village where the little graveyard is. What we forgot was that it got dark early. What we also forgot was that in Yosemite, dark is pitch black. We hid like little mice at the side of the road until a car went by, then darted out and charged down the road after it for as long as the light lasted. I think it took 3 cars. I was 12 that year. 

When I was 14, we went to Yellowstone national park and stayed at the Old faithful Inn. This was my family's idea of camping out. I wore cut off overalls with my hair in looped braids that summer. I looked like a Dutch Pushup Doll. Anyway, the boy I was flirting with said I was a bubblegummer, for sure, but he went with me to look for bats. We saw a sign that said Keep Out, so went went up. There was lots of bats. We were lying on the floor looking up at them when my mother stormed up and located us.

The funny thing is, I could swear every time I was reeled in from some misadventure, I could see my dad's eyes crinkle at the sides like he was secretly grinning. He was no angel. One time when we were walking out of a show at Harrah's in Reno, my dad reached over and grabbed a 6' tall stuffed giraffe from a display and off we went. It stood in our family room for years and years.

When I was 16, I reluctantly went to Grand Teton with my family. Too old to want to go, too young to leave alone. Anyway, I set about punishing my parents by flirting with every guy there. I made up a new name each time. The night I was Kristin, I was hanging out with this family of blond teenage kids who all played guitar and sang. It was like being in a television show. Marsha Marsha Marsha. They sang songs by The Left Banke in perfect harmony. I can hear "Just Walk Away Renee" to this day. 

I kissed one of them. 

The next day he came searching for me at the lodge, asking for Kirstin. I hear my mother screech "Kirstin? KIRSTIN?". I looked up and saw my father shaking his head and my sister rolling here eyes and decided that moment alone was worth the trip. The boy of uncertain name asked if I wanted a tuna sandwich, pointing kind of vaguely and helplessly toward the dining room. I love tuna sandwiches. 

That was our last family road trip. 

.

.

crickets

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Being a big fan of youthful memories, I find this thoroughly enjoyable. It seems we were just so alive when young, absorbing and living life like no other time. I pictured the goings on and smiled several times during the read, for the events reminded me of some of my own younger days. I love that song, "Just walk away Renee". Many years earlier when I was on a summer vacation, the song was "Baby Love", by the Supremes.

[softlyfall]

Oo I LOVE baby Love!
Music and scents and tastes are all elements of memory. I think we al have a bit of synesthesia, too, so our sense memories can awaken each other.