Tuesday, March 20, 2007
So The Husband and I are gearing up for a camping trip next week. I am Super Duper excited because I haven't been able to go camping since the accident. When we can't go camping we can't (legally) set stuff on fire. It has been a long dry spell.
Anyway, I'm driving home this afternoon thinking about how long it will take us to get to the camping site, and how early we need to leave to make sure we get the site we want. I'm coming up with a number that is obscenely early in the morning. So then I'm thinking road trip early in the morning. Then I'm thinking back to all the early morning road trips I took with my family when I was a kid.
We would leave New Orleans before the sun came up. Heading to Laurel or Jackson, Mississippi, sometimes to Crowley, Louisiana. Once to Florida. Boy do you have to get up early to drive to Florida.
Mother would wake us up just enough to get us to walk zombie like to the Bonneville. She would pile us all in the back seat (usually with one or two black Labradors) and we would hit the road. About the time the sun came up we would rise from the dead and demand food. Now remember, I'm ancient so this was before there was a McDonald's with a McGriddle on every corner so Mother always made Road Breakfasts to feed us until it was lunchtime. Lunchtime, of course, meant STUCKEY'S with those gross pecan logs that we had to have even though we always left them to melt under the front seats, and key chains with every one's real first name on them except, of course, my middle sister who had what at that time was an unusual name so she always got shafted.
It's nice to remember those childhood road breakfasts made by Mother's loving hands. She fried pattie sausage (Jimmy Dean, of course). She crumbled it. She mixed it into my grandmother's cast iron skillet with a ton of scrambled eggs and cooked it all to a gooey mess. She toasted WHITE BREAD, coated it with butter, and piled it high with the cholesterol/fat/grease mixture of egg and sausage and voila the breakfast sandwich was born in Gretna, Louisiana. Wrapped it all in tin foil and stuffed it in a paper bag.
We LOVED those breakfasts. I mean LOVED them. I think back on them now, the white bread, the butter, the fat, the cholesterol. The love. I just wish maybe just once maybe in her entire life she had bought a loaf a honey wheatberry bread.
Anyway, I'm driving home this afternoon thinking about how long it will take us to get to the camping site, and how early we need to leave to make sure we get the site we want. I'm coming up with a number that is obscenely early in the morning. So then I'm thinking road trip early in the morning. Then I'm thinking back to all the early morning road trips I took with my family when I was a kid.
We would leave New Orleans before the sun came up. Heading to Laurel or Jackson, Mississippi, sometimes to Crowley, Louisiana. Once to Florida. Boy do you have to get up early to drive to Florida.
Mother would wake us up just enough to get us to walk zombie like to the Bonneville. She would pile us all in the back seat (usually with one or two black Labradors) and we would hit the road. About the time the sun came up we would rise from the dead and demand food. Now remember, I'm ancient so this was before there was a McDonald's with a McGriddle on every corner so Mother always made Road Breakfasts to feed us until it was lunchtime. Lunchtime, of course, meant STUCKEY'S with those gross pecan logs that we had to have even though we always left them to melt under the front seats, and key chains with every one's real first name on them except, of course, my middle sister who had what at that time was an unusual name so she always got shafted.
It's nice to remember those childhood road breakfasts made by Mother's loving hands. She fried pattie sausage (Jimmy Dean, of course). She crumbled it. She mixed it into my grandmother's cast iron skillet with a ton of scrambled eggs and cooked it all to a gooey mess. She toasted WHITE BREAD, coated it with butter, and piled it high with the cholesterol/fat/grease mixture of egg and sausage and voila the breakfast sandwich was born in Gretna, Louisiana. Wrapped it all in tin foil and stuffed it in a paper bag.
We LOVED those breakfasts. I mean LOVED them. I think back on them now, the white bread, the butter, the fat, the cholesterol. The love. I just wish maybe just once maybe in her entire life she had bought a loaf a honey wheatberry bread.
Labels: accident, personal urban drama, vacation
# posted by Carol : 6:08 PM
