Southwest is my airline of choice, in part because of their relaxed attitude to getting from hither to yon. Cattle car seating is fine with me, until I discovered that standing at the back of the line and wondering if there would be three seats together next to a window was not conducive to relaxation. I wasn't adverse to seating my kids next to complete strangers, especially after the first leg of the trip, but sitting next to the boy as he twitches and fidgets in an excess of energy, cheering each time the plane hits turbulence or sitting next to small daughter and her continual questions would be a tribulation for unhappy, tired and stressed fellow passengers.
A word to the head flight attendant secured us three seats, next to a window, on each flight and so disaster was adverted for us all including several hundred unsuspecting individuals. After all, if one kid sits next to a window for one section of a flight, the other has to or It's Not Fair.
The first leg of the flight was marred by stress-induced migraine and overtired children, a legacy of a school year that refused to end and then finally did with a finale that left all of us reeling. The second leg went better. Too tired to fuss, the kids sat in numb silence, punctuated by polite requests for the "waiter" to bring them sugar and caffeine in the guise of Coke. Was it worth explaining the waiter's true identity? Maybe on the next trip. Across the aisle from us was someone I could swear I knew. But what were the odds? I spent eight years not running into anyone I knew in Alabama, why on earth would I do so ten years later in an airplane? Sure enough, it was a former co-worker of my husband's.
We collected our bags, in one piece and with nothing removed, despite being searched by TSA. It occurred to me after the fact that sticking three metal water bottles, vaguely bomb shaped, plus mouse and computer cords, into our checked luggage was a sure way to get searched, and so it proved. We staggered out through the giant revolving doors. The kids insisted on riding the doors twice, for the novelty. The humidity hit us like a wet washcloth. The car rental assistant thought their insistence that it was hot, funny. He explained to them that they hadn't seen anything yet. My kids, unfamiliar with inner city southern black accents, huddled close to me, eyeing him suspiciously. I provided translation later; they were unamused.
Not much had changed in Birmingham as we left the airport. So much of it was familiar and I remembered more than I thought. The traffic was what I feared and we drove in silence as I clutched the steering wheel of an unfamiliar car, in heavier traffic than I have driven in in years, and in a flood of memories. The orange barrel shuffle, an on-going facet of Alabama life, was apparently at a stand still. Truck sized pot holes rattled us like rocks in a can. Eventually, the requests for radio stations ceased. Both children had collapsed into slumped heaps and remained that way the entire trip.
My GPS faithfully guided me past the hotel three times, each time getting a little closer, swooping around with the kids excitedly pointing out "It's just over there. No, you went past it." The motel was not what I had hoped for. In a rougher area of town, complete with road construction and closed buildings. The room stank like cat pee and it was in rough shape. Since my hobby is second guessing myself, I went into a tailspin. When the TV would not work, the kids joined me. TV is a treat when we travel, having no access to one at home. Thankfully, the motel owners changed rooms, this one the antithesis of what we had been in just moments before. A swim in the pool and everyone was ready to face the rest of the night in good humor. A scroll through the TV channels did leave us with the conviction that with 200 hundred channels, there was nothing to watch.
Day 2
Today is the first day of Space Camp. I arise in a panic, thanks to birds just outside the window, sure that we are late. I've forgotten that being in the eastern section of a time line makes a difference in how early the sun rises. Continental breakfast is thin. Coffee for me, sticky buns for the kids. No juice. Cereal in colors not known in nature. I calculate the amount of preservatives small boy will be getting and vow to shop the organic offerings at the neighborhood grocery store.Ten years ago, organic food was available only from health food stores for alarming prices. There is now a tiny section for somewhat less deterring prices.
We head to Space Camp. Baffled by construction on Memorial Parkway to create a middle limited access speedway bordered by two frontage roads on either side (also speedways, on reflection), my GPS has us swooping on and off the limited access road like demented swallows. Naturally, we miss the entrance to I-565 and end up making a New Jersey left in order to get on the interstate.
Directions to Space Camp were spotty at best, so we head towards the giant Saturn rockets looming on the horizon. We arrive in a timely manner, small boy quivering with excitement. I think I detect some imprinting here. Perhaps he will be my son the rocket scientist. His plans for launching that Saturn rocket from our backyard are a bit impractical. I leave them with some very nice, very young counsellors who are used to anxious moms. The kids are herded off into the secured camp area. I wave farewell. My kids are looking forward, eager for what the day brings.
I head to the Huntsville-Madison Library, arriving at the main branch through no prior planning on my part. I drive past the building at first. It appears to be part of the hospital system - fancy doctors' offices, perhaps. The sign with times is small and located on the door, invisible from the street. This must be a common library problem. As I wait for opening time, fifteen people line up, half with laptops. Like the library at home, Internet is the primary interest for these early morning visitors. The carillon chimes the hour, the library staff barely gets the door open, the stampede begins.
The library is impressive. Three stories soar above me, ending in a lovely glass cupula that floods the library with natural light. Now that I have been educated in proper library construction, thanks to our brutal assessment by some library professionals, I can see where this library has many of the offerings we want for our new library. Meeting rooms, tutoring rooms, an auditorium, dozens of computers, an adult learning center, friends of the library book store. As I stand gaping in awe, the library director offers help. Minutes later I am comfortably ensconced at a table overlooking the rear of a doctor's office where nurses in hot pink scrubs will gather periodically throughout the day to smoke.
For lunch, I locate a nearby Greek restaurant. As I walk through the balmy air, so soft and comfortable, I have to remind myself that soon it will not be soft but the equivalent of wrapping myself in a hot, wet towel. One up side, won't need hand lotion for the next week or so. The restaurant is decent but not great. I eavesdrop on the conversation going on at the neighboring table. They are discussing grandma and grandpa and their evangelical efforts and Bible collection. Another thing I had always hated about the south was the unreasoning devotion to one way of thinking and the absolute belief that everyone else was wrong. It left very little leeway for anything that fell outside that absolute norm and I fell well outside the norm. The people are nice. I had forgotten how nice they could be. I remind myself that the niceness is superficial and as soon as I demonstrated beliefs and opinions that were not southern, the niceness would fade and someone would invaribly make the observation that Delta went both ways and that Yankees need not apply.
The report from Space Camp is full of raves. Rocket launches! Call names! A new alphabet! Has it really been an entire day? We've only just started having fun! Can we come next year!?! The rampant enthusiasm makes the entire trip worthwhile.
Day 3
Morning again. Allergies have stuck hard for all of us. I feel like the Dr. Seuss character whose head is stuck in a bucket. Small daughter is attached to a box of tissues. We arrive at Space Camp and the kids are out of the car like, dare I say it, rockets, heading for the check in. Not even hugs today as they vanish into the central building.Coffee is in order. I can not find a coffee shop anywhere so I head toward the library again. Surely, there must be something. This is a city full of scientists and and medical people. In my experience, these are two professions that require massive infusions of caffeine. Plus there is a library nearby. Our library is full of people who mainline coffee, all day, every day. Hurray, a Starbucks. I can approach learning my new computer program, today's assignment, with more focus than yesterday's achievement.
I find a new table at the library, one with a lovely mulberry tree just outside the window. I am now a regular to library staff, the woman with two laptops. It is much noisier than yesterday. I am used to a noisy library, but this is annoying. Loudspeakers announce upcoming programs (note to self, not at my library!). Someone is streaming TV without headphones. An angry toddler expresses how much he does not want to be at the library. The open floor plan does spread sound around the library. The tutoring rooms are in constant use. I overhear some of the sessions and miss my tutoring sessions in Birmingham's inner city. That was one of the most rewarding experiences and while I am glad to live somewhere without an inner city, I do contemplate some volunteer work in ESL.
Lunchtime and a new Greek restaurant. This one is fantastic. Small, crowded, loud, and very very good. Turns out that, despite my paranoid questioning of someone who speaks marginally more English than I do Greek, there were sour cream somewhere in the meal. I eventually realize that I am sweating not because it is hot and humid but because I am in midst of an allergic reaction. I wander around a Target until the symptoms subside. Will have lunch there again, but will avoid anything white.
I decide to visit another library and end up at one in a predominately black neighborhood. It is a tiny building, crammed with books, but the Internet is down so the population is thin. Another consistent library problem. If techs can solve the Internet down problem, libraries will flock to them. All I need is a flat place and the staff is happy to show me to a table. I notice that I do not collect reptilian stares or double takes as a white women in a predominately black area. I wonder if Huntsville is more progressive or if things have changed in ten years. I used to feel like I wore two huge signs, ones that read "Not from Around Here" and "I Don't Belong Here," the difference subtle but distinctive.
The kids drag out of Space Camp, tired but happy. Small daughter's airplane flies badly, but she loves it anyway. I'm not sure what they did today, they talk over each other for the first ten minutes, then, information conveyed, they are on to the next subject, which involves swimming instead of going to the botanical gardens. It was swim day at Space Camp, but despite that, they spend two hours in the swimming pool. They identify themselves as dolphins. The news reports that beaches are closed along the redneck riviria. I am saddened because the beaches were the most beautiful I have seen. It may be years until the beaches are back to sugar sand.
Day 4 and 5
Day four is spent waiting for Number one husband to arrive, which he does in due course. I spend the morning working. Whatever did we do before computers and the ability to take work with you on vacation? Naturally, the wi-fi in the hotel room doesn't work, so I spend the time in the lobby where I can get a signal. I come away from the experience thankful that we do not have tv.That evening, we have a classic Alabama thunderstorm. The kids are amazed and stand in the hotel doorway as lightening and thunder put on a fireworks display right overhead and rain comes down in buckets. This is the heaviest rain they have ever seen. My little desert worrywart is making plans for flooding and hurricanes. The flash flood display at the Denver Aquarium apparently made a lasting impression on her. The entire time I lived in Alabama, I never realized that we were in the midst of a drought. After all, there was more water coming from the sky in one rainfall than in the entire year at home. The small boy just wants to run in the rain since it is warm. This is sternly discouraged, especially after a lightening bolt knocks out the power in a flash of brilliant light and a boom of monumental proportions. The storm aslo manages to fill the outdoor pool by a good four inches and lowers the temperature to a startling degree.
The next day, husband takes kids to Space Camp and a visit to the Space and Rocket Center. I must admit that once through was enough for me and being dragged through the guts of a Saturn rocket engine is better left to a girlfriend, not a wife. I am not certian I could generate the amount of enthusiasm that I did twenty years ago! I end up doing shopping, also something I generate very little enthusiasm for, unless it is horse gear.
We lunch again at the greek place, where the staff recognizes me.
The report from Space Camp is glowing. Today was a swim day. Small daughter got to do survival training for water and land. If she is ever lost and has a parachute, she can now build a suitable shelter. The water rescue sounds like great fun. They simulate a helicopter crash and are given seconds to exit the helicopter and swim up where another simulation plucks them from the water and into a hovering helicopter. Small daughter, voted most likely to be in charge in her class at school, is thrilled to be the pilot on the mission. She also reports that flying a F-16 simulator is really hard and the hardest thing was finding the airport. I can sympathise with that sentiment. At one point during my flight training, I wandered around upstairs for a scary time, unable to see the airport that my instructor pointed out was just over there...
Small son has launched yet another rocket, this one with what sounds like baking soda and vinegar, but he is not really sure. Each child had to come up with the proper solution to launch and small boy reports that his was the only successful one. All those exploding volcanos for school projects paid off! They have done simulators as well and climbed a rock wall, so so we think. He tends to get overexcited and the words and concepts blur into bouncing.
They top off the day with a swim in the now full and cold pool. Being good Wyoming children, the water temperature does not faze them and we pry them out two hours later, complaining that they just got in. We adjourn for yet another dinner of pb and j, fifth night in a row, by choice of small children. They are certainly cheap to feed.
Day 6
Today is the last day of Space Camp. It hardly seems possible that an entire week has sped by. We drop them off and head off to find a Laundromat. I hang out in Laundromats twice a year, once for washing sleeping bags at the end of camping season and the other for mid-vacation cleanup. At one point, Laundromats were a weekly event in Alabama. I distinctly remember the last time, when someone was folding sheets that bore a striking resemblance to the Shroud of Turin. I apparently looked dubious because she told me how her husband would come home from his work as a mechanic and thus the sheets were stained with grease. Were showers not available? I went home and insisted that we buy a washer and dryer before the next wash day. Somehow laundry was not the cultural experience after that.We find a post office to mail some all important items back home. People going on trips are expected to bring back food items regional to their travels. I decide on moon pies, a concoction of cookies and a filling on icing dipped in something – sort of like a chocolate covered Oreo, but much sweeter, larger and with fewer ingredients that are found in nature. One man asked why on earth I am shipping moon pies. He doesn’t quite believe me when I explain that these are confections not normally found in my home state. I include a five dollar bill with which to purchase RC Cola, also a necessity for eating with moon pies. I experienced this taste treat once and the sugar jitters were unparallel. The mail clerk, who has watched me package the moon pies- even giving me advice on which box to use, asks me if there is anything liquid, perishable, hazardous, flammable or explosive in the package and then giggles. Nothing in this box is perishable. It’s only hazardous to our mail lady’s health if she eats both boxes. The clerk then asks if I would like to insure the package and giggles again. I escape from the post office, sure that I have ensured the reputation of Yankees for being really weird.
We wander around the Madison Square Mall, a very nice mall that is slowly dying. It seems that indoor malls are on the way out. My first summer in Alabama, I spent many hours wandering around the mall because I refused to turn on the air conditioner in my tiny apartment, in part because I figured I would acclimate more quickly. It was stifling hot and I never did get used to living in a sauna. By the end of the second year, I had given up and cheerfully paid my electric bill in order to make my house more pleasant. We do find a girls’ clothing store that small daughter would love. Her goal is to be a pilot, fashion designer and movie director. Her goal is to be well dressed no matter what she is doing and preferentially to be in charge.
With a few hours left to the end of Space Camp, we find ourselves yet again at the library. Someone is curled up on one of the comfortable couches, sound asleep and snoring gently. Libraries are great napping places and we have protocols for waking people. Carefully and gently are the key words. The sound is attractive and husband wanders over to a nearby couch and snoozes while I enter donor data in the computer.
The end of Space Camp produces two tired, hot and sweaty children, both of whom want to come back for the sleep over camp. I am not sure this is on my agenda. The pollen count and heat are taking their toll. Small daughter has found the perfect souvenir, a piece of original art work created by an artist. We get to the gift shop too late to purchase a piece, but get to watch the man spray paint, using cardboard dodges and pieces of newsprint to create surreal planet landscapes. A special order is in order, small daughter is still disappointed. I feel bad and allow her to talk me into riding the g-force ride. Carnival rides are not high on my list of Things I Like To Do. In fact, they do not make the list at all. The attendant swears I will not feel the motion. I must admit I don’t. What I do feel is heaviness as we swirl around. My sinus do not appreciate the excessive gravity. My cell phone rings. This is one call I can miss. After an elephant sits on me, we finally come to a stop and I stagger out. “See, Mom, that wasn’t bad.” Oh, yes, small daughter, it was. I stagger out to the car. Traffic will seem like nothing. In fact, after that thirty second ride, I am pleased to be on something relatively stable.
Off to Birmingham in traffic that is not heavy but probably involves more people than the number who drive in Laramie on game day. Center lane. Speed set. Nerves deadened. The I-59/65 interchange is more terrifying than I remember. Two lanes sweeping off to the east. Two to the west. Two straight ahead. Off to the east. Four lanes swooping into two. Lanes peeling off. Potholes. Oh my god. The airport exit. I briefly consider refueling the car but I am victorious and not up to one extra stop. I say good bye to my little rental and join up with the rest of the family. The hotel we choose is infinitely more upscale than our last accommodations and it is a relief. And no peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!
Day 7
Today is dedicated to parent torture in the form of driving to all our old houses and haunts, pointing out to the kids where mom and dad met. They endure this with good humor, as long as the promise of seeing their big brother at the end of the day exists. As we drive from hotel along the back roads, it seems like we never left. Nothing has changed and yet somehow everything is different. Only we are older. Birmingham looks rough and many of the houses look tired, as if maintaining themselves against the encroaching vegetation and stifling heat is proving too much.Our last old house, unfondly known as our kerosene special, looks much the same. The lattice work fence I installed to keep the neighbor’s dogs from killing yet another animal in our backyard is gone. My photo studio is barely visible under all the vegetation. After we had finished with it, the free standing garage was almost nice enough to live in. Now, it looks runs down. My deck, hand dug and created by me is still standing. The house gives us the willies. When we lived there many strange things happened until we were convinced that the house was possessed. At one time, we had purchased some shirts. We both remember hanging them up on a door frame. We never saw either shirt again. Another time, we were working in our basement and I was complaining about the house. Something hit me on the ear hard enough to cause swelling. I spun around, certain that my husband had hit me. He was standing on the other side of the basement, absolutely oblivious to what had just happened. As we pull away, I comment that I had always felt that if we had had a child in the house that the child would have died. I wonder how much of my physical and mental illnesses were related to whatever was in the house. From the day we moved out, I have not suffered from neither.
My first apartment, and later house, are now derelict. Both they and the house next door were owned by the same people. Both houses are in terrible shape. The roof on one is half gone, both yards are chocked with weeds and bushes. The neighborhood, which was not particularly good had declined even further. Eighteen years ago, the gun fire was a weekly event, usually Friday and Saturday nights. I hazard to say it is probably a nightly occurrence now.
We decide to visit my old place of employment, Ruffner Mountain Nature Center. I have mixed feelings about this because we had had so many dreams and plans for the place, only to be derailed by the board of directors. Apparently they have had a change of directors, because the place is how we imagined it would be. A picnic area. A beautiful nature center. It would have nicer to be a part of it, but I am glad to see they are no longer housed in run-down, cockroach and flea-infested former houses. We take the longest hike, to the quarry. It is not particularly hot, but the humidity is high. Small daughter hikes at the front of the pack, stopping every few feet to take a picture or marvel at he daddy-long-legs that are hunting in the leaves. From leg tip to leg trip, each one is a good two and a half inches. Intrepid girl would like to pick one up but doesn’t quite dare. By the time, we have hiked to mile and a half, small boy looks like someone drenched him with water. His shirt is hanging in heavy folds. Blue jeans sagging in the best gangsta style. Face scarlet with heat. He had insisted on long pants and because he is sensitive to anything touching his skin, we agreed. Back at the car, he downs a bottle of water. Small daughter never seems to wilt. Only her temper fails with the increasing heat. Given that we left an average daily temperature of about 60 degrees, they are being remarkably cheerful.
For lunch, we track down a barbeque place, amidst cried of “Do you remember? And “Wasn’t that where…?” The barbeque is very good. When I moved to Alabama, my experience with barbeque was large hunks of beef thrown on the grill and then smothered with sauce. This is pork, marinated in a vinegar and spices, then slowly smoked for hours while being basted with more spices in a vinegar sauce. I cannot get enough which is good, because we repeat the meal that evening.
We head over to Vulcan, the largest male statue in the US world and second largest statue. It is now unbearably hot. Small son is intrigued by Vulcan’s naked tush, the Moon Over Homewood. Small daughter is not amused. They have refurnished Vulcan’s tower to the old stone face and it is much nicer than the old grime encrusted marble. We plan to finish the tour or Birmingham’s history with a trip to Sloss Furnace, but there is a general rebellion and we go instead to inflict relative torture on Number One Son and his girlfriend.
We are staying with a friend of Number One Son and I am dubious. Only the fact that we really really do not want to spend the night in his mother’s former house has led us to stay with his friend. I have met a few of his friends from long ago and I cannot imagine where we will be staying. As we drive into the subdivision, I am not sure we are in the right place. These are some really, really nice houses. AS we pull up, we are now worried not that we will want to stay there, but that our kids will not be the best thing for the house. Older son asks us not to let our liberal tendencies hang out too far since our host is rather on the right. We promise not to embarrass him and happily manage to keep that promise, for the most part.
However, it turns out that our host is a congenial person and earns an invitation to come out and ski or enjoy a summer that is not sweltering.
Day 8
Today is a momentous day. The kids meet their nephew, who is a year older than small daughter. They are all best friends from the moment they lay eyes on each other and the next two days are full of high energy, videogames and wrestling. Much to my amazement, there is not even much jealousy about sharing their dad/brother with each other. He, of course, has enough energy to spread among three children!Being the All-American Family, we load up in our mini-van for a trip down yet another Memory Lane. We have seven people in the van. Dad, the second wife, the son by the first marriage, the girl friend, the two kids by the second marriage, and the grandson who is older than the second family.
We visit the older son’s house, which is a work in progress. What he has accomplished is amazing, considering the age and condition of the house. Despite all this, I am very glad not to be staying there. Maybe in a few more years when there is a door on the bathroom!
We continue our drive to the fire station where my husband worked. As luck would have it, all the firefighters he wanted to see were on duty. It is startling how old everyone has gotten and how they have moved up in the ranks as the guys who were old when he was there have all retired or died. When did they get old and grey and where did those thick accents come from? We show off the family, talk about old times and where we are now and remind them that we are not that far away – it’s only a 24 hour drive!
The only thing I truly regret about moving is taking him away from the fire service, but we have made a good life and have gone in directions we would not have imagined all those years ago.
Today happens to be my birthday and it appears that I have been forgotten. Last year, husband of 15 years forgot, saying isn’t it on the 14th? Not once in the past ahem 39 and holding years has it been on the 14th! It’s not the presents, but the acknowledgement that I like. However, this year, after making it appear that all has been forgotten, he whips out a cake that older son ordered and we all celebrate. The kids, who adore cake, are outside in the dark (in Birmingham??? Well, this neighborhood is nothing like the ones we lived in), catching frogs. Small daughter waltzes in with a huge frog in her hands, the boys tumbling over themselves like puppies in their excitement. Notice that the boys are not the frog catchers. Eventually, she ends up with a two frog sandwich with a tiny frog in the other hand. Happy doesn’t begin to describe her. We suggest a frog-a-que, but she’s not buying our suggestions.
Day 9
It’s a hundred degrees today and humid. We had again planned to do something outside, but it is just too unpleasant and all three kids are wilting, not to mention mom. Instead we go to the Riverchase Galleria, a huge upscale shopping mall. Small daughter has never been in a mall of this size and she has found Nirvana. We split up, the boys heading to eat or do something that doesn’t involve shopping. They end up scoring legos. Small daughter and I make it through five stores before the boys come storming back and we have to end our shopping experience.In the evening, Princess Frog Catcher reprises her efforts, catching some very bewildered frogs.
Ha... Y'all aren't from around here, are ya? Please watch out for the sweet tea, and enjoy the walk down memory lane, white knuckle driving and all.....
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