The cost of gas has made vacationing a challenge. Heck, it’s made buying a cucumber a challenge, but I picked up a magazine the other day that had a list of ways that one could cut back on the cost of driving and so – this column. Among the suggestions was staying home and pretending that the back yard was someplace else, like, say the Grand Canyon, the Serengeti or a rock concert at the amp. Of course, what your yard can be varies with its size, your imagination and the generosity of you neighbors. Instead of traveling to some far-off place, the article suggests a pitched tent and ordering in. I am not too keen on the “tent thing,” having memories of the army surplus tent in my childhood backyard. The tent was GI green and spent most summers as the home of wasps and other less-attractive backyard vermin. The ordering-in part is something that got my attention. I liked that suggestion.
In the same article, which was probably written by a male, the cost of lodging could be cut by renting a unit that included a kitchen. You do know what that means, don’t you? The family will swim and snorkel, etc., while the live-in maid cleans up after and cooks for everyone. Maybe, if she is lucky, she can steal a few minutes to read a chapter or two in a book about another woman who is being romanced by a guy with a castle … and wondering how long it takes to clean a castle.
For most of my adult life, vacations meant basically a change of sink. When the kids were small and we traveled to Florida to visit my Mom, I did the packing, ordered the tickets, got everyone together and on time and took over all on board negotiations regarding seats, snacks and behavior. While in Florida, I certainly couldn’t let my mother wait on us, so I helped with the housework, did most of the cooking and washing up and, after washing the family’s clothing, hung it to dry on the line in my mother’s back yard. I kept asking, “Am I having fun yet?” And as I pondered my state of mind, the rest of the family was doing something else. I can’t remember what. Shopping, swimming, laying around getting a tan? When we went to Disney World … a laugh riot of a day … 90 miles there and back and a race to get in as many rides as possible, I carried the food in my backpack. Thank God you could rent strollers at the Magic Kingdom. They are wonderful for cranky kids and crankier mothers.
There was the time that we decided to stay over on the grounds at Disney World. I had called ahead and arranged for accommodations in one of the modestly-priced facilities. I think it was called Dixie Landings. We arrived very early in the morning and requested a late check-in because we were heading to the theme parks.
The kids were older. They could walk, talk and could carry their own food by now. They also had jobs and had disposable cash to spend. And so, we were off. We returned after 10 p.m. to find that our Dixie Landings reservation had been given away, but, true to Disney hospitality, we were escorted to an enormous house hugging the golf course. It had three bedrooms, a living room, a lanai, bicycles, tennis rackets, a stocked refrigerator, a lovely washer dryer and an iron. Why do I tell you about the latter? Am I not the most awful example of Pavlovian learning ever? I took everyone’s clothes that they wore that day, washed, dried and then ironed them. I was nuts! What was I trying to prove?
Now, ask me what a vacation should look like? Well, first of all there should be no kitchens, no washer-dryers, no ironing apparatus within eyeshot. All meals must be cooked by someone else and delivered to my table, my lounge chair or my cabana along with copious amounts of wine or some such relaxing type of beverage. There will be interesting shops, water for swimming (for other people, my bathing suit days are gone forever,) places to nap and lots of music. By music I mean the kind that normal adult people can hum or sing along to. There should be massages and manicures available. A golf course should be nearby so that my spouse has something to do and the only reading materials should be trashy novels and decorating magazines. If I don’t want to do anything but veg, so be it.
To all young mothers who are contemplating the tent in the back yard thing: make sure about the ordering-in part. But, then, truly, I’d find another way to save on gas.
