In which I don’t take a park ranger seriously and he is not amused

We made it to Mount Rushmore. But before we went there we swung over to Sturgis. I kicked myself for not bringing my bookmarks to my book, The Pastor’s Wife Wears Biker Boots. I didn’t know I’d be going to Sturgis. I learned a lesson: take bookmarks everywhere. Everywhere. Note to self duly noted and ingrained. It was a great time to drive through Sturgis because the raucous activity hadn’t started yet. So many motorcycles to see, so little time! We may try to come over next year with bookmarks and books. I hope it can happen. We drove on to Mt. Rushmore and Mama Ellen wasn’t steady on her feet, so we needed to request a wheelchair at the information desk. This is how the conversation went: Me: Do you have any available wheelchairs? Ranger: Do you have a license to drive? Me (smiling): Yes, do you have wheelchairs? Ranger: Are you a licensed driver? You have to understand something. I live with a man who always answers questions with questions and loves to tease, so I thought the guy was asking me if I had a license to drive a wheelchair. Annoyed, he asked me again, “Are you a licensed driver? You have to be a licensed driver to borrow a wheelchair.” Finally my husband stepped up and said, “You need a driver’s license?” The guy nodded and Mr. Himself handed him his license. At which point I became annoyed and irritated. Why didn’t the ranger just ask me for my driver’s license in the first place? I felt a little miffed at how he talked down to me. And it put me in one of those feminist moods. You know, the kind where you think, “He wouldn’t have talked to me that way it I were a man.” Or, “If I were an attractive bombshell, he would have been more direct and done all he could to help me.” A woman knows when she’s being condescended to. She just knows. But, we did get to see the giant presidents’ heads. And got pictures before it started pouring rain. Mr. Himself got irritated with me when I didn’t want my picture taken at one point. I’d let that rude ranger put me in a mood for a bit. And then Mr. Himself got in a mood. But we got over it. Family vacations. Interpersonal communication skills. <sigh> Now we’re driving through Hell Canyon. We hope we’re heading the right direction to Yellowstone. Hard to tell because there’s no available 4G anywhere. You’d think with as many people travel this route there’d be something, but it’s rather desolate. It’d be a great place to live if you don’t...

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Day 2 in which timing, location and miracles are everything

Before you delete or close this window, please know that I’m aware there’s nothing more droll than reading about other people’s vacations. But this isn’t that kind of post. I promise. I just have to tell you what God did today (Wednesday, July 30, 2014). Since we didn’t know for sure when or if we would be making this trip, we didn’t make any hotel reservations until we got on the road. We also didn’t know that this is the same week that motorcyclists all over the United States would converge to South Dakota’s badlands for the annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Hotel reservations that a person can reasonably afford, are difficult enough to acquire this time of year. Families visit Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone Park every summer, and getting affordable rooms for five people isn’t easy. But couple that with the Sturgis event, and it’s nearly impossible. But Praise God, we did find some rooms that allowed a roll-away bed! You have no idea how much of a miracle that is! Today we drove for twelve hours and if you know anything about I-90 going west through Minnesota and South Dakota, you know how desolate it is. There are very few towns along the route and I couldn’t get internet access most of the way. There weren’t a lot of places to stop for gas and nowhere that we could see to go when your tires shred and fall apart while going 70 mph. God is so amazing! We heard the thu-thunk of the tire shredding but the car stayed in its lane. What is even more amazing is that we were only about five miles from a Walmart Supercenter which has a tire replacement service. And even more and more amazing–there was not one customer in front of us! I don’t know how many Walmart Supercenter’s are along rural I-90 , but I venture to guess our tire shredded near one of the only ones. Seriously. Isaiah, my son with autism, told me that when he heard the tire shred he felt God telling him not to worry, that the angels were holding the tire together and the car on the road. Pretty cool. Everyone is having a good time so far. Mama Ellen (who has Alzheimer’s) has kept me in stitches with her funny questions and comments. The twins have been amazingly good and patient. There wasn’t much to see along I-90 except beautiful prairie, corn and wheat. But there was a junk art exhibit near Montrose, South Dakota. Pretty weird stuff. Now we’re tucked into our beds ready to close our eyes and drift off to dreamland. I’m going to snuggle under my blankets content with...

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Family vacation–an exercise in character building

We were supposed to leave yesterday. Finally, about an hour ago, we squeezed ourselves into the car. All five of us. We’re going to travel 5100 miles. Together. In a car. 5100 miles. Now, mind you, we all have special needs. Two have autism, one has Alzheimer’s, one has ADD (my husband) and one is riddled with a genetic propensity toward anxiety. (I come from a long line of nervous people.) My husband has ADD. I don’t know if you’ve ever ridden in a car driven by someone with ADD.Straight lines are an abstraction. I don’t know how we don’t get pulled over for suspicion of intoxication. Why on earth would God pair a woman with anxiety issues with an ADD man? The only explanation I can think of is that He thinks it’s funny. Especially when my spouse hits those rumble strips on the side of the road when I’m in deep thought/sleep. Or when I look up from reading and we’re 2.5 inches from the back of a semi trailer. Not to mention the stuff he listens to on the radio. Oh, Dear Heavenly Father, deliver me. If it’s not the comedy station singing songs about racoons praising God in church, it’s barber shop quartets. I mean, I don’t mind for ten minutes or so. I love all types of music. But after eight hours I’m ready to strap myself to the top of the car. It’d be much more tolerable, I assure you. Mothers take vacations to rest from getting ready for vacations. I’ve done more laundry in the last week than I did all year. And I’m one of those people that has to clean the house before a trip. I mean, what if I die and don’t come back? I can’t leave this earth with people thinking I’m a slob. And then there are the dogs and cats. Who will take care of them? Even as I type this I have a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat thinking about how much I’m going to miss them and how much they will miss me. I’m worried about the kittens going feral and the dogs’ hearts being broken. Two weeks is a long time to be away from one another! I did, of course, provide for someone to come in and interact with them each day, and to care for the house. My house won’t sit empty (so if you’re planning on robbing me, don’t try it. My dogs will eat you and my house sitters are armed and dangerous). But will those people cuddle the fur kids enough? I wish I had the money for a nanny cam! That way...

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