Yes, I'll Be Praying for Them

There are two types of people in the world: people that should travel and people that should not. My parents, who are fabulous at so many, many other things, fall in the latter category.

For one thing, they don't like it. And you're not that great at things you don't like to do. Just ask me about keeping a budget...

My happy childhood was peppered with trips that were pretty miserable. My parents didn't have much money and I know they tried (well my mom tried...my dad REALLY just wanted to stay home).

Maybe our most infamous family trip was when we went to Jordan Valley, Oregon to a rodeo.

You haven't heard of Jordan Valley, Oregon? Well that's amazing because there is nothing there. Not even a grocery store or gas station.

Marianne was home from college and Olivia and I were supposed to be going to "S Day" for seminary...do they still have S Day? Marianne convinced us to skip S Day and go with everyone to the rodeo in Jordan Valley. "It will be fun," she insisted.

I think we really believed it would be fun, which says something about Marianne's persuasive skills.

We packed (and I don't use the word lightly) into our big Cadillac. My dad drove, then my mom and Marianne were in the front...with Ammon on either Marianne's or my mom's lap.

Have I mentioned Ammon was 8?

Marianne got the front because she was oldest. Ammon because he was smallest (for the time being at least) and got car sick.

That put me in the back with my long legged siblings. Enoch would go on to play college basketball and I swear he learned how to be aggressive under the basket with his elbows in the backseat of our Cadillac, vying for space.

It rained during the entire rodeo. My dad got out to talk to prospective customers about his bits and spurs, my brothers got out to watch the rodeo in the rain. My mom and sisters and I stayed in the car. My mom handed out copies of Reader's Digest and we read them in the car with fogged up windows.

Marianne, because she is Marianne, started to laugh and pointed out how funny it all was.

It seemed less funny and more "Why did I miss S Day? For this?" to me.

My brothers would come back to the car (smelling like wet dogs) from time to time to get warm.

Finally we packed it in again (again, not using the term lightly) and headed for home...which was over 300 miles away.

No, it wasn't that fun.

Traveling with our family.

Here's a (sorry, poor quality) picture from that ill fated trip:

Pardon me while I comment a little on this picture because 1) it cracks me up and 2) it is so representative of the characters in my family. I had a fleeting thought they might not appreciate me mocking them but then I remembered I'm far away and they can no longer stuff me in the closet then I remembered that my brothers used to stuff me in the closet and I decided they deserved a little mockery:

First, my dad is still in the car. I am SURE that he was impatient with this little stop and wanted to keep going.

My mom is looking cheerful enough and long suffering. That's my mom.

Marianne (with the awesome late 80s /early 90s glasses) is looking like the enthusiastic party planner she was.

Olivia is posing on the top of the car in a very Olivia-like way.

Enoch is 12-13 and making the awkward transformation from always dressing like a cowboy (see top half of his body) to trying to be more "urban" (see the enormous white basketball shoes). I promise Enoch dresses really well now.

Tabor is typically dressed in his own personal style. He's still like that.

Ammon is embracing the long sleeved shirt buttoned to the very top. These were in his "concerned about skin cancer" years.

I really love this picture...especially since I'm not in it so no one can comment on what crazy get up I was sporting in 1991.


But I digress.

In more recent years, I think my parents are getting better at traveling. Two years ago Adam and I had a great time in Oklahoma City with them. They quite admirably come and visit us once a year. Also a few years ago they took a trip with fellow Traditional Cowboy Artists associates to a fancy ranch in Wyoming and stayed longer than they'd planned because they were having such a great time.

It sort of blew my mind.

Right now my parents are somewhere in the Midwest. They went to Oklahoma City again for the Traditional Cowboy Artists Association big art show and sale. They decided to drive and do some touring on the way home.

They've called me a few times for some googling of directions (because part of the magic of traveling with my parents is that they don't really plan ahead that much).

I've marveled at their adventurous spirit and felt happy they're out there, having a great trip.

Then the other day they called me from Carthage, IL to ask for directions to the Carthage Jail.

The following conversation ensued:

Me: Go west on Wabash Street and turn right on Marion St. Go .2 miles and it will be on the right.

My Mom: (to my dad) Go that way, Mark. (then to me) Thanks, Dear. I'm sorry to bother you with directions again.

Me: No problem.

My Mom: Thelma...we're crossing Adams Street?

Me: You're going the wrong way, you're supposed to be going west.

My Mom: (to my dad) We're supposed to be going west.

My Dad (faintly, in the background): West is that way...

My Mom: AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Me (feeling alarmed)

My Mom: Your dad just did a u-turn without looking and a truck almost hit us. And I don't have my seat belt on.

Me (increasingly alarmed picturing my dad with his loose interpretation of traffic laws and my mom without her seat belt on): PUT. YOUR. SEAT. BELT. ON.

My Mom: Oh, I know. You just said it was only .2 miles away...

Me: Put your seat belt on. And be careful.

My Mom: (cheerfully) We will, oh, there's Carthage Jail. 'bye Thelma. Thanks. Pray for us.

Oh, yes. I'll pray for them.