Chapter One: Over the River and Through the Woods

My son-in-law's job took my daughter and the subsequent grandchildren to his childhood hometown of Erie, the northwest corner and farthest point in Pennsylvania from Philadelphia, the southeast corner. Travelling 412 miles, at an average speed of 63 mph, Mapquest says it should take 6 hours and 48 minutes. This only works if you don adult diapers and phlebitis leggings, put the cruise on 65, rocket out of your driveway, take that u-turn around the island on two wheels, mow down the old lady mailing a letter and the jogger who thought running would help him live longer, and blow every light and stop sign on the way to the Turnpike, where you then redball a tractor trailer, and hope the toll collector doesn't notice that you've performed a miraculous time travel feat.

This trip, we left Philly on the day after Christmas at nine a.m., fortifying ourselves first with OJ, coffee, pancakes and sausage. For four hours it rained, flying spray from passing vehicles (yes, there were people going faster than us!) incessantly blurring the windshield. But hubby had healing fractured ribs and was on a mission to get out of that truck, and we were both eager to see the kids. We made two very short stops, pushed 75 most of the way, and he hit 90 several times while I pretended not to notice. When I remarked that we were making excellent time, he said you always go faster in the rain. His explanation made no sense to me, but I nodded like I always do. Hydroplaning would have been my answer.

There weren't many trucks on a Saturday, so that made a huge difference. I didn't have to use my trick of sticking my arm out the window with my camera pointed at the semis' license plates to get them to back off. I also suspected that most holiday travelers didn't head home until Sunday, and the construction workers were home as well, most likely telling tales to the family about crazy women sticking their arms out windows and pointing cameras at trucks. We arrived on my daughter's doorstep at 3:30 p.m., after only 6.5 hours, a personal best, to the amazement of everyone. My son-in-law has always claimed he can get from Philly to Erie in six hours, and now we know how he does it!

Two of the grands are older now, Patrick's eight and Megan's six, and the days of arriving to little faces pressed eagerly to the bay window and running into Mimi's and Granddad's arms as we come through the door are over. Especially since Santa brought them a Wii this year. We were lucky to get a wave of the nunchuck controller. Two-year-old Katie was shy because she doesn't know us as well yet, but she did give us a warmer welcome. There was a bit more love shown when the Christmas gifts from Mimi and Granddad that Mommy bought with the check we sent were brought out. We decided this year that the parents know better what the kids need and want, and a check is cheaper to mail. The PJs were glanced at and summarily tossed, (much like the scene in "A Christmas Story"), while the remote control race car and helicopter and Princess Barbie were a bigger hit.

The kids also loved the Hallmark recordable "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" book with Mimi and Granddad playing narrator and Santa, that we'd sent up earlier so they'd have it for Christmas Eve. The older two are taking it to school for "sharing," and daughter informs me that's a great honor! Finally, the kids relented and let Mimi and Granddad try out the Wii. I'm a fair bowler, I learned, but lousy tennis player, and my Wii age is 67!

Wandering into the kitchen, I saw little treats on a plate, and was chided not to touch. Evidently, earlier in the day, Megan had made s'mores in her new Easy Bake Oven for dessert. They look like little microwaves now, not those sharp metal contraptions we had that would be recalled today as a fire hazard. Since she had to bake each cracker separately, and then construct and bake them again separately to melt the chocolate and marshmallow, it took her two hours to make six s'mores! Can't say "made with love" better than that!

My daughter has discovered her crockpot over the past few years, and we had a luscious pot roast dinner, topped off with Megan's s'mores, Mimi's homemade pumpkin pie toted all the way from Philly, and chocolates from Pulakos', a beloved Erie candy company. With the kids bouncing off the walls in a sugar frenzy, we finally begged exhaustion around 6:30 and took off for our nearby motel. Worn out by pre-Christmas preparations, hosting the parents for Christmas dinner and the ride up, I was out like a granny by 8:30.

Chapter Two; Chapter Three/Conclusion