Fishing Trip, part 2

Now we had loaded the van with the coolers and blankets and tackleboxes, and we were on our way to New Hampshire. Dad drove, following well-known routes and only occasionally helped by the GPS system; Bill sat in the passenger's seat, drinking from his travel mug; Sam and I huddled under our respective blankets in the first row of seats; and Mike lay in the second row, asleep. In fact everone except Dad was soon nodding off. Every once in a while I would jerk into semi-wakefullness to see the yellow lights of a gas station go by, or the bright beams of a passing trailer, and then sink back into an uneasy oblivion. Somehow, two and a half hours spent themselves this way until Dad guided the van into the parking lot of a Dunkin Donuts. Apparantly we were near the border of New Hampshire or had just crossed it.



"Okay, let's grab some coffee and a muffin or something," Dad said as he parked. We went through our second ritual of yawning and stretching and stepped into the bracing air of the parking lot and toward the brightly lit interior of the store. Five forty-five A.M. and already a line was forming. A few policemen and a police woman in smart uniforms were adding cream and sugar to their coffees on the side, and a couple of workmen in paint-spotted jeans and denim shirts deliberated over the breakfast menu. The cashier looked tired but resolute.



"Well, I guess I'll take the number two," said one workman carefully, eyeing the enormous photos of stuffed egg sanwiches above the cashier's head. "If it has bacon in it."



"No, number two doesn't have bacon, it's the egg and ham," said the cashier, who was a young man with glasses and an expression that said, I am almost finished and I will NOT lose my patience. "Number five is the egg and bacon."



The workman squinted at the menu. "Huh! But number five doesn't have the McPattie potatoe things. Can I get those on the side?"

"You could," said the cashier with heroic calmness, "but it would be easier to get them already with a meal. Or you could order everything separately." He glanced anxiously at us as we gathered behind the mulling customer. Finally the worker ordered and moved on to the recieving booth with the police people. As a reward for the cashier's imperturbability we all ordered quickly and painlessly and soon had gathered up our coffees, muffins, bagels, assorted cream cheeses and butters, and went back to the van. Breakfast was undertaken as the first light of morning stole over the parking lot. Then Dad drove off on the last leg of the trip.

As the road began to pass through the fields and marshes that signalled the proximity of the ocean we noticed that the morning light was not as bright as it should be; the sky remained dark with angry-looking clouds, and the wind whipped the tall grass in the fields. Dad turned on the radio.

"Looks like a storm," he said.

We all sat up. Mike tossed his blanket to the floor and rubbed his eyes. "That would be too bad if the boat can't leave shore," he said. "If the waves are too high then they'll never let anyone go out on the water."

"Oh, I'm sure people would still go out," Bill remarked. "You know -- 'Look at me, I'm fishing in a Grade Two Storm, haha!' Doosh."

"Let me listen to the weather report," Dad said, peering out the windshield at the approaching Shoreline town and the ominous overhanging storm. A few raindrops pattered on the glass. Sam and I looked at each other. Would the boat be leaving the shore - or would we be doomed to an entire morning in the seaside diner with Trudy the waitress and mountains of hashbrowns? Soon we would know for sure.

It's Raining Now

It’s raining now. Big, fat drops of rain and perfectly warm weather.  The shine is shining through the raindrops and the air is warmed.  It’s a summer afternoon and I am just under five years old. My skinny little legs barrel through the living room and into the kitchen .

“Mom! Mom! Where’s my bathing suit?” I scramble excitedly toward my mom, pulling at her skirt hem.

Patiently, my mom directs me to the laundry room, sorting through the pile. Once my baby pink one piece is found, I wiggle into it quickly. I can’t waste time. There’s a rain storm outside!

I burst out the door, Joe in his shorts and Sarah in her diaper right behind me.  Jumping off the deck onto the grass, we scream with upmost delight. There is a waterfall of rain water spilling from the rooftops. There are puddles as wide as ponds and deep and the bath tub. With childish glee and giggling, we splash around the yard, finding the biggest and best puddles. We can’t get enough of the wet wonderland, the rain pouring down, the lakes of water, the streaming curtains of water rushing from rooftops and trees.

Giggles gush from our lips, bubbling laughter as the three of us flail our arms above our heads, swatting at the raindrops, opening our mouths wide to catch them eagerly. I scurry, slipping and sliding, toward the small slope in our yard. With a wave of laughter, I fly out on my belly and coast down the hill. Up and down that tiny bump of a hill, I was in ecstasy.

Yard to yard we dashed, discovering new games and adventures from the rain. By then, Sarah’s diaper was hanging by a tape, soggy and filled with water. Joe’s face was an enormous grin, minus the top two teeth.  And all of us were drenched, head to toe, and never happier.