After our cost saving wedding and reception on 24th of July of 1971, we took off that evening on our first honeymoon in our 1964 VW van.

We had just purchased the van for $800, first selling my Mustang which my folks had bought from cousin Bill. My folks- (especially my Mom) – made sure we paid my parents back for every penny with which they had paid for my used 1968 Mustang. The VW had a “lawnmower” engine in it, at least that’s what I called it, which some mechanics had put in for us on the spot, and it needed the valves adjusted every few hundred miles. The top speed for our van was about 50 mph. It wasn’t painted and just had primer on it. We never did paint it. It looked iffy and temporary like a gray box on wheels. You would’ve laughed seeing it. We loved it.

Ken had gotten reservations at a lovely inn up north that we never used. Instead we stopped somewhere in Santa Barbara and slept in the van our first honeymoon night. Next we headed north to Big Sur, first camping at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park which is an exceptional California jewel of nature. The redwood trees tower over you and the river runs through it, all making you wonder how God and Mother Nature could’ve created such majesty. We were enthralled.

Two year olds have their own language. Just as I was getting some experience and knowledge in understanding what our grandson was saying during our week of babysitting, it was time to come home, a two day drive. The parents seemed to understand him and would translate, but mostly they were at work, so we were on our own.

“Yook, yook! Up dayer, Gimmy!” The two year old gave me those instructions as I searched the pantry shelves looking for blueberry applesauce packets. Luckily he repeated his instructions and helped us a great deal when we asked, “What? I don’t understand.” He was like a broken record and also super patient saying things over and over. If it were me, I’d say it three times then think, “What are you, a big dimwit? I want some applesauce and it’s right in front of your nose! I’m telling you what I want in my best English!” Thankfully our grandson was kind and respectful as we attempted to understand what he said. We sure grew to appreciate him and his language no matter how hard it was to comprehend. He would often say, “It’s tricky.” Boy, we sure agreed with that.

Or he would tell us to Google a song or a sound:

“Googol yiun ! Googol nocerus ! Googol sound fire truck! plite car!” We would comply politely and tell Mr. or Mrs. Google to play the sound a fire truck makes or whatever he asked. Sometimes he would ask, “Googol, blippi train song!”

If you’ve never heard nor seen Blippi, you’re in for a real treat. Especially if you’re around two or three. We saw a lot of his videos and heard a ton of his songs. Or you would love Raffi songs. You’re not up to snuff with two year olds if you’re not up on current songs, celebs and toddler stuff.

A trip to the zoo was an eye opener also and a lot of fun! It was a true bonus seeing the real animals and experiencing how the lil’ guy views them through his eyes and observations. He had a blast as did we.

When he could manipulate a toy truck or some toy train tracks and move the train along, he would say, “I did it!” When we were all working together on a train set or some complicated toy set up, we would all say, “Hey! We did it!” That was a good feeling and saying those words was uplifting. His energy just motivated us to be the best grandparents we could be at 70ish! You know what I mean if you’re a grandparent.

Napping was a must, not just for him but for us. Thank goodness there were two couches downstairs for Poppa and I to use to take naps. The dogs shared them with us which was a bit tricky, but we did it. Nightie night.

Tired? Exhausted? Out of energy and zip? Talking in monosyllabic phrases? Raising your tone of voice a bit to a soprano level? Reading books about Curious George and Spot out loud? Getting down on the floor with your creaking knees and aching back flooding you with pains and protests? Sounds just like us; you’re babysitting grandkids. And you’re 70ish.

My husband and I, known here as Poppa and Gimmy, have been babysitting our two year old grandson for a week. We also arrived last week for his two year birthday celebrated with family one day and gobs of presents and food, then the next day with friends and neighbors and a few presents. Luckily there were gallons of coffee at that one and some muffins. We needed gallons of caffeine by then. At his first party, he absolutely loved the balloons and garbage truck decorations. Yes, he’s a garbage truck aficionado. Then he opened one gift which was next to impossible to open since it was securely attached with plastic pins and plastic shrink wrap inside the bank vault style box. Momma had to help open it. Forgot to mention that this was accompanied by his Dada and two preteen half sisters struggling to assemble his lil tykes bike we had given him. Filling out this three-ring- circus in the living room was Poppa taking long videos simultaneously. You shoulda been there…actually you probably would’ve skipped it and kept your sanity.

As we left the motel this morning and headed north, we were in good spirits, my man and I. Full of coffee, tea and continental breakfast treats, we put the 70ish music to playing. “There was a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Son.” Except we weren’t heading to New Orleans, but the Animals didn’t care. We just pointed the car north and got on the interstate once again. “Round round, get around I get around. I’m gettin bugged driving up and down the same old strip. I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip.” Did we ever stop being hip? Noooo! Well, maybe we’ve slipped a bit. You could accuse us of not being real “hip”. But our music from the 1960’s and ‘70’s was cool. Far out!

Driving can get old real fast and sitting for hours can get one to hyperventilate and imagine demons and road monsters are coming at you even at 85mph. “Wild thing! You make my heart sing! You make EVERYTHING groovy.” I was starting to feel trapped and sorta wild.

You can even start babbling to your husband (aka your man). I know I get really tired and whiny after hour upon hour of driving. I want out of the car to stretch or stop for an expensive coffee or foo foo drink. I think I have freeway hypnosis! Is it catching? I might even just bolt for the door and escape, getting away from the passenger seat and seatbelt and buckled in prison called “a car”.

“There she was just a walkin down the street singing dooahditty ditty dum ditty dum.” Sounds like me. I ramble like that. Groovy. I am a “Ditty dum dum.”

Maybe there’s still hope. Maybe I can perk up. Thank goodness for rest areas and gas stations and potty breaks. I wonder if we’ll get there today. (Can I get back to you?)

Groovy.

Trippy Road Trip- Day 1

My man (insert husband) and I started our road trip today listening to ‘60’s and ‘70’s music to cut the boredom of interstate driving. James Taylor, Jim Croci and Rick Nelson songs, to mention a few, sprang forth from our car’s speakers. “I got those steadily depressing, low down mind messing, workin at the car wash blues.” Dang, we forgot to wash the car. We did wash the front windshield though.

As we passed the towns, cities, lakes and rivers, we enjoyed oooing and awwwing (insert exclaiming) about the scenery. The San Joaquin and Sacramento Valleys are impressive as are the mountain ranges. The Sierras are majestic even though in the distance. The Sacramento River is full and wide. The reservoirs are also full after a rainy, stormy California winter. Though we complained about all the rain, it was a godsend after years of drought. The grasses are still golden brown across the flat agricultural areas and hillsides.

We did experience lots of traffic near large cities. In California, you notice more exits off the freeway are given depending on the population of the city. Stockton had 9 exits.

Ninny came along for the ride. For a dog, she is a great traveler and sleeps a lot only getting excited when we stop for restroom breaks. She’s always worried that we will leave her behind.

My husband is an excellent driver, but when I drive, look out. He’s not a backseat driver; he’s a front seat, “What are you doing?” kind of commenter. A good lyric from The Garden Party: “You can’t please everyone, So you gotta please yourself.” So I sped up hitting 85 mph.

We packed our own lunch at home before hitting the road. Hours into our trip, the apples, sandwiches and snacks tasted delicious. Plus we saved money and stops for food. That didn’t stop our comments about many fast food restaurants. If you see these restaurants from the freeway, it’s like a song chorus repeating over and over, because you see the same Starbucks, Mcdonalds, Chipotle, Panda Express and so on over and over. James Taylor sang: “Just call out my name, and you know wherever I am, I’ll come running to see you again.” Yes, again and again.

>We shall see what happens tomorrow (insert- I have no idea).

When I was growing up, I used to love sitting on the sidelines of family gatherings and just listening to my parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents talk, absorbing their emotions, thoughts and experiences as they told their stories. It took me away to another time and it was mesmerizing, it was fun. Maybe they would tell about the “Dirty Thirties” and struggling with life on the farm, or that coupled with the “Great Depression” and when they talked about one another like Uncle Wayne and how he survived being bit by a rattlesnake and almost died. Or when Grandma had her garden to keep the family alive and she carried water from Horse Creek to sustain her plants. Or about WWI or WWII. There were some sad and tragic stories, also happy ones, and they told them so vividly. You were there with them.

When you get old, then older and the absolute oldest, there are stories in your brain, waiting there, pausing patiently, ready to burst forth. They need to be shared, to keep the audience listening. So many fantabulous, uhh maze ing, real true blue to life stories and recollections. Someone needs to hear them and realize life is a fleeting moment filled with memories both good and bad.

But the stories that got told, then repeated can also be changed or get embellished somewhat. That’s all right though because no one seems to care nor remember exactly what happened long ago. At some point, I just got distracted, grew up and we moved away from close family and even though my Mom kept telling me stories of her life in South Dakota and my Dad told about growing up poor in Pennsylvania, the stories got repetitive and I grew tired of hearing them. When you’re a teenager or young adult, you’re building your own story. You think you know better than the “old folks”. That’s what happens naturally. I used to get sick and tired of hearing them tell the same old things over and over. Chock it up to innocence or plain ignorance.

Fast forward to being 70ish, now weary with all life throws your way, slowing down and getting a different perspective on life no longer through rose colored glasses but through bifocals or new lenses after cataract surgery. You play some of the stories from the past like a movie set up in your mind’s eye and enjoy hearing those old folks tell and retell their stories, however, you don’t always get them right or forget parts. You can’t hear them firsthand or you don’t hear as well. You wish you had written their stories down or at least videotaped them telling about the past. Regrets come flashing through.

Now we are the old folks, the ones with the stories. I’m not sure ours are as interesting. Let’s share them in any case with our children. I know I want to. Saayyy… did I ever tell you about the time my friends and I cruised La Habra Blvd listening to the new Beach Boys song?

I’m a nice, kind, even tempered person. Usually. However, as I have gotten older, I sometimes lose my patience and calm demeanor. I don’t seem to care about how others perceive me much anymore. Not much.

I’m more grouchy, touchy and grumpy. I’m bolder. I probably get into arguments more with my husband, not with close friends. That’s because we’re together a lot more since we’ve been retired. It is better for our relationship when he’s working part time on an oral history project with a small historical town nearby or when I am away to administer testing at our small school here in town for a few months each year. We aren’t together 24/7 then. I’m more detached. I feel better. Absence makes the heart grow stronger and older.

Lots of excuses are springing forth now. So we 70ish kids can just say our hearing is failing and we didn’t hear what you said. Or another good cop out is to just let your head drop, while seated, and nod off to sleep when someone gets to be too much, too much to handle. Sleepy and grumpy underneath.

Maybe I am grouchier because I’m older, I’m sleeping poorly or my health and body aren’t what they used to be. I can’t quite put an arthritic finger on the reason for being grumpy. I just don’t want to put up with complicated situations and people complaining. I haven’t got the time. In our 70’s we are in the last chapter of the book of life. Heck, we might even be on the last page. Who knows? All I know is I want stuff simple. I want the plot to go slowly and peacefully. Can’t the text in the book of life be simple sentences with lots of one syllable words? If anyone presents me with characters’ problems, I’m taking the easy way out or escaping out the back door. Maybe even down the fire escape. No, that’s too risky.

The toaster doesn’t work? Throw it out and buy a new one. Somebody asks me to do a BIG favor for them? Six weeks later, “Ohh, I forgot you had asked me.” You need money? Do I look like an ATM?

I won’t even get into the way aging can make us look or dealing with toilet issues. You know. Maybe I will touch on it. There’s the gray hair, maybe no hair at all, sagging everywhere not to mention the aches, pains and stiffness. Hey, that could be a clue. My body is stiff in places and therefore, my personality is getting stiffer. That could be it. But don’t give me your opinion. I don’t want it. Save it.

Grouchy, touchy and grumpy me. I’m not apologizing either. I’m not apologizing for my behavior. Nope. They made a movie called “Grouchy Old Men.” Why didn’t they ever make a movie called “Grouchy Old Women”? Forget it. I wouldn’t go see it nor stream it anyway.

I’m going to take a nap. Don’t wake me up because you will be sorry if you do. I might forget my age and deck you or just yell. If I yell, you probably won’t hear me.