Debby Does…

As a kid, we vacationed with my grandparents. My dad was gone, so it was just me and my mom. As a teacher, she couldn’t afford to pay for trips, and my grandparents were well to do. My grandfather had sold his medical practice right after I was born, and they moved to Ocean City, New Jersey, to be close to us. Because of his rigorous surgical and general practice schedule, he always felt that he had missed out on time with my mom and didn’t want that to happen with me. Raymond Israel was a man among men. I could write forever about him.

But, this is about vacations. We’re getting ready to embark on a road trip to Florida with our two dogs, Matilda and Adelaide. Traveling with pets is always an adventure and Matilda has quite a few medical issues that need attention, so the packing is extra.

When we traveled each summer with my grandparents, we always did so in their Country Squire station wagon. I thought that car actually smiled at me when I looked at it. Maybe it was just all the joy we had in it, looking back at me.

Typically, we went to Sanibel Island, Florida for two weeks each summer. My granny was a serious sheller and shell crafter, so Sanibel was like hitting up her dealer. Plus, with me along for the ride, she had someone close to the ground for shell hunting. I’m still addicted to it. I cannot walk on a beach without shelling.

Sometimes, we would start off our trip on the Cape May/Lewes Ferry, which always seemed like a bit of an adventure before the actual vacation. Then, eventually, we would find ourselves on I-95, after inevitably getting lost in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia. My granny was constantly gasping, using her imaginary brake, and saying, “They braking, my honey” to my grandfather. I didn’t forget the “are,” she just never said it. I now say this and do all of this when driving with my road warrior husband.

Eventually, we would get hungry and pull off at a rest area. We would find the shadiest picnic table and out would come what I firmly believe was manna from the gods.

Ice cold Coca Cola in styrofoam cups with ice from home, dried beef sandwiches with butter on Martin’s Potato Rolls, and Herr’s Potato Chips made up that glorious menu. I can still feel the ice cold burn of that soda going down my throat on a hot afternoon somewhere in the depths of North Carolina.

After lunch, it was my job to scour the AAA hotel book for a place to spend the night. I had requirements. It had to have a pool. Everyone else just wanted it to have a restaurant. Sometimes, it would take us two or three tries to find one with a vacancy, but eventually we ended up at a Holiday Inn or a Howard Johnson’s where all four of us would share a room.

After I had hit the pool—the ultimate hotel luxury—it was cocktail hour. My granny would break out a tin of these unbelievable cheddar rice krispy rounds, while my grandpop poured the grown ups a V.O. on the rocks and a soda for me, maybe a ginger ale, because I was fancy. The ice from home was still good and then we stocked up on hotel ice for the next day’s travels. We all sat in the room, chatting and laughing, before going down for dinner and later playing cards, while I watched all four channels on the black and white television. I’m pretty sure I glimpsed heaven on those trips.

I think it’s why I take my job as snack supervisor so seriously on our road trips. When my mom was living, and traveling with my husband and me, she was the consummate hostess from her spot in the backseat. Her AAA TripTik in hand, she charted our course, pointing out interesting historical or cultural spots, singing little songs, and plying us with sandwiches, beverages, snacks, and, always, those cheesy rice krispy delights.

Tomorrow morning, as we venture out at the ass crack of dawn in the snow, I’ll offer Jim every possible snack we have. I’ll spread the Pub Cheese on his semolina toasts, dip the Buffalo Pretzel Thins in my homemade Ranch, pop celery sticks in his mouth, and dig his caffeinated seltzers out of the cooler behind his seat through feats of contortion.

If only we still had that wagon…