Saturday, August 10, 2013

Microwave mac & cheese.

We are tired of eating at restaurants. So tired, in fact, that we opted to eat mac & cheese in a bowl that you can microwave.

I know this is no new concept, so I don't want to talk about it like it is freeze dried sushi or something, but it was weird as shit.
And not good.

But we did it. The baby liked it best, I'm assuming because the texture resembled jarred baby food- which, incidentally, he doesn't like.
It was nice not to sit down at a restaurant. It was nice to not pay $50 for food that could feed 5 families in a 3rd world country. I hate the amount of food restaurants give. It is disgusting. I usually make the three kids share one meal and I order and we all share and still we throw away about 3 pounds of food.
No wonder America is so fat. If they are eating out like we have been the last 5 weeks and cleaning their plates (remember that philosophy?), they are eating no less that 50,000,000 calories a day.

We made it to Fortuna, CA last night. I was happy we found something so fast. It was getting dark and even though I could have driven 4 more hours and the kids were asleep- this trip has suddenly turned me into a super cautious gal.

Winding through the mountains yesterday, I was reminded of traveling to Oregon with my Grandparents. I was probably 9 or 10. I spent a lot of summers with them. They were always doing something adventuous sounding. They were traveling or moving or selling or buying. My Grandpa was the sort of man that would own 3 homes and travel to them throughout the year, buying weird stuff (cars, etc) and then fix them and sell them, even sometimes giving them away.

One summer they were going to their place in Oregon. On the trip I told him that if it was getting dark and we weren't there yet, we should spend the night somewhere. I am not sure why I was suddenly giving out orders but I remember having this feeling. So much so that I think I said it many times, not just suggesting it.
I remember we were driving up a mountain and it was dark. I felt the car (which was pulling a trailer with a car on it;) jerked to one side and I heard my Grandmother scream.
I think I was laying down in the back. It was a suburban.
When I felt the car jerk to the side, I knew what was happening. I knew exactly what was happening, almost like I had done it before.
After I heard her scream, I heard my Grandpa say "I'm sorry!". Loud and direct.

I don't know what happened exactly. I know the next day we were at the scene picking up the trailer that had rolled down a hill. My Grandma and I were picking blueberries from a wild bush. My Grandpa was stoic and graceful.
That night I remember being on a pay phone and talking to my Mom. I am sure all I wanted to do was be with her. To be home.
But I stayed. We got to their house and I had one of my most memorable summers.
We picked rhubarb and made pies with "what's her name", my Grandfathers sister who's name I could never remember. She was beautiful and kind. We all made pies.
There was a crab apple tree behind their house. It was huge and full. I climbed it every day.

The reason I was remembering this whole story last night is because the me that wants to be home was saying "I could drive 4 more hours", which I could.
I love to drive. I love to drive at night, during the day. In rain, snow- I enjoy it.
But the memory of this accident stopped me in my tracks. Especially after my son said, "we should definitely stop before dark".

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