The Car, the DMV, and the Trip

The banana bread was just coming out of the oven as I heard Sally’s car pull into the driveway! I set the loaf pans on the range top and hurried to the door.

“Sally,” I greeted. “Come in. I have so much to tell you.”

“Mmmmm! What is that wonderful smell?” asked Sally.

“That’s banana bread, made from my Grandma’s favorite recipe,” I replied. “And, we will have some just as soon as it cools a bit.”

“Can’t wait,” Sally said, licking her lips. “But, what is it you want to tell me?”

“Well,” I said. “First, you know my Mom is 92 and will soon be 93. Her neighbor had a car for sale, and she thought that might be a good car for our daughter, who lives in Florida and has had quite a few repairs to her current car in the past several months. So, she made arrangements to get the car. She got the title from the owner, and she and my sister went to the Department of Motor Vehicles since my sis was already there with her that day. It wasn’t long before my sister phoned me and said they had hit a snag.”

“What was it?” asked Sally.

“You remember a year ago our Mom had hip replacement surgery, and before that she had sold her car. Of course, she cancelled the insurance at the same time. So, when she went to apply for a new title, the DMV completed that form, and she only needed to get the license plate. However, the DMV would not issue it because she had no insurance. She called her agent, and found much to her dismay that she could not get car insurance because of her age.”

“That’s a bummer,” Sally said. “And a lesson for all of us, too. When we get older, we need to be certain our premiums are paid on time and that we don’t try to switch insurance companies. We don’t want to take a chance on not being able to get car insurance and not be able to drive as long as we want to and are able. Is there an age limit?” Sally asked.

“Our mom’s agent said after a person gets to be 79, they can no longer get car insurance if they haven’t kept their insurance in force,” I answered.

“Well,” Sally went on. “What happened with getting the license plates? “

“My husband and I got in our car and went to Indianapolis. Mom and I went to the DMV as an employee there had told my sister that all we needed to do was come there, they would void that title application, and make a new one in my name, since we have car insurance, and issue the plate.”

“So, did that take care of it?” queried Sally.

“No, it didn’t! When we got there, the DMV employee said we would have to get an affidavit signed by the previous owner and a bill of sale made out to me. By this time, it was 4:25 p.m., and the DMV closes at 5:00 p.m. We called the neighbor, and fortunately he was home. He signed the papers, we jumped back in the car, and got to the DMV at 4:55 p.m. Everything went smoothly, I got the proper papers, a license plate, and we were on our way back to my Mom’s house. I then drove the car to Bloomington. The next day, we took the car out to do some errands. When we got home, my husband noticed an antifreeze smell. He looked under the hood and saw leaking around the radiator.”

“Oh my gosh,” cried Sally. “That’s all you needed!.”

“Yes,” I said. “And by now it was 4:50 p.m. on a Friday. I hurried inside and called the radiator shop and asked if they could please test it to see what the problem might be. They said they would wait for me. The shop owner opened the hood, looked at the radiator, and said, “See this here? There is a crack in the top of the radiator. Ninety-nine out of one hundred vehicles that come in here nowadays have a crack in this exact same place, ever since radiators started being made out of plastic instead of metal,” he explained.

“Here’s our problem,” I said to the shop owner. “My mom, our daughter, Jill, and I are planning to drive this car to Florida on Monday to our other daughter, Gina. Can you replace the radiator early on Monday?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “I have a pretty full day already.”

“Oh, no, “ I said. “We already have our plane tickets to fly back on Wednesday. We had planned to leave on Sunday till this happened,” I said.

“Well,” he answered. “I might be able to have it ready by late afternoon.”

“Okay,” I sighed. “I really appreciate it, and will have it up here first thing Monday morning.”

“So, what did you do next?” asked Sally.

“First, I phoned Jill and told her we couldn’t leave on Sunday and it would be sometime Monday afternoon; then phoned and told my Mom the same thing; and then phoned Gina to tell her. And then I phoned the Travelocity folks to change our plane tickets from Wednesday to Thursday. Fortunately, that was within twenty-four hours after making the first reservations, and so there was no additional charge for the change.’

“That was lucky about the plane tickets, anyway,” Sally said. “Guess you never know when you buy a used car what might be wrong with it,” she continued.

“No,” I said. “You don’t. The neighbor thought the car was in good condition. And little did we know right then that wasn’t the end of the repairs!” I exclaimed. “The car was ready by noon on Monday, so we were able to leave about 1:35 p.m. My mom was the back seat driver, making sure that Jill and I were doing a good job! We drove until 1 a.m. and stopped for the night south of Atlanta. We had stopped every two hours to change drivers and stretch our legs. The next day we left about 8:45 a.m and got to Gina’s home in Florida about 7:45 p.m. We had even stopped and eaten inside a restaurant shortly after noon on Tuesday.”

“Not bad,” Sally commented. “So, was your daughter excited about the car?”

“Well,” I answered, “the first thing she said was that she smelled something burning. That wasn’t something we wanted to hear, but we felt the tire on the left rear, and it was much hotter than the others. We decided to go out to eat dinner, and as our daughter backed the car out of the parking space, we heard a scraping sound. It continued to get worse as we drove back home after eating. The next morning, off to Sears Auto Center we went to see what the problem was. It was the rear brakes! Pads were worn, calipers were sticking, and the rotors were burning up the pads. The brakes were replaced, and the car was ready by noon.”

“Well,” asked Sally. “Did having to do those repairs ruin your trip?”

“No,” I said. “Right after that we all went to the beach. My mom sat under the big umbrella, and there was a wonderful breeze, and she enjoyed watching the ocean. My daughters enjoyed the sunbathing, and Kayti and I played in the water and sand. It was a really good day. Then we went home, cleaned up, and went to the mall and the out to eat. After that, our daughter and her family had a birthday cake for my Mom and we all sang happy birthday since they won’t be in Indiana to celebrate in September. And we flew back to Indiana on Thursday.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Sally. “You had a whirlwind trip. Sounds as if your daughter will have a reliable car to drive and you won’t have to worry about her safety anymore.”

“You are right about that,” I said. “Now, how about some of that banana bread while we eye some ocean-related goodies created by my Boomers and Beyond friends.”

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“Breathtaking,” sighed Sally. “Absolutely breathtaking!”

"You will love the banana recipe, too," I smiled.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour loaf pan.

1 1/2 cups flour; 3/4 cup sugar; 2 eggs, beaten; 3-4 smashed bananas; 1/2 cup chopped nuts (pecans, walnuts); 1 tsp soda; 1/4 tsp baking powder; 1/4 cup shortenng; 1/4 tsp vanilla.

Mix eggs, sugar, shortening (I use canola oil or sometimes melted butter), vanilla (I usually use a teaspoon instead of 1/4 tsp) and bananas. Mix dry ingredients and stir into wet mixture. Add nuts (I increase mine to 1 cup because I love lots of nuts). Stir well. Put mixture into loaf pan. Bake for 45 minutes and check with toothpick inserted into center. Probably will still be wet in the middle. Bake for 15 more minutes, checking a couple of times if you wish. Usually takes mine 60 minutes to bake and pass the toothpick test!

Enjoy!

My Summer Vacation

July Splendor, Original Painting on Silk

by Mystic Silks

Every summer, during most of my childhood, my family made the short trek "down the Cape," to Cape Cod, in Massachusetts, for our annual vacation. This was my father's one big week off from work, and he liked to spend it by the sea, basking in the sun, eating fried seafood, and generally relaxing. We rarely went anywhere else. Sometimes we rented a cottage: one of those tiny, one-room, eat-in, playhouse-like structures that sat neatly in a row with other cottages that all looked exactly the same. Usually these were painted white and sported folksy, green shutters decorated with pine cone cut-outs, or were weathered gray with white trim, a color that was, and still is, synonymous with Cape Cod. Route 28, the main southern road through tourist towns like Dennis and Yarmouth, was famous for a plethora of cottage motels in those days. Later they were replaced with bigger, two-story motels or hotels, and fancier places to stay. But back in the 1960s and early 1970s there were many of these quaint getaway spots. The only trouble was, these groovy little lodgings weren't near the beach, although they were closer to restaurants and shopping. So, in later years, my family - my mom, dad and I, stayed in a motel right on the ocean. To me, this was a thankful improvement as I could now go to sleep with the soft wooshing of the waves rather than the city-like din of highway traffic.

Jamaican Beach Quilt
by Kimbuktu

For that one week of vacation bliss (or boredom, depending on my age), we would do all the touristy things that were available, like shopping all the cheesy, themed gift shops vending souvenirs made in Japan (not China back then), and playing mini-golf with its obstacles of pirates, whales and giant lobsters. Oh, there had to be lobsters - everywhere - on plastic toys, on menus, on signs, and on hats. You couldn't get off the Cape without having eaten at least one meal made with fresh, local lobster, and having worn that famous and fashionable "lobster bib" to prevent food from dribbling on your lovely summer outfit. Personally, I liked lobster as long as it was done "lazy man" style, already cut up and dowsed with buttered bread crumbs and cheese. But, given the choice, I'd always prefer the clam strips plate at Howard Johnson to lobster. Ah, those were the days of fattening food without guilt!

Happy Times Quilted Fabric Postcard
by Attack of the Vintage

Speaking of food, our trips to Cape Cod also inevitably brought indulgences in ice cream and salt water taffy. There was a place we'd visit on each trip that made salt water taffy on site; you could stand outside the window and watch huge, metal paddles pulling and stretching the sugary goodness. The taffy came in a mind-boggling array of flavors and we had to try them all over time. We'd always come home with a box or two of taffy: one for us and one for my grandparents. I can still remember the rainbow of candy colors semi-hidden behind translucent, twisted wax wrappers that you could see behind the clear cellophane window on the front of the white taffy box. Childhood joy!

Summer Vacation Themed Ephemera Pack
from Vintage Books 'N Things

However, the main event of every Cape vacation was the daily trip to the beach, if the weather was nice. We would pack up the car with our seaside gear which included a multi-colored canvas umbrella with a dangerous, wooden, javelin-like point (no folding ones yet!); bags and bags containing towels and changes of clothes; aluminum folding chairs with woven, mod-colored, plastic seats; and the famous blue and white, hard-sided, Coleman cooler that weighed a ton, especially when filled with food and ice. After we arrived, we'd unload all these "survival items" and carry them over the scorching dunes, barefooted if you were brave, to find that special, perfect spot close to the water, but not too close that we'd have to move as the tide came in. Finding a good spot on the beach was a science!

Angie on the Beach, Coffee Pot People, "On Vacation" Note Card and Envelope by Coffee Pot People

Once the proper landing spot was selected, the establishment of "base camp" began. First, we'd stake our claim by jamming, as best possible, the umbrella into the hard sand so it would stay upright. Next, the beach towels were spread out and weighed down with shoes, the cooler, bags, and those lovely metal beach chairs, which were now starting to get to skin-burning temperature in the sun. The cooler with all its precious, life-preserving contents, was given the best spot under the umbrella to keep it from the heat of the sun, while the rest of us baked, like potatoes, out in the open. As a side note: Being that ours was a fully Italian family, that cooler was well-stocked with food. I think that we could have survived for a week on its contents. Inside were endless cold cut and tuna sandwiches, fruits of all kinds, potato salads, and sometimes even pasta, not to mention cold drinks AND ice. I am not sure how it all fit in something that was only a few cubic feet in volume, but I imagine it was like one of those tiny cars at the circus where clowns keep coming out: there was some sleight of hand involved that only my mom knew how to do.

Cross Body Cape Cod Bag
by Posey Patch Creations

After all that packing and unpacking, we were finally ready to sit on the hot sand with hundreds of other folks who were also trying to jam in a year's worth of fun into one glorious, work-free week. The slightly sickly-sweet smell of warm skin and tanning lotion (not sunscreen, as we were not concerned with skin cancer just yet) filled the warm, moist air. Ah, time to settle into that scalding beach chair and relax. But wait, who's ready for a dip in the water?? My mom, being very self-conscious about her appearance and who couldn't swim, never went in the water except for an occasional walk near the edge of the surf. It seemed her self-appointed duty to watch our valuables - the cooler, of course, and my father's wallet, while sitting back at "base camp." My father and I would take the plunge into the cool Atlantic waters, sharp sand and plenty of seaweed under our feet. My father didn't really swim; he dog-paddled for short distances, but he did enjoy being in the water - for a short time. I could stay in the water for hours and hours, coming out only to eat from the cooler cornucopia, and to comb the beach for shells. I was a big shell collector in my youth, and trips to the ocean resulted in pockets full of shells and rocks, and any other seaside flotsam that caught my eye.

Jersey Shore Seashells
by Yankeegirl's Watercolors

Being an only child, I had a lot of time to myself to walk the beach, play in the sand and surf, and just think on those family vacations. Lest you believe I am complaining about those childhood trips, I am not. There were some boring moments, but I do have many fond memories of our times by the ocean. Just yesterday, as I was waiting for someone in a parking lot, car windows open to let in the steamy air, a subtle whiff of something salty combined with the hot sun on my arm as it rested at the edge of the window, brought back a flood of sensations that reminded me of visits to the beach. There was something earthy and pleasant about the feel of warm sand by the sea. Of course, there was also sand in my toes, in my swimsuit, in my hair, and in my food. Maybe you haven't lived until you have eaten a tuna sandwich made with tuna and the grit of actual sand. Running my hands through the sand, over and over again, was quite meditative as the waves created rhythmic and soothing background music for my reveries. I could almost block out the surrounding crowd noise until it was just me and the sea, at least in my mind. I am sure my love of being near water, whether ocean or lake, developed there, on the sands of the Cape.

Castles in the Sand ACEO
by Backroom Treasures

I realize now that I was lucky to have lived close enough to the coast to have experienced the sea first hand. Vacations are special opportunities to go someplace that transports you from the ordinary to the memorable. It doesn't matter whether you go to the sea, to a lake, to the mountains, or to a new city, as long as you see life with fresh eyes and an open heart after having been away. I hope your summer vacation is filled with fun, laughter, and the spirit of the sea, even if you don't get sand in your shoes.

Retro Hot Orange Vintage Overnight Travel Bag
from Junkyard Gypsy