We volunteered to corral the grandson for the three days Mom was working this week. We made two days... But fortunately on the third day he had an invite from the neighbor grandkids to hang out taking a wagon ride, building a snowman and eating red snow (which honest to God he thought would taste like cherries) made from food coloring. We did have the discussion on the perils of yellow snow of course.
Although he enjoyed it when he and Grandpa went bowling one afternoon, he was less than enthusiastic when the truck died and he had to accompany us to the repair shop. Being Joe he, of course, engaged the owner in a car discussion and also scored an 89 cent sucker from Grandpa as Nana said that was too much for a little lollipop. On the second shop he was thrilled to check out the classic cars in the showroom which included a Porsche and a couple of corvettes. Though he knows cars, he had to ask the salesperson what model of Porsche it was. Expensive engineering and all that, but I thought it was ugly. I like stream-lined cars and my favorite was my Buick Riviera. Though I did like my baby blue 8 cylinder Mercury Comet which cruised at 35-40 mph without touching the acceletator. I needed to put it in neutral to stop on slippery roads. Sold that one to a teenager and I always wondered if he wrapped it around a tree because we all know what responsible drivers teenagers are...with a hot car.
Of course hanging with the boy leads to"Joeisms". When his Mother dropped him off she reminded him to be a good boy. He looked up at me and asked "am I a good boy?" Of course I said. He then reassured his Mother by saying "See, no worries Mom". Shortly after the sucker treat he moaned that he was more than ready for lunch. For some reason lunchtime is 11 or 11:30 for him-must be a school thing. Anyway I said you just had a sucker! He responded with "some food is for sucking and lunch is for chewing". End of discussion. This analogy also applies to candy canes.
Joe did finally cart out his Christmas beanbag chair, wearing it like a crown or a Sherpa guide on Mt Everest.
In anticipation of another rowdy New Year's evening of struggling to stay awake until midnight we first enjoyed pizza with Kristen and Joe before they headed for home. Though it was early I told her what my Mother would say to us "anybody out on New Year's Eve after midnight is under the influence; drive accordingly". That was especially hazardous when we were doing the Free Press paper route in Grand Rapids during my high school years. As our "run time" was about 1 am to 4 am, we had scant vehicle company besides cops, robbers and drunks. We learned to drive accordingly as each group has its own unique hazards.
As we covered downtown one would think I know my way around GR. I knew the turns and stops for the route, but I never really knew where I was-at least not enough to give anyone directions. I hated fighting the newspaper racks to force them to give up their treasure. Just turning the key never worked. I think people, and cars, took out their frustrations on the lowly yellow rack in times of emotional distress. Why we never got robbed in my nightly rack battles is a mystery. I certainly wasn't paying attention, but I imagine Mother would have run over anyone who tried. She was a hell of a "wheelman" when you realize she could maneuver a car so well when we got stuck in snow, a soaking wet 100 pound paper pusher could push the station wagon enough to get it rolling. Good thing as I don't think we could afford AAA.
We've never been big New Year's Eve partiers unless we're invited somewhere but I remember my first opportunity was January 1, 1972 when the Michigan drinking age was lowered to 18. Just married in September of 1971, but I had only passed my 20th birthday in November. So I eagerly tried to talk my new husband into taking me to a local establishment for my first legal drink. Being newly married I had not yet learned "happy wife, happy life" so I didn't insist or demand. We were at the in-laws that year so maybe he was not thrilled with the choice of bars in Rogers City. Heck I was all set to go to the notorious sailor's hangout downtown (Rogers City is a port town for US Steel). Ah well. I had a few adventures illegally in Rogers City before we were married. There's probably still some booze buried somewhere near the lake from one of the beach parties.
As one friend posted "Our expectations were so low for the new year we are just happy that an asteroid didn't hit earth". To which the OH opined "I'm happy an asteroid didn't hit the house". Low expectations indeed. Peace, good will and out....
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