Date: Fri, 17 May 2002 21:15:27 -0500
Subject: On the Road Again... and Again

After reading Dispatch One from the Road, Lisa thought it might be appropriate to offer a distaff perspective on the proceedings. So here's her narrative of the Little Rock/Oxford/Atlanta arc. I'll have the New Orleanian report presently.

* * *

When last we left you, we were barreling toward Little Rock.

By midday, we had fallen into our usual state of affairs (i.e., Jeff is passed out in the back bedroom, I am shuttered with Henry in his insanely air-conditioned bunk, watching perhaps the 20th screening of "Rugrats in Paris"). I notice that the bus is slowing, slowing, rolling onto the shoulder, yep, we're stopping. I free myself from the bunk in time to see a very big, very tall Arkansas State Trooper striding up to the front of the passenger side of the bus. Arnie sticks his head in and says, "We're being pulled over. I don't know why. I'm gonna go check it out." And he's gone.

Ten minutes pass, 15 minutes. "Huh," I think. Twenty minutes. Because there's no window in the back of the bus, I can't see anyone or anything going on behind us. As a result, I begin to suspect that Arnie has been handcuffed and taken away and they've just left us, untowable, somewhere roadside in the middle of Arkansas. At the 25-minute mark I begin to wonder how adjustable the driver's seat is and how long it would take me to drive the bus to a populated area. Just before I can give it a go -- and believe me, I _really_ want to -- Arnie reappears. Turns out, wouldn't you know, I-40 is a "drug corridor" and we, NASCAR bus inhabitants, looked like prime candidates for a shakedown.

Apparently, the officer was most interested in boarding the bus for a little searcharound, but Arnie, who is no slouch in the size department himself, stood in the doorway and said "No, sir" quite a number of times, while the trooper kept asking what he had to hide. It finally got to the point where he told the trooper that we would all wait there 'til the latter was able to reach a judge and get the required warrant. Once the trooper realized he wasn't getting on the bus, he started questioning Arnie about who he usually carried. Arnie went through his list of previous passengers. It's a Serious List, including the aforementioned NSync, Dan Quayle, Queensryche, Alice Cooper, and Lynyrd Skynyrd, not to mention that mega-pop sensation Brit... Ding! That was the magic word. Turns out the Arkansas State Trooper's 10-year old daughter would dearly love some Britney tickets. So back comes Arnie to the bus, shaking his head and folding up said Trooper's home address information. Apparently, this happens all the time. He's been pulled over countless times but the only one who's ever -- in 20 years (!) -- gotten a ticket is the cop.

Little Rock was slightly anticlimactic, but certainly more fun than I expected. We spent a pleasant evening strolling around the city's Riverfront Park area and then, in true Parents-of-the-Year fashion, we took our four-year-old son to a very loud bar for dinner. The Flying Saucer has really good beer and someone in the kitchen who obviously cares about food. The following morning, we met Jeff's family friends of long-standing, Jim and Helen Manville, for breakfast. Then we boarded the bus for what was supposed to be a short, straightforward drive to Oxford, Mississippi.

Thing is, I'm traveling with three boys. This means that we are constantly interrupting our trip for all manner of ridiculous roadside attractions. Is it not enough that I have been subjected to both The Meteor Crater and Cadillac Ranch? No, it is not. We must stop also for The Graceland Cafeteria. Not Graceland. The Graceland Cafeteria. I kid you not.

Finally, we reach Oxford. It is listed in our Charming Small Towns of America book. It really is very charming, with a picturesque town square, great bookstores, restaurants and cool galleries. It is also the home of Mrs. Grantham, my ex-boyfriend John's mother. Jeff is being a very good sport about this stop, but perhaps he is feeling some residual guilt about The Cafeteria...

In any case, we have a lovely time. Mrs. Grantham not only gives us a VIP tour of the town (She is known everywhere we go. Pleasant people stop her on the street to converse. Shopkeepers run up to be helpful), she provides a car -- with appropriate child car seat (!) -- to take us to her unbelievably beautiful daughter Priscilla's unbelievably beautiful Southern manse. Priscilla, no slouch in the hospitality department herself, has thoughtfully had four children, two of whom are boys Henry's age and ready to play. We all sit on the huge porch and have drinks, while watching Palmer Jr., Grantham and Henry whale on each other with plastic bats on the expansive lawn. Priscilla's babysitter, though also charged with caring for Margaret and little Prescott, somehow rustles up a mac 'n' cheese, biscuit and Kool-Aid dinner and gets all the kids to the table and eating. I am impressed.

Later, we are forced to leave this perfect Southern scene and return to our own lodgings. The Downtown Inn is very convenient to the town square and also -- judging from the room's general atmosphere -- to a significant segment of the Ole Miss student population. The next morning, we rise early and head out in the rain (our first of the trip), to have breakfast at the very cute Bottle Tree Cafe and Bakery, which would be really good, if it weren't so bad. The cafe opened at 7:00 a.m. At 10:00 a.m., after we finally got a seat, we learned that: 1) they were out of almost every baked good, except for those weird-looking danish no one ever orders and two aged ginger scones (we had the latter), 2) they were out of decaffeinated coffee, and 3) they were out of silverware. So that was The Bottle Tree. Now it's on to Atlanta.

We arrive in Atlanta very late, but not late enough to forestall an immediate family reunion. I have spent the first nine days of the trip explaining to Jeff that since we are spending five whole days in Atlanta, it is not necessary to see every member of his family in the first moments of our arrival. Why not, I suggest, check into our hotel (the flagship Ritz-Carlton, Buckhead! Let us rejoice!) and then, once refreshed (read: fed, watered, bathed and no longer cranky), go about the serious business of visiting? But, no. So we spend the first evening eating delivery pizza at the Greensteins' house, while doing an unbelievable amount of laundry. By midnight, I believe we had exhausted the patience, and certainly the water heater, of father Lenny and wife Barbara, while sister Jill, brother-in-law Myron and brother Keith looked on. Was there more visiting after that? There was.

On Saturday, May 11, we began by renting a car, so that we might more expeditiously pick up our remaining laundry at the Greensteins'. Then, it was off, with Lenny and Keith in tow, to The Landmark Diner. To ensure that no meal went to waste, we gathered Myron and Jill into our tractor beam in time for dinner at Gringo's. We were given as many stale chips as we could eat, since the morose waitstaff had not counted on the precipitous frat-boy customer drop that coincided with graduation weekend in town.

Sunday was Mother's Day. Father and son marched off to the newly opened Apple Store in Lenox Square while I, oh frabjous day, lay in the Ritz-Carlton feather bed (the guilty and barely rationalized pleasure of the traveling vegetarian) and read the latest issue of Cook's Magazine from cover to cover. Eventually, however, I was rousted to go a-visitin'.

To best display Henry and in order to more conveniently dote on him and ply him with gifts, Barbara cooked up a lavish brunch and invited her mother, her mother's beau Al, Jill and Myron, Keith and bonus player Anya, the charming and adorable ex-wife of Barbara's son Matt. Jeff and I say hello to the assembled loved ones and then shove Henry into the fray. Mission accomplished. We wedge in a breathless round of antique and book and antique book shopping. Then, since we haven't seen several relatives since noon, we meet up for dinner with the usual crew, as well as new and entertaining additions Steven (Jeff's brother) and Shana (sister-in-law) who are in town from Austin.

By Monday, we have it down to a science. We wake up, eat (a really good lunch at The Buckhead Diner) and then begin the rounds. We got a tour of Myron and Jill's gorgeous new house-under-construction, hung out with all manner of siblings, and did the big visit with Jeff's grandmother Roz (a silver-haired ringer for Lauren Bacall, but with an even better voice). We luck out and also get to see Jeff's aunt Robin and cute cousins Liam and Rachel. Robin, perhaps fearing that our food stamps don't cover enough toys for Henry, brings him two enormous bags of loot, including many toys with small pieces or marbles, which I'm sure I'll enjoy rounding up and finding room for in our luggage throughout the trip. Fortunately, I am able to retaliate by presenting Liam with a spectacularly noisy "educational" thunder tube.

Just before we leave town, we get a tour of Robin's outstanding gallery (Sandler-Hudson, check it out if you're in Atlanta). No sooner am I able to distract Jeff from a truly hideous Frank Gehry sculpture than I turn to find Robin presenting Henry with art supplies and furiously chattering wind-up teeth. By the time we finally get on the bus to make our way out of town and toward New Orleans, I find I have been out-manoeuvered once again. The crazed sight-seeing Y-chromosome is again at work and I learn that we will be stopping at The Varsity for "dinner." Not even the happy fact that Jill is joining us for the next leg of the trip, and surely deserves better, sways the boys from their purpose. So, off we go, to eat at a football-field-sized drive-in, the fame of which is built entirely on grease, frosted orange drinks and the motto "What'll Ya Have?" Sigh. Somewhere in this great land of ours, there is a spacious, cunningly decorated store selling vintage hand-embroidered Italian linens, estate jewelry, hundreds of underpriced Amish quilts and Aynsley china tea cups. When I find it, we're going to Stop the Bus.

We're off to New Orleans and about to enjoy our first night on the bus. Jeff'll take it from here. Stay tuned. Or not.