Last weekend's "Just a Minute" ran only in the print version of the Ledger. Here it is, for readers who didn't get a paper copy. Enjoy!
On the road with Justin Bieber
Like millions of Americans, I packed up my family and made the traditional over-the-river-and-through-the-woods trip for Thanksgiving this year. When the alarm sounded on Wednesday, I didn’t moan and slap the snooze button, as I usually do. No, I jumped up, threw on my comfiest clothes, roused three sleeping children, poured two travel mugs of coffee, and took my place in the copilot’s seat of the van, while the nearly-full moon shone down through the darkness.
When we drive to visit my family, 400 miles away, we like to make an early start to beat the traffic, especially on the busiest travel day of the year. We left on Wednesday morning at 5:00, and imposed a “no-talking-until-6:30” rule in the car, so Earl and I could enjoy our coffee in peace. The youngest kiddo actually fell back to sleep, the oldest contented herself looking out the window, and the middle child stared at the clock for an hour and a half.
Of course, at 6:30, the conversation exploded. Where are we? Is it time for breakfast? What time will we get to Grammy’s house? How far have we gone? Are we in New York yet? Then Timmy woke up and had to share a song he learned in kindergarten, complete with interpretive motions.
Before long, we were exiting the highway at our favorite bagel shop. We stormed the bathrooms and then ordered breakfast. Classic rock thumped from the overhead speakers. Normally, George Thoroughgood would be a little much for me at that hour, but having traveled 120 miles by 7:30 a.m., I was feeling pretty bad to the bone, myself.
After we’d broken our fast, gotten some gas and filled up our travel mugs again, we were back on the highway. I announced that it was music time, and broke out the iPods. The kids looked so cute with their little headphones on, but they needed help remembering to sing along inside their heads instead of out loud. When we reached New York at 8:30, there was general rejoicing in the car, but Timmy was disappointed.
“I don’t see the Statue of Liberty,” he complained.
“That’s because we’re in Albany,” I said.
Miffed, he turned back to the iPod and squeezed his teddy bear for comfort.
We’d made hotel reservations, as the entire extended family was spending Thanksgiving at the old homestead. Abby asked if the hotel would be in England, but we assured her that it would be in Rochester, just like Grammy’s house. Snippets of songs floated through the van: "Do you do you do you do you wanna dance?”…”Hot potato hot potato”…”Baby baby baby oh…”
“Uggghhhhhh,” Timmy moaned. I started looking for a plastic bag, sure that he was about to be carsick. Justin Bieber has that effect on me, too.
“What?” Earl asked him.
“Yankees fan,” Timmy answered, wrinkling his nose in the direction of an SUV with a Yankees logo stuck to the tinted window.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Earl said with a smile, as we passed the offending car.
We arrived at my mother’s house just after noon, quite possibly a new speed record for travel with three children. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that getting there was half the fun, but for our one and only holiday trip this year, it wasn’t bad, even if we had to bring Justin Bieber along for the ride.
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The other word, unrelated to the storm, is Zimbelstern. I had been surprised on Christmas Eve by a tinkly bell sound during the final refrain of the Gloria. I heard it again this morning during one of the hymns, and I asked the music director about it after mass. I am now enlightened, and will be looking for ways to work this wonderful word into a column or article in the near future (it isn't likely, but I can try.)
