Ok, my Mum’s arguably senile. But reflexively, I trusted her, y’know, after twenty years of ‘Eat yer vegetables, son!’
The ‘iffy’ DeHavilland Twin Otter turbo-prop we dutifully boarded for our ‘Florida Getaway to Sarasota’ did look a bit small for a trip of that import, but I followed her to our seats like an obedient lemming.
Excited about the trip (I’d brought along my favorite shorts, a gift from Beth Seedsower of Xanga fame), I only started to feel mildly puzzled, like any self-respecting lemming, when it dawned om me that the late-afternoon Sun was shining through the cabin windows from the left(!) Headed south, it shoulda been from the right; i.e. the West!
Above the low-level clouds I had no ground reference, but at least I wasn’t kept in suspense for too long. We landed, bumpily, taxied to the terminal and, as I scanned the scene for palm trees to no great avail, it all became clear.
No, not ‘pilot-error’… ‘Mommy-error’. I should have asked how she managed a $59 round-trip flight to Sarasota.
Ha, easy; click instead on ‘Saratoga’!
Here’s the Terminal.
No aligators, coral beaches, bikini girls, In fact, no sign at all. Done on purpose, I’m guessing, to delay the let-down.
Now don’t think I haven’t a soft spot for Saratoga Springs, NY. In my youth I went through a series of deep and formative romances with Skidmore Girls. They are by now all grown up, still gorgeous and outrageously smart, and probably hammering that ‘glass ceiling’ as well as any woman can. Liz Reston, ‘niece-of’ a NYT writer I wish I was the equal of comes especially to mind.
But they weren’t waiting for me at the airport though. Just me, and my Mom, who’d been scratching and itching herself since we got to cruise altitude (probably from the cheap ‘non-genuine-Naugahyde seats’ in the Otter. The fever and chills only started the first night.
After I’d decided, assessing all my powers of restraint, not to mention, or , even to hint, that we ‘weren’t in Florida anymore, Mamma‘.
Sadly, I still have no idea where she thought she was headed; we did our best to enjoy the crisp fall weather, walked a full 100 meters of a nature trail near the hotel, and, while she rested, I got to wistfully pass by the old ‘Annendale Road’ off-campus Housing-for-theAlluring’ I remembered well. Jeez, girls these days look so ‘little’, so ‘young’. Mebbe it wuz the LSD back then?
Anyway, to finish here, we’re both now back home, safe, happy, and blissfully confused.
I decided to post this, as a ‘Memo’. A ‘Warning’?
Note-to Me: I’ve driven PA to Sarasota (FLA!) and back a half-dozen times. Twenty-three hours, including two(2) rest stops to piss. Next time I’ll be sure to take my Ma along. Maybe drugged, in the trunk. Unlock and say “Surprise, Verna! And welcome to New Jersey! Hot out, ain’t it?”
Oh, and here’s ‘Julie-the Kiwi-leeks’s hacked version of the story; sucks to be you, kid.
HOW WE DO ‘GULF’? AH, ‘SARATOGA'(?!) MEMO:’ HOW-TO’: ‘TWO HOME, MA GOT A RASH, A FLU. GOD! EWW! OH.