 "What's that?" was generally asked while passing roadkill that was
particularly mangled and, as such, unrecognizable. The reason for
this is that my 11-year-old son was keeping a running score for each
type of animal. If he could get a consensus from the rest of the
family on what "that" was, he'd place a tally in the column for that
animal. The most tallied animals were raccoon, deer, squirrel, fox,
rabbit and one skunk that might possibly have been somebody's cat.
We put it down as a skunk, regardless of the absence of any stench,
because we didn't want to upset my daughter, who would have expired
at the thought of some tractor-trailer callously running over a
fluffy feline.From the depths of the motor home, we heard my
youngest child yelling something about a porcupine on a skateboard.
We discounted that idea, not only because of the improbability of
the event, but because a porcupine who is a skilled skater was
obviously not dead and therefore could not be considered roadkill.
Only true roadkill made it to the list.
Another member of the animal kingdom that did not make it to the
list, regardless of whether or not it had a pulse, is insects. The
reason for that is, although we had a million bugs hit our
windshield, not many of them could be identified. My son thought
that it would not be fair to count only the ones that could be
identified, so he disqualified all of them.
At one point in our journey, our windshield began to look like
abstract modern art. In fact, if you looked at it just right from
the outside with your head tilted to the left and the sun hitting it
from the east, you could just make out a picture that was either
Elvis or Jesus Christ. I wonder how much our bug-splattered
windshield would sell for on eBay?
[to top of second column]
 |
 We had our GPS unit with us. Not because it could be relied upon
to get us safely to our destination, but because my husband thought
it could. I, of course, brought a map. If there was ever a
discrepancy between "Maggie," as we call her, and the map, I
insisted on using the map. I didn't want to take a side trip to some
scenic location just because Maggie thought it prudent to check it
out. It didn't help that, out of the blue, Maggie started mooing
like a digital cow for no apparent reason. I think she's losing her
marbles.
My youngest child had used his sticky fingers to press just the
right combination of buttons and somehow ended up setting the
security lock on Maggie ... which meant that we could not enter any
location. The location that he had punched in before locking it
happened to be in Baton Rouge, La.
We were trying to go to Buffalo, N.Y. So ... you can see how this
might have been a problem.
Maggie did, however, keep track of our speed. My 10-year-old
daughter, trying to be helpful, took great pleasure in reading it
and calling out the speed whenever it changed.
"62 ... 63 ... 65 ... 70 ... Daddy not so fast!"
"We're going down a hill, I can't help it!"
"... 68 ... slower! ... 64 ... 62 ... OK, you're doing good,
Daddy."
"The speed limit is 70 here, you deranged child!"
"Oh ... 64 ... faster, Daddy! ... 67 ..."
After a brief interval of that insanity, Maggie needed to be
retired until we could figure out how to make her useful again.
All in all, it was a very successful trip. Successful, that is,
if you use our typical barometer: whether or not you had an
accident, a flat tire or someone puked in the back seat.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books.
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