13 Years and Counting

I had plans to get my Mother’s Day post out over Mother’s Day Weekend. Let’s just say that the weekend plans didn’t quite materialize as envisioned.

Hubby and I had the foresight to get married over Mother’s Day Weekend, thereby keeping us out of the whose Mother do we visit for the day at the expense of upsetting the other Mother. We generally plan to go out of town for the weekend for a little bit of relaxation.

Last year, Hubby outdid himself by finding this wonderful little cabin in the Hocking Hills region of Ohio. The cabin had a full sized, equipped kitchen; breakfast nook; elegant bathroom and bedroom; a small den; and a nice patio area complete with hot tub. For three days we relaxed in the middle of nowhere enjoying the peace and quiet. Hubby was planning the same thing for this year’s anniversary weekend, only to be told that the cabins were booked.

One thing about the Hocking Hills region is that they have lots of options for cabins, so Hubby found another cabin that seemed to fit the bill.

I had started my pair of anniversary socks in Colinette Jitterbug, blue parrot colorway. I was looking forward to a weekend of sitting outside or in, knitting on my socks while breathing fresh air and enjoying the peace and quiet.

Let me just say at this point, don’t believe everything you read on the internet.

Let me also say that when it is a gray, overcast day on your way to an isolated cabin in the woods, it is probably God trying to tell you to lower your expectations.

Oh, and also having some Valium on hand at all times is probably a good strategy.

As my boss would say, as we turned off the main road onto the winding country lane, you could hear the banjos playing in the distance. When we turned onto the narrow gravel drive that led down to the cabin, the banjos sounded a lot closer. That should have been a clue about the discrepancy between internet world and reality.

When we opened the door, I realized that there is no standard definition of the phrases “equipped kitchen”, “dining area”, “full bath”, “sitting area” or “secluded”. To the owners of the cabin and equipped kitchen is an area with a sink, a dorm refrigerator, a toaster oven, a hot plate, and microwave. To the owners of the cabin the dining area is a small table with two chairs. The full bath meant that there was a commode, sink and shower – all of which could be used simultaneously by the same person if need be. Sitting area meant there was a rocking chair. Secluded meant that if an emergency arose you would have to be air lifted to the nearest hospital in Columbus – not that your neighbors couldn’t see you if you chose to get in the hot tub naked.

To add to this complete butchering of the English language, we arrived in the pouring rain – meaning we had to unload our car in a monsoon. By the end of the evening we were both cranky, tired, and disappointed. As I lay on the full sized bed trying to regroup and not think about spending the weekend sleeping with another full size adult in a full size bed, I thought about my ancestors who probably shared worse accommodations than this as they made their way to the United States.

As I said, you can’t believe everything you read on the internet. The truth is I thought about how a flame thrower, some tequila, and a tranquilizer dart would come in handy right about now.

Things got better after I accepted reality and realigned my expectations. I realized that the poor definitions allowed for some great moments. My favorite was Hubby flashing the neighbors the next morning when he got out of bed in his undies. We also had fun wondering if and when the car would slide down the embankment with us in it on our way back in to the cabin after our day trip to Athens. The capper to the weekend was the Great Crack Canyon sighting in Logan.

I am often painfully aware that in semi-rural settings the prevalence of caps is the warning sign that you are entering Great Crack Canyon territory. Logan is no exception. Hubby and I were in a store. I walked around a display shelf to go up another aisle where I saw Great Crack Canyon in all its glory surrounded by natural flora. A woman stood talking to her husband, who was bent over in a most unflattering manner. His pants had slipped to cover only the curvature of his nether regions, exposing Great Crack Canyon gleaming white against the Fur Forrest. I was momentarily struck blind, mute and paralyzed. My reptilian brain, bent on survival, saved me by pumping equal measures of adrenalin and revulsion through my blood stream. If I had had a lighter, I would have set my hair on fire and run screaming from the establishment.

After my trip to Great Crack Canyon, the rest of the trip passed uneventfully. I did manage to finish one of my anniversary socks. I did remember why I agreed to marry Hubby 13 – yes, THIRTEEN – years ago. I am just hoping that next year’s weekend away goes a bit more smoothly. Just in case, I am getting the flame thrower, tequila, and tranquilizer darts.