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This is the second chapter of a holiday series that will run for seven days and end on Christmas.

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Dana had spent the better part of three days packing everything she thought the family would need for the trip to Michigan, attempting to cover all the bases. The result was a mountain of luggage, ice chests, boxes of Christmas gifts, spare clothes, and road games to keep the kids busy, all stacked in the middle of the garage where the Country Squire should have been. Instead it was in the driveway.

Each progeny was allowed one small Piggly Wiggly brown paper grocery sack with them in the cabin of the Ford.  They could place whatever toys, snacks, reading material, or whatever they wanted in the sack, the contents not to spill out over the top.  Everything else was to be loaded and strapped down on top of the car, within the chrome roof rack.  This was perhaps the favorite part of the entire trip for Doug, the arranging: rearranging, strapping, re-strapping, and overall organization of the contents of the roof rack.  Days were spent planning, measuring, and getting ready for the actual loading of the Country Squire.

On the day before the family was to depart, Doug stood in front of the pile of luggage and chests, boxes of gifts and bags, and went to the garage to retrieve a step ladder and Kyle to aid in the loading process.  Three hours later, father and son stood beside the Country Squire admiring the work they had completed.  Doug grabbed the rope nearest him, attempted to tug on it. Finding it tighter than a piano wire, he declared, “This isn’t going anywhere.”

Maps of Texas, Oklahoma, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan that Doug had secured through the Triple A facility weeks earlier had been prepared. Each had been marked with yellow highlighter and all were rubber banded together in geographical order and placed in the glove compartment atop a new tire gauge purchased from White Automotive, a bottle opener, a book of matches from the Piggly Wiggly, and an ice scraper from his All-State-Farm agent, a gift for renewing his policies for Home, Life, and Auto just before Thanksgiving.  In a stack in the middle of the front bench seat was a collection of term papers Doug brought to grade at some point during the holiday so final grades for the semester could be posted when he got back home.

The next morning the alarm was set for 4:30 AM for a 5:30 departure.  They pulled out of the driveway a little after 7:00.  And then again at 7:20 after returning to get Crocket’s food, Dana’s birth control pills, feminine products that Kristen had hoped she wouldn’t need, but did, and a Bible Doug put on top of the maps in the glove compartment.  He’d decided at about 7:12 that the trip was going to require divine support and vowed to himself to attend church more often once they returned home.

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The original plan had been to drive all the way to Saint Louis and spend the night there.  The late departure caused a shift in the plan, repositioning the stop for the day in Joplin.  This change was communicated in hushed tones amongst the two front seat passengers, the one behind the wheel speaking in short sentences between clenched teeth.  Dana, equally tense, noted to herself that there had been no point in returning for her birth control pills.  The three kids had played the license plate game off and on till the Country Squire hit Odessa and then fell into a silence punctuated only by the occasional giggle or grunt.  Outside Big Spring, the intestinal parasite that Crocket had been dealing with ever since he ate the unrefrigerated turkey leftovers from Thanksgiving presented itself in the form of projectile vomiting that covered Kyle and most of the other items in the way-back area of the wagon.

The unexpected development of dealing with the canine catastrophe in the back of the Country Squire meant having to pull off the road at a rest stop in Snyder in an attempt to clean things up.  Dana did her best with the tools she had at her disposal while Doug unpacked the luggage atop the roof rack so that Kyle could be given a change of clothes.  Unfortunately, his suitcase was at the very bottom and Doug didn’t have the time or patience to unload that much.  Kyle wound up in a pair of his father’s pants that were way too big, and a blouse of Dana’s that was a flowery print she’d ordered from the Sears catalog and was looking forward to wearing over the holidays for the first time.  The result was a fourteen year old man-child who looked like a homeless transvestite.

Because of the god-awful smell still filling the cabin of the Country Squire, the windows were lowered all the way around and Doug put the wagon on cruise control at 85 trying to outrun the stench.  Crocket slept on the seat across from Kyle, though there was a continuous symphony of sounds coming from his gut that made Dana think she’d probably never wear that blouse.

The car pulled into a McDonalds in Stamford for food and a bathroom break.  Kyle refused to go inside, dressed as he was.  He chose to relieve himself in the shrubs behind the dumpster and waited in the car for his family to return with a Quarter Pounder and fries for him.  While waiting, Crocket stood at attention and then began what looked like full body convulsions.  Kyle was able to get the Magic-Gate door of the Ford open so the next round of vomiting could take place in the parking spot next to theirs.  He was still able to wolf down the Quarter Pounder, having the resiliency of a fifteen year old male.

The itinerary was adjusted once the family all piled back into the car.  They’d be stopping in Tulsa for the night.

The further north they drove, the cooler it got.  By the time the black Country Squire was crossing the Red River into Oklahoma, the windows needed to be rolled up all the way.  The pairing of dog vomit and McDonalds is not one that was ever meant to be endured for long periods of time.  Doug pulled the wagon into a Ramada Inn in Oklahoma City and got a room for the night.  After he unloaded only what was needed from the roof rack and gave instructions to Dana to order pizzas from the Pizza Hut across the street, he took the Country Squire to a car wash and did all he could to scour the back end of the car with one thing after another until the smell of puke had been replaced by the overpowering aroma of Pine-Sol and Armor-All.  Doug called his mother and told her they may be arriving a day later than planned.  “No problem, dear,” she said.  “Just be safe.  The roads are starting to get a little slick up here.”

No one slept well that night.

Doug didn’t bother to set an alarm; that only caused unwarranted tension and unreasonable goals.  The family woke up around eight in the morning and it was ten by the time they were on the road again. Kristen and Kim in the middle seat seemed to be taking turns napping, playing the license plate game, or hangman.  Kyle, in the way-back, was just glad to be in his own clothes again.  He kept his eye on Crockett, but the worst of his intestinal issues seemed to be finished.  He traded off between BOY’S LIFE, MOTOR TREND, and a paperback copy of The Outsiders, all of which he’d picked up at Ben Franklin with mowing money he’d made the previous summer.

By the time the Ford hit the city limits of Springfield, Missouri, the air outside had gone from chilly to frigid.  There were snowflakes falling from the sky and swirling around in small tornados that danced over the hood of the car.  By the time they got to Saint Louis, the end of the hood couldn’t even be seen due to the blowing winds and falling snow.  Nobody had said anything for the better part of two hours, everyone sensing the tension in Doug as he gave all his effort to navigating a highway he could no longer clearly see in front of him.

They pulled into a Holiday Inn and got a room to wait out the storm.  The three kids who’d never seen snow before were in a state of amazement.  Crocket ran around confused by the cold and the brightness and the wetness and turned behind him to watch his bowel movement steam and disappear into a snowbank never to be seen again.  By him, anyway.  Everyone was exhausted and had no problem falling asleep after another meal of fast food and carbonated sodas.  

When they awoke in the morning, everything was covered in snow as far as they could see, including all their possessions atop the Country Squire.  Doug borrowed a shovel and broom from the motel office and dug out as much as he could, hoping for the wind on the open rod to do the rest.  While not as bad as it had been the day before, the idea of driving at full highway speed was a fantasy, one of several that Doug played out in his mind as he tried to stay awake behind the wheel.  Dana thought of offering to take over driving but feared Doug would say yes. She’d never driven in snow before.

“Hey, Mom,” Doug said.  “The weather’s pretty bad.  We’ve lost a lot of ground.  Probably going to be another day before we make it,” Doug told his mother from a pay phone at a rest stop outside Indianapolis.

“That’s okay dear,” she replied.  “The weather has broken and the skies are clear here.  I’m sure it will get better the closer you get.”  The sound in her voice was that of comfort, concern, and longing all in one.  It had a strange effect on Doug as he heard his mother speak.  It was like he was Kyle’s age again and he just confessed to cheating on an English test.

His mother was right, though.  The weather seemed to break after they left Indianapolis and they made better time on the third day of the trip.  There was actually conversation in the cabin, like getting closer to the destination made everyone hopeful and talkative.  Kyle and Kristen asked Doug about his youth in Michigan.  

“What was it like growing up this far north?” Kristen asked.

“Did you learn to drive in the snow?  Did you ever wreck the car?” Kyle wanted to know.

“Can you eat snow?” Kim wondered.

“Not if it’s yellow,” Doug laughed.  Dana slapped his shoulder and laughed.  Kristen let it be known her father was gross.  Kyle took a while to figure it out and then thought about Crockett in the snowbank and gagged a little.

The mood was much more relaxed and reflective on the final leg of the journey than it had been the previous several days, like a swimmer feels after a long taxing swim in choppy water when the shore is in sight and the waters are calm.  By the time Doug swung the hidden headlights of the Country Squire on to Glade Street he felt like he was going home, even though it had been years since he’d been there.  He drove slowly and named off the names of the neighbors who lived on either side of the street, and how many kids each had.

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The house he grew up in looked like a postcard.  Steep gables, a deep porch the full width of the house, and a round-top navy blue front door.  He pulled into the narrow driveway and didn’t even have the car to a full stop before his mother was out on the front porch without a coat.  Only an apron and a floral print dress that he swore he remembered from his youth.  His kids were out of the car and on the porch getting hugs and kisses while Crocket perched near a snowbank to see if he could replicate the same trick in a whole new state.  The sky was as blue as Doug could ever remember it.  He and Dana got out of the car and walked up to the porch holding hands, waiting so as to not spoil the Norman Rockwell moment.  He looked up from the porch and saw the double window in the second story gable window that had been his room.  He looked at Kyle just a little differently, somehow with just a little more understanding at his goofiness.

The most underrated of the senses is smell, they say.  That was certainly true as Doug and his family followed his mother into the house he grew up in.  As soon as he shut the door behind him and took a deep breath, a rush of things came back to him all at once that he hadn’t thought about in years.  The house smelled of baking cookies, peppermint, Avon perfume, Witch-hazel, and Bar Keeper’s Friend.  Each by itself, some of those would have been an assault on the senses.  Together, they formed an aromatic cocktail that was unlike anything else and could never have been replicated.

The balance of the afternoon was spent unpacking and getting acclimated.  The kids were on the receiving end of their grandmother’s unbounded ability to love and bake.  Dana was actually feeling somewhat glad they’d made the trip.  Doug was constantly pointing out things he’d told his kids about but that they’d never actually seen.

Eventually, the kids found themselves in the basement.  An entirely different world for kids who weren’t old enough to remember such a thing from the only other time they’d been there.  “I thought the walls would be dirt, since you said it was underground,” Kim said.

“I think it smells cool!” Kristen noted.

“It is cool!” Kyle said.  “Can we sleep down here?”

“Of course dear,” their grandmother said.  “This is where you’ll be bunking down.”

Doug looked around at the knotty pine paneled walls, the multi-colored linoleum tiled floor, and the bar in the corner he and his brother had helped their dad build a few years before the ol’ man died.  The timer on the oven went off and they all made their way back upstairs to the small kitchen.  Dana and her girls sat at the kitchen table with Doug’s mom.  Doug signaled Kyle to follow him outside.  “Let’s let the ladies have their time together,” he said.  What he meant was he wanted time alone with his son.

The two of them trudged out the side door, down the driveway, and to the two car garage in the backyard.  Of course the handle wasn’t locked.  It probably hadn’t been since the fifties.  Probably a good thing, since the key was lost to the ages.  Doug stood in front of the large, one-piece double width garage door, turned the handle slowly to the right and pulled.  The creaking springs on each side strained to lift their burden, but then pulled the big door all the way up.

The garage had its own smell just like the house, and Doug remembered it like it was yesterday.  Inside, under a blanket of quilts, was the last new car his dad had ever purchased.  The 1956 Ford Fairlane Sunliner was black and pink, his mom’s favorite color.  Doug feared that mice may have gotten into the garage looking for warmth and stayed for the smorgasbord of treats an old car had to offer.  The moth balls and mouse traps spread around the inside of the garage must be more effective than he’d have thought.

One at a time, Doug pulled the blankets off until the time machine was fully revealed.  “WOW!  This thing is COOL!”  Kyle shouted, probably never having seen anything like it before.

“Last car your grandpa bought.  Said it was the perfect car for your grandma, despite it being a convertible in Michigan,” Doug said.  “He had to build an extension onto the back of the garage, just so it would fit in with that Continental kit on the back.”  That started a discussion of what a ‘Continental kit’ was, and why they were popular.  “This was built in Dearborn, not far from here.  This was as good as it got in 1956.  For a family like ours from Ferndale, anyway.  I remember him paying the long distance charges to call me and tell me about it the day he picked it up from the dealership and gave it to Mom.  Don’t recall him ever being so excited before,” Doug said.  “I was pretty excited, too.  But it didn’t have anything to do with a new car.  There was something new in my own life that was even better than a convertible.”

Kyle looked up from the pink and white interior of the Sunliner quizzically.

“You were born the day they brought it home,” Doug told him.  As happens, a single car can represent several touchstones depending on who’s owned it, or ridden in it, or had it be a part of their lives.

“You think maybe we can get it out and go for a drive while we’re here?” Kyle asked.

“We’ll see.”  Doug started covering it back up with blankets.

Back in the house all the females of the family were in the kitchen working on something.  Grandmother was at the stove, stirring something that smelled fantastic.  The girls were at the kitchen table chopping vegetables.  Dana was standing at the counter taking holiday cookies off a sheet that had been cooling since just before they arrived.  Doug looked at the assembled group of generations in the kitchen that had never been together in the same place before.  He wished his dad could be here to see it.  “What are you making for dinner?” Doug asked.  “It smells great.”

“It’s Shepherd’s Pie,” his mom said.  “It’s always been your brother’s favorite.  He’ll be home soon.”

The hair on the back of Doug’s neck stood up.  Dana could see him visibly stiffen.  He walked over to the Frigidaire and got a Dark Horse Ale, brewed in Pontiac, and went to the drawer where the bottle opener always was.

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