THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 19, 1994 TAG: 9406170078
SECTION: HAMPTON ROADS WOMAN PAGE: 05 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY JANET S. WEAVER, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: 940619 LENGTH: Medium
That column struck a chord with a lot of folks, especially women. Some women told me what a wonderful idea this trip was, how they wished they could get away for a week alone with their mothers - no husbands, no fathers, no other siblings to compete with for attention. Several readers wrote me notes, describing trips they'd made with their moms or their daughters.
{REST} But more women expressed horror at the idea of a full week alone with mom.
``Two days is my max,'' one friend said to me. ``Then I start thinking murderous thoughts.''
I have to report that not one murderous - or even unkind - thought passed through my mind during my seven days with my mom.
We met at my brother's house in South Carolina to fly together to Florida. I've flown at least a billion miles since my first airplane trip back in college. Mom had never been on a plane.
And of course, the first leg of our trip wasn't on some nice, wide-bodied jet. It was on a little puddle-jumper, the kind that sounds like an oversized lawn mower for the entire flight.
And of course, it was not a clear, beautiful day. Nope, the sky looked bruised, and the pilot kept talking about his fruitless search for ``smooth air.''
Mom was a trooper. She never even flinched - although I have to admit I did flinch a couple of times when the flight took on the characteristics of a roller coaster ride.
We made it to West Palm Beach and our waiting rental convertible. (A side note: I'd promised Mom a red convertible. We had to settle for electric blue. What a sacrifice.)
After spending a night with some friends of mine - who kept apologizing for using slightly off-color language in front of A Mother - we hit the highway for Key West.
I've been to the Florida Keys many times. I've ridden down in the back seat of a friend's decrepit Chrysler ``K.'' I've flown down, watching the water color change from deepest blue to emerald green. But I've never had as much fun in the going as I did on this trip - the two of us, the top down, the radio up. It was one of those moments that I will remember forever, a moment when my mom and I were truly friends.
The rest of the trip was just as pleasurable. There's nothing quite as nice as traveling with someone who likes to do the same things you do. We did all kinds of touristy things, like going to the Audubon House and the Little White House in Key West. We laid on the beach until our skin turned pink. We ate huge suppers and light breakfasts.
On the one rainy day, we went shopping, and my mother again exerted her bad influence on me: ``Oh, you should get that outfit. It looks great, and you'll wear it forever.'' We went to a minor league ball game, ate hot dogs and pizza, and even won a door prize. We went to the movies and ate a huge tub of popcorn.
Our last day of vacation came too soon. We went to the beach and walked along the shore for a long time, not saying a word. We got to the airport early and sat in the terminal, eating gourmet ice cream and reading the local papers.
And then we arrived back in South Carolina and went our separate ways.
There was no emotional scene, no big hugs, no declarations of love and pledges to call each other soon. We're not that way. She emptied her car's trunk of the Christmas presents that had been too large for me to carry home on the plane last December. I handed her the enlargements of my wedding portrait that I've been promising to get to her for a solid year.
``I had a great time,'' she called as she got into her car.
``Me too,'' I replied.
That was it. A quick goodbye and a full bag of memories that both of us will carry with us forever.
It was a very good vacation. One of the best.
by CNB