I'm told by my most faithful followers that I missed several crucial elements in this summer's travel journal. Clearly I have to refine my note-taking and editing processes.
In any case, here goes.
The Story of Driving in Rural France
As is always the case when in a country where a stick-shift car is vastly cheaper to rent (or really, on pretty much any vacation) Bill did all our driving, channeling his inner Mario Battali and shifting up and down and around curves and generally enjoying himself hugely. (Yes, we know - Battali is the chef. But Izzy heard us refer to Mario Andretti and thought, once, that they were the same person.) And as you may know if you have enjoyed this kind of travel, when you are barreling along country roads you can pick up speed. But if you enter a wee village at top speed, a sign posted by the side of the road will record your speed and give you a frowny face if you are going too fast. Bill worked hard at managing this, and by the end of our week of driving was quite adept at slowing just enough to get a smiley face. Of course, the signs that admonish PRUDENCE! help to remind you to be careful. And if you aren't paying attention and blow by a sign that looks like it is telling you there is a mustache in the road ahead, you might fly over a raised crosswalk or a bump. Needless to say, Private H-P is entranced by the signs announcing mustaches all over the place.
The Story of the Cheapskate
I will say here that Bill Laskin is no cheapskate. Here we are enjoying a splendid European vacation, so to pick on him for making us march all over every town looking for the cheapest lunch option would be unfair. And mostly untrue. But sometimes we just want to sit down, and we don't particularly care if the restaurant looks like it will be "a bit much."
The Story of The Know-It-All
Fans and friends of Peter Laskin know that he knows a lot. And does not hesitate to share his knowledge. Nor does he suffer fools gladly. In what was debatably a bad-mommy moment,* after being interrupted with a correction for, oh, I don't know, maybe the five-hundredth time?, I told Bill to just ignore him and carried on with our conversation To Peter's credit, this caused him to burst out laughing. We now ignore each other regularly.
*I adore my son, but sometimes he needs to just shut up for a minute.
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