Margaret and Barry at Mardi Gras in Gloucester, NC

There’s nothing like a little publicity to mess up a great local event. That must be what the folks in Gloucester, North Carolina were thinking when their down-east Mardi Gras celebration got written up in Our State magazine. As one volunteer confided, “We were hoping for a little bad weather, to keep the numbers down.”

Be careful what you ask for! The evening before the event, Mother Nature dumped an unprecedented foot of snow on the area. This was not a little bad weather. For an area where snow shovels are rare (we saw people raking their driveways), it was a LOT.

Still, Barry and I were only 15 miles down the road, and we had four-wheel drive. It was no problem to drive to Gloucester, a tiny town about as close to the end of the road as you’re likely to get. Our route was lined with snowmen, including one wearing a bikini!

When we arrived, we found friendly folks serving up seafood gumbo with big ol’ crab legs, chunks of fried turkey, red beans and rice, and king cake. Everyone seemed to be wearing a silly mask or hat, so our colorful outfits fit right in. “Wait a minute,” said Pam, when we ran into her, “don’t y’all live on a sailboat? Where do you keep those costumes?”

And then someone shouted, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!” and rowdy dancing began. It was the zydeco band Unknown Tongues, who had started this community Mardi Gras celebration 18 years ago. They set our feet and hearts dancing, right there in that wacky North Carolina snow, especially when they played “You’re Gonna Look Like a Monkey When You Get Old.”

(Weird, small, coincidental world! I just realized, when I read the Our State article, that proceeds from Mardi Gras go to the Woodrow Price Scholarship Fund. That would be the same Woodrow Price I wrote about almost a year ago, when my Dad came to visit.)

Margaret poses with the Official Mardi Gras Snowperson

The first people we met were the best-dressed of the whole event

Barry and a new friend practice their flashing technique

Barry liked both the front and back of this headpiece

Margaret poses with a bumper sticker that's perfect for her

This kind fellow passed out a taste of gumbo to the folks waiting in the food line

This fellow knew how to accessorize, with a tiny ukelele and a rubboard tie

The tooth fairy came, with plenty of teeth and dental implements to share

Great sunglasses

Proud lady in a feather mask

This lady makes a special mask for the event each year

This tie was so bright, it practically glowed green

Man in feathers

Don't let the elegant brocade jacket fool you -- this lady could DANCE

Two masked ladies caught in the unladylike act of eating gumbo

The bonfire was necessary to thaw us out for dancing

Dancing like a bunch of monkeys in the snow from Margaret Meps Schulte on Vimeo.

A couple of weeks ago, we heard that some seriously bad weather — namely, snow — was headed to coastal North Carolina. Although it seemed counterintuitive, we could avoid the cold by going north. So we jumped in the Squid Wagon for a road trip.

It will come as no surprise that our destination was a pot pie supper in Odessa Simpson’s cozy farmhouse kitchen. Barry was eager to participate this time, especially since he’d seen both my Pot Pie Nirvana video and the Sand Tart 101 video sent by our friends from Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania.

Along the way, we stopped at a Piggly Wiggly grocery store and bought every single can and bottle of Cheerwine soda they had. We delivered the cherry-flavored beverage to Mike and Wes, who can’t buy their favorite soda in Pennsylvania any more.

Loading a grocery cart with Cheerwine

The Squid Wagon could have held 20 times this much Cheerwine

Piggly Wiggly: The best place in the South to buy Cheerwine or wiggly pig parts

Just as expected, the snow passed south of us. Washington D.C. got enough to paralyze the city, which only requires about three snowflakes. We enjoyed a romantic dusting, with fluffy flakes falling past the window as we rolled out pot pie dough. There was lots of hanging out and talking, watching videos, cooking, eating, and we even got to see Avatar in 3D. A perfect weekend with our borrowed family.

When we packed the van, the Cheerwine was gone, but we were now carrying a  family-sized tub of leftover pot pie. I wondered how we would eat it all.

Donna and Mike celebrated their wedding anniversary while we rolled pot pie noodles

Rolling pot-pie noodles while Odessa mixes up the dough

By Monday evening, D.C.’s snow had melted enough that we could drive to our second destination, Alexandria, Virginia.

We hadn’t seen the Johns family for over a year, and that makes a big difference. Not only do the kids grow up so fast, but Sandy is always adding to her fun house collection. That’s fun house, not funhouse.

The last time we were there, for a Memorial Day party, three Slurpee machines, one cotton-candy machine, and two ice-cream makers were all cranking out cool treats, while a steady stream of burgers and chicken came off the gas grill. There was a pile of extra bathing suits so that kids who hadn’t brought theirs could go in the pool. Downstairs, in the TV room, shelves were stacked floor-to-ceiling with games, movies, and books. Another room was full of craft supplies. There was a friendly dog, a Sheltie, and a cat who didn’t mind being carried around upside-down by small, well-meaning children.

Isn’t growing up in a house like this every child’s fantasy?

But wait, there’s more! When we arrived last week, we discovered additions: Three pinball machines and a multi-game video console. I noted a commercial-style popcorn cart and a new hot dog oven, too.

Cindy and her friends take a break from cookie-baking on their snow day

The day we planned to leave, there was another little snowstorm, enough to close down the schools but not keep Andy and Sandy from going to work. It was so much fun hanging out with Cindy and Becky that we stayed an extra day.

Despite all the fun toys in the TV room, February’s action was all in the kitchen. Cindy had been selected as a student ambassador with People 2 People, and now she needed to raise money for a summer trip to Europe. Her Mom had an ambitious idea: Why not set Cindy up as a cookie-baker? So they created an email address, cindythecookiegirl@gmail.com, made posters, and sent out an email blast. The response was overwhelming. It seemed like everybody wanted to order The Cookie Girl’s giant heart-shaped, decorated cookies for Valentine’s Day.

For a couple of days, the Kitchen-Aid mixer seemed to run non-stop, and Barry and I pitched in to help. Mainly, we took photos, ate test batches of oatmeal, chocolate-chip, and sugar cookies, and made meals that did not involve sugar, butter, and chocolate chips. We shared our pot pie leftovers and made chili and cornbread. Mostly, though, it was like our visit with Mike and Donna. We were just reveling in borrowed family, enjoying the warmth of a home.

The weather forecasters began predicting another snowstorm, the one they called Snowmageddon and Snowpocalypse. It was time to go. The pot pie was gone, replaced with a beautiful 12-inch heart-shaped sugar cookie that Cindy had decorated with our names.

About an hour after we arrived at the boat, two special guests arrived. Barry’s aunt Jeanine and her partner, Jim, were on their way south from Rhode Island to Florida, and wanted to check on our progress. In a small-world coincidence, Jim is a sailor who had once hauled his boat at Bock Marine for a month. They’d visited us over a year ago, and we had a lot of projects to show off.

Barry, his aunt Jeanine, and her friend Jim aboard Flutterby, after eating some of the giant cookie

Now the yummy circle is complete. The Cheerwine went north to one borrowed family, the pot pie leftovers traveled to the next borrowed family, and the cookies came back with us, to be shared with relatives and our borrowed boatyard family.

We aren’t able to avoid snow — it’s predicted for the boat tonight. But the food-as-love that we brought back with us is keeping us warm, and will for a long time.

(More photos are below — there were so many good ones!)

Odessa watches Barry cook some sausages and peppers on the 60-year-old stove

Odessa Simpson loves both people and animals. This is the neighbor's dog.

Cindy checks a cookie recipe before beginning to bake

Cindy looks over a bag of chocolate chips for her cookies

Becky does a taste test of the unbaked dough

Cindy scoops cookie dough into a container

Cleanup is the best part!

Barry joins the "cleanup" crew

KitchenAid bowls make great hats after you've licked them clean

Sandy bakes a test batch of cookies

Becky watches as Cindy decorates our giant sugar cookie

The text reads "Happy V-Day Barry and Margaret, from the Johns"

Becky and I show off the cookie that I decorated

Left: Sam (Seattle) and Tina (Seattle), Middle: Bob (Seattle), Michael (Seattle), Tom (Yelm, WA), Right: Jon (Beaufort, NC), Jacqui (Bellingham, WA)

Since the fall, we’ve gotten word that seven dear friends are struggling with life-threatening illnesses. Initially, I felt shaken and helpless, wishing I could help. Now I just go through my day, thinking about them as much as possible. I hope they’re having a good day today, or at least a good moment right now.

Finally, I sat down at my computer and started going through my photos. I found that I’d taken joyful, exuberant photos of each one of them — boating, working, playing, celebrating, relaxing. So I compiled seven of my favorite photos to share with you.

You may not know these people, but if you did, you’d like them. So could you please send them a wish for a good day? If you do that, I’ll have a great day myself!

Last fall, I went to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, not because the town’s name is so cool, but to document an amazing chicken pot pie recipe. I’ve been raving about Pennsylvania Dutch pot pie ever since.

A couple of weeks ago, Barry found leftover Christmas turkey and gravy in the fridge. Could it be turned into pot pie?

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” I said. “Making it from turkey instead of chicken might be sacrilege.”

Barry just looked at me and waited.

“All right,” I sighed. “But you have to watch the video first.” So we sat down and watched the Pot Pie Nirvana video. This put me in the mood and showed Barry the technique.

Then we rolled up our sleeves and made pot pie together in our tiny boat galley. This proves that two people can cook almost anything in a kitchen with less than three feet each of counter space and floor space, if they are extremely patient and affectionate with each other.

Barry shows off the dough in the bowl. It was cold enough to wear our Santa hats inside the boat.

Barry rolling out the noodles. This shows just how tiny our galley is -- Barry's working on top of the icebox, next to the stove.

Barry's using our rolling pin on top of a silicone mat to roll the noodles.

Barry uses a plastic knife to cut the dough into square noodles.

Barry cutting the noodles on the silicone mat.

Margaret made some of the noodles, too.

Dropping the handmade noodles into turkey broth. For a pot, we used a pressure cooker without the lid.

Margaret blows on the spoon before testing the pot pie. Burning her tongue at this point would be a tragedy.

Margaret stirs in leftover turkey from Christmas dinner.

Meps is ready to eat her pot pie. The beverage of choice is a Mike's Lemonade, in honor of the guy who introduced us to pot pie.

I'm ready to eat! Stop taking pictures and sit down!

How do you write a poem?
Fill yourself full of tears.
Let their blackness rise up, up
Until they overflow
And fill your inkwell.
Then set the tears
To the page.

This is not the poem.

Keep writing until the ink runs dry.
What you find beneath the tears
Is the poem.
###

About a week ago, I wrote about our decision to stay here in the boatyard for the holidays. At the time, I was feeling sorry for myself, and my tone was so wistful that friends and family responded with consoling emails (my favorite was the invitation from Australia).

Then the celebrating started, and I forgot to be sad.

My dictionary defines “jamboree” as “a large celebration or party, typically a lavish and boisterous one.” Some definitions involve Boy Scouts or country music.

One of our holiday activities was attending the Christmas show at the Crystal Coast Jamboree with the Bock family, boatyard employees, and liveaboards. But the real jamboree was the evening’s dinner, held at a Japanese steakhouse. The chefs flipped and twirled and tossed the food to us as though we were trained seals. At one point, Kenny egged Dale into eating some wasabi for the first time. “DAMN!” he exploded, practically spitting sushi. “What IS that stuff?”

Our solstice bonfire - Barry, John, Marilyn, Philip

The days grew shorter and the nights longer. On December 21st, we celebrated the Solstice with a bonfire — well, actually a little campfire on the edge of the sandblasting pit. We ate roasted weenies, melted cheese sandwiches, and toasted marshmallows. Most importantly, we ran a 100-foot extension cord and plugged in a crockpot full of mulled wine. We were warmed inside and out.

It takes more than food and fire to properly celebrate the Solstice, though. This is the window between the lunar and solar new years, when evil spirits inhabit the earth and must be kept at bay by merriment and partying. At least, that’s what Philip of Oryoki said.

Our merriment included dancing around the fire in leafy green headdresses and playing some extremely loud percussion. “Extremely” means that some steel boats are more fun to beat on than drums. We bid the moon farewell (guess who did so by actually mooning it) and listened to every song I could find in our collection about the sun. “Eu Quero Sol” and “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” were the most apropos.

Philip chases away evil spirits

Then came the event that was my real reason for staying over this Christmas: A North Carolina oyster roast. I stuffed myself on steamed oysters dipped in melted butter, and Barry ate multiple helpings of deer stew and hush puppies. Dale sucked down more hot vinegar sauce more than wasabi peas, though. Everyone was smiling as we stood around the fire barrel, relaxing and enjoying each other’s company without any of that silly boat work.

Meps gets ready to slurp an oyster

Warming ourselves around the fire

After the oyster roast, the boatyard closed for the holidays, but we kept the fires of holiday spirit bright, celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas aboard our boats. Flutterby was chock-full of little wrapped gifts, sent from Washington and Florida and Oregon and Ohio, and cards — some of them homemade — from everywhere. Oryoki was decorated with garland and colored lights. We sported Santa hats around the boatyard and debated on which side the pom-pom should dangle.

Wonderful collection of cards

Our Christmas dinner was a delightful sort of scavenger hunt — I got my 12-pound turkey out of the refrigerator on Ula G and took it to the lounge to wash it. Then we plopped it onto the huge propane grill that we’d rolled from Pelican (a monohull) to Oryoki (a catamaran) to keep it out of the rain. The turkey was just the centerpiece — the table on Oryoki groaned under cranberry sauce and stuffing and homemade rolls and veggies. The butterscotch pie waited out in the cockpit, and the whole thing was washed down with Marilyn’s homemade egg nog.

I wore my Santa's helper lingerie all day on Christmas

Barry on Christmas Eve aboard Flutterby. Hot artichoke dip was a hit!

Nobody turned down the butterscotch pie with meringue topping (see Foodie Gazette for recipe)

Homemade eggnog by Marilyn - yum

Beginning on the 18th, each day the spirit of generosity and gratitude increased in my heart, until I felt like the Grinch — my heart was three sizes larger. I was connected to friends and loved ones all over the world, even when the phone stopped working for 24 hours on Christmas Day. There was so much love, right here! How could I ever feel wistful or sad? It was the best Christmas EVER.

We’ve done so much traveling this year, together and apart, that we decided to stay here in the boatyard for Christmas. Theoretically, we’re supposed to be working on the boat, although the weather and our respective cases of bronchitis are hampering our efforts. I hate the thought of coughing into my respirator.

I got a little sad this evening, thinking about our plan to stay here on the boat. Our liveliest boatyard neighbors, Charlie and Dick, have gone back to Ohio to be with family. Our best friends in town, Ted and Malla, slipped Ocean Gypsy’s lines and headed south for the winter on Monday. Between the four of them, they’ve left us two boats and ten vehicles. That’s enough to open a used car lot!

Bock Marine threw a fantastic Christmas party, but it was over too soon. They’ll be closing down for a whole week. Without Randy and Larry and Dale and Kenny, the place is dreadfully dull. Minutes seem like hours. And there isn’t even mail delivery to distract us. No Christmas cards. No packages. Sigh.

For me, the hardest thing will be simply spending these days without any family. We love Mom, both our Dads, Grandma, and all our siblings and nephews and niece — and we have never, ever, ever in our lives spent a Christmas without at least one of them. I spent some time today looking at photos and videos from past Christmases, seeing how the sheer joy of being together is reflected in our faces. Not this year. Sigh.

A few days ago, I received an email asking what my favorite Christmas traditions were. I was initially stumped, having no decorations, no lights, no tree. With two people, how can we eat a whole butterscotch pie and a roast turkey? I sat here, sighing, in my Santa hat, wondering if I even have Christmas traditions this year.

In my Santa hat? There’s a tradition! We wear our Santa hats all the time in December. When it’s warm, don’t come on the boat — we might not be wearing anything with them. When it’s cold, my Santa hat goes great with my pink Death Bunny pajama pants. Which I sometimes wear out in the boatyard, just for grins.

How about making homemade cards every year? Sometimes they don’t go out until February, but I’ve never bought a Christmas card in my whole life. Our lengthy holiday card list is like the Hotel California. Once you are on it, you’re stuck for life.

And then there are the homemade presents. We’ve made mustard, soap, jam, apple butter, signs, jewelry, baking mixes, bookmarks, spiced nuts, and refrigerator magnets. We’ve burned some very strange CD collections (anybody remember “Goin’ to the Dogs?”). This year, I wrote four whole books.

And then there’s the calendar, a 5-year tradition. It’s a week-long project, because I seem to get sick just after Thanksgiving every year anyway. I might as well sit at the computer and design a calendar showcasing this year’s best photos.

I wish we could give one to every friend, every year. It gets harder to decide how many to print and where to send them. Rumor has it that one family member likes hers so much, she keeps the old ones hanging up and pastes new dates onto them.

The past week on the boat, I’ve been on elf-duty most of the time. I designed the calendars and cards, and Barry helped me assemble and wrap and sign them. We made some goofy presents, burned some silly CDs, and wrapped them in old road maps because I refused to buy wrapping paper. I forgot I was wearing my Santa hat at the post office, and wondered why everyone was smiling at me.

It’s going to be a great Christmas. I’ve spent the past couple of weeks thinking of ways to make people happy, and now the envelopes and packages are winging their way across the continent. My thoughts turn to our friends who are staying in the boatyard for Christmas — John, Philip & Marilyn, Audrey & Ward (whose nickname is Scrooge, but I don’t believe it). What can I do for them? And especially for Barry, who got me the Death Bunny pants?

Generosity — that’s my holiday tradition. Taking the time to let people know I love and appreciate them, no matter how far they are from me and my Santa-meets-the-Death-Bunnies outfit.

There are many things to be afraid of in the boatyard — rotten balsa, corroded stainless, falling off the ladder, stepping on a copperhead, and coming face to face with a bear are a few. But last night, the really scary things came out for a Halloween party.

Luckily, there was plenty of food to appease them. Actually, since it was a potluck, the scary things brought food! Not scary food, though. This potluck had no blue turkey.

Here are a few of the pictures. As you can see, nobody took the easy route and wore a Tyvek suit or a dust mask. But Audrey came as Randy, and Dick came as Charlie, and John came as Tony, which confused the heck out of people who didn’t know Randy, Charlie, or Tony. It left the rest of us gasping for breath, we were laughing so hard.

Audrey dressed up as a miniature Randy. She was almost as cute as the real Randy!

Dick came as Charlie, wearing a shirt that said Tony. He even made the same tasteless jokes as Charlie!

Celeste and Donna, with pointy things on their heads and great makeup.

Father Charlie had all the props, including the beer and the cigarette. He generated a few tasteless jokes, too.

Val and Harold brought the toga theme, which went well with Celeste's Pan look.

Is this the result of too much bottom paint? Wait, Scott's boat is not even hauled out!

Who was behind the mask and wig? He could be anyone, but he said his name was Barry. Then he went home with the honey bee. What's that about?

This is what we'll all be wearing to work on our boats, instead of those boooooring Tyvek suits.

The whole dressed-up gang, complete with jackstands and boats on either side of us. Scary!

The biggest hazard to my style of travel is inertia. When I’m going, it’s hard to stop and interact with people and places. When I’m stopped, it’s hard to get going again.

It’s also hard to know which way to go when I start again.

In Columbus, after my backwards-loop with Hank, I was hanging out at his little apartment, spending time with old friends, and having a great time. Finally, I had to just yank myself out of there. “Where are you going?” asked Hank, that Tuesday morning. “Over to Dave’s. After that, I don’t know,” I replied. “OK,” said Hank. “When are you going to call me?” “Next week.”

Dave and I drove his little sports car to the Chillicothe Indian Mounds in a light drizzle. We had the ancient mounds to ourselves, no other people walking around. But we weren’t alone. There was someone — or something — else there.

Dave with a shoulder cat

Dave and the fun little car we took to Chillicothe.

In the afternoon, back in Columbus, it was really time for me to leave. “Where are you going?” Dave and Maggie asked. “I don’t know,” I said. This time, I didn’t even know which way I would turn the wheel when I got into the car.

Dave looked very concerned as I got into my car to back out of his driveway. Then I realized it wasn’t my lack of destination, but the fact that I had a burnt-out headlight. I had a few hours of daylight to rectify that problem.

At the first stoplight, a car honked at me, because I didn’t get moving right away. I just didn’t know if I should go south, or east. My brother-in-law, Cody, told me he and a friend once went on a road trip where they flipped a coin at crossroads to determine their direction. Columbus traffic was too heavy for me to dig out a quarter and start flipping coins on the passenger seat.

I compromised and headed out of Columbus on US 33, into southeast Ohio’s hill (pronounced “heel”) country.

I’d spent nine days with Hank, and now this silence and freedom felt strange. It was like starting the trip over again.

In Logan, at dusk, I bought a headlight bulb. Feeling sorry for myself, I spent 15 minutes trying to get the old one out of the fixture. Then the clerks from the auto parts store took pity on me and got it out in 15 seconds. Just in time — it was dark, and I needed that headlight. I also needed a place to stay.

I had turned my nose up at the chain motels on the highway. Surely there was something better in town. I drove down the main street, but I didn’t see one. Should I go back to the highway? Whoops, missed the on-ramp! Time for a loop around the block — oh! I’m facing the Inn Towner Motel’s front door. Serendipity again.

It was in Logan that I got my traveling stride back again. The white-haired desk clerk entertained me with stories about life in Cuba during Castro’s takeover. In the morning, I laughed out loud when I ran through noisy piles of dry, crunchy fall leaves along the sidewalks. I joked with a policeman in the donut shop, where the donuts were handmade and not perfectly-shaped. He always bought a dozen for his buddies, but the guys at the station never saw more than eleven donuts. His special apple fritter never made it that far.

My favorite Halloween display

For some reason, I was being pulled east more than south. I picked a twisty 2-lane road that would take me toward the Ohio River and West Virginia. A couple of hours later, at a pit-toilet rest area, a cold fall rain started. Summer was over.

Now what?

I was pushing too hard. I’d sent some emails the previous week, looking for a retreat house where I could spend some contemplative time. The places I’d written to were south, but only one had answered my inquiry. They had a room available, but not for weeks.

Trying to make things happen was like pushing a piece of string. I had to let go of that particular string and look for another one. One that would pull me, if I just grab onto it.

Shivering in the car, I thought of my friends, Donna and Mike, in Pennsylvania. For me, Mike was one of the best things about our 2008 trip to Burning Man. He was our next-door neighbor, and it was his first Burn. Watching him experiencing the art and the creativity and the magic was like being first-timers again ourselves.

In 2009, he brought his wife and son down to Beaufort for a visit, and Donna and I really hit it off. We were all sitting at dinner, talking about food, and they started telling me about Donna’s mother’s Pennsylvania Dutch Pot Pie. It’s a 2-day affair to make it, and they just about went into rapture describing it.

“Can I get a recipe?” I asked. Not really, they said. Donna’s Mom hadn’t ever written one down. “You just have to come up and learn it from her some weekend,” they told me.

Sitting in the car in that cold drizzly rest area, I called Mike. “Can I come learn how to make pot pie this weekend?” I asked. “Sure!” he said.

In my imagination, I pictured a warm, bright kitchen, big bowls and cutting boards and bubbling pots on the stove. I imagined feeling like part of a family, getting messy and sharing the work. Laughing together, eating together. Could it really be that good? Could there be pot pie nirvana in southeastern Pennsylvania?

I grabbed the string and let the universe pull me across rainy West Virginia and Maryland. I was going to find out.

Power plant on the Ohio River

Crossing the Ohio River

I stitched 2 photos of 1 yard to get 25 of their scarecrows -- & there were 3 more I didn't get!

They even had dead scarecrows by the side of the road

Some of the 28 scarecrows in one yard in West Virginia

Smile for the camera!

When I arrived at Hank’s apartment in Ohio, ready for our vacation together, he gave me a present. “Here,” he said, handing me a toothbrush. “I got one from my dentist last week, and he said to give you one, too!”

I’ve never met Hank’s dentist, so why would he send me a toothbrush?

The answer is my brother’s infectious enthusiasm. He’d been living in anticipation of our road trip for months, talking about it with everyone he met. It’s no surprise that his dentist would send me a bon voyage present.

Or maybe he just knew that traveling with Hank, people would see my teeth, because I’d be smiling a lot.

Hank in the Tracker

In the meantime, I’d been feeling apprehensive about the trip. I’d just spent three weeks not having to answer to anybody, even my husband. Now I was taking responsibility for someone who seems healthy and strong, but is actually a little fragile. Hank told me he’d recently had an epileptic seizure at night and woken on the bathroom floor in the morning. That terrified me.

Then there was the pressure from people who looked at me like I was some kind of saint. When I explained to my new friends in Summit that I couldn’t stay for the Fog Festival because I’d promised a road trip to my disabled brother, Mike said, “It takes a special person to do something like that.”

The truth is, I’m not a saint or a special person. I’m a hedonist, and I expected this trip to be fun. Some fun just takes more effort than other fun.

Finally, after all of Hank’s anticipation and my apprehension, we set out on the road.

At Canadian Customs, the traffic director in the orange vest leaned on the window for a chat.

From the passenger seat, Hank told him, “My sister is taking me to Canada because I’ve never been there.” That’s when the man realized that Hank was special, and he looked at me like I’d suddenly sprouted a halo.

“I have a special needs daughter,” he said. “I hope someday her brother and sister will take her on vacation…”

I smiled and said, “You know, it just depends on the example their parents set.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “God only gives you what you can handle.”

Two days into the trip, I realized that this sister had taken on more than she could handle. It was the most exhausting travel I’ve ever done. How could someone so slow make me run so fast?

I found myself crawling on my hands and knees, looking for a tiny dropped pill. I listened through the bathroom door for 10 minutes as he argued — out loud — with the shower curtain, trying to get it to stay inside the tub, then, exasperated, his voice now several octaves higher, he called me in to help. I unloaded our luggage, carried it to our room, and in the morning, carried it out again. Back on my hands and knees, I checked for lost items under the beds. “Is this your toothpaste?” I asked, finding it there.

As we drove across Canada and the midwest, I gave Hank a running description of the scenery he couldn’t see. To my surprise, he didn’t respond to many of the things I pointed out. I’d be describing a cute Halloween display or reading a funny sign, and he’d interrupt me and start talking about a frozen dinner he’d eaten last week.

Our worlds were out of synch — why was he always talking about the past or the future? Why couldn’t he live in the present moment with me? He was happy, but would he have been just as happy at home?

It wasn’t until after the trip was over that I understood. Hank’s brain works differently — he gathers life’s experiences, stores them up, then processes them at his own speed. He simply can’t process them on the fly.

He actually told me at one point, “I think better when I’m sleeping.”

Hank with his "beer" at Hooters

A day or two after each event, he’d begin to relive it with greater and greater relish. One example of this was in Detroit. I asked him, “Hey, Hank, have you ever been to a Hooters?”

“No, but I’ll buy you dinner!” Obviously, he knew something about Hooters.

Once inside — neither of us had ever been in a Hooter’s — Hank was a lot more interested in the baseball game on the big-screen TV than in the waitresses. He ate his chicken and drank his non-alcoholic beer, and when we were done, I got a picture of him with six sexy smiling waitresses.

He did notice that their shorts were kinda short. “What do you call those again?” he asked me. “Hot pants,” I told him.

A couple of days later, he was on the phone with his friend, Juanita. “The waitresses were wearing these, um, orange, um, hot pants,” he told her. “And I got a picture with all of them!”

Hank with six new friends

Watching him interact with people, I could see why we had to do this. Taking Hank on a road trip was like giving the gift of a smile to many people. He’s so bubbly, he makes people happy. That sort of happiness needs to go on a road trip and be spread around. Even if it wears out his driver.

When we got back to his home, Hank had finished his processing. The trip was a huge success, and he couldn’t wait to call his friends. I heard him telling them about the big storm on Lake Huron, the Ford plant, the museum, the restaurants, and the nursing home where we’d visited our aunts. He couldn’t wait to get his pictures developed, and he couldn’t decided which of his new t-shirts to wear first. He had presents to deliver, too.

A couple of days later, we got together with Steve and Carol to eat pizza and catch up on news. Carol and I went upstairs for girl talk, and Steve and Hank sat outside making guy jokes and drinking non-alcoholic beer. Eventually, the guys came bounding up the stairs with some big news.

“We’re planning a trip to Niagara Falls next year!” they told us. “We’re going to rent a minivan, so we can all go together!”

I was flabbergasted. I looked closely at Steve, who was rattling off the details of the trip they had planned. Was that a faint halo over his head?

Before I left Columbus, Hank asked me, “Am I still fun to take on vacation?”

“Absolutely!” I said, with enthusiasm. I’d caught up on my sleep (while he was at work), and now I was anticipating the future eagerly. Steve and Carol and Barry and I may all need new toothbrushes — we’ll be smiling a lot, at Niagara Falls next year.

Hank and Margaret with Sisters Mary Pat and Mary Julia

Watch out! The blind guy is driving!

A big bowl of strawberry ice cream - yum!

Another smiling waitress