Mother-Son Bonding at 35 MPG

Mother-Son Bonding at 35 MPG

The mid-afternoon Friday flight from Chicago to Cincinnati pushed back from the gate late, but there was still plenty of time for my mother and me to attend my niece’s wedding rehearsal dinner upon arrival. Storms in southern Ohio caused weather delays, so our captain kept us in the flight queue, ready for imminent departure. Then we needed additional fuel, in case of an unexpected diversion. Back at the gate, two hours into our non-journey, the flight was cancelled.

Book another flight? Nothing departing until 9:30 that night, if the final plane had seats available, and if it took off.

“What’s your first choice, Mom?” I asked. “Stick around here for a few hours, have a nice dinner, and take that 9:30 flight, or go home and come back Saturday for a quick flight before the 6:00 p.m. wedding?”

“I never want to see O’Hare again in my life, John. Can we drive?”

“Sure, Mom. Let’s get these nonrefundable tickets refunded first.”

The concourse agent refunded our $616, and told us it would take “up to three hours” for our luggage to appear in the baggage claim area.

“Why so long?” I asked the baggage agent downstairs.

“Because we never know with certainly what’s going to happen to baggage from a flight that is cancelled. It may have to go to Cincinnati first.”

Mom was a VERY good sport during the lengthy wait in the baggage area. She did a crossword puzzle from the airline magazine, ate a piece of cake from Starbucks, drank an Odwalla orange juice, and kept calm and cheerful, while I ‘” oh nevermind.

Three hours, three hundred unanswered questions, and three thousand miles of pacing the airport produced three pieces of paper promising delivery of our luggage “by midnight on Sunday, we hope.” The wedding was Saturday, and neither of us would have appropriate clothing ‘” I had no clothes except for what I was wearing.

 

Cline Avenue, Hammond, Indiana on Google Maps, and view the area from above.)

South on I-65 through Indiana, to I-74 into Cincinnati. Gas was a bargain, in the low-$4 range. Rest areas were plentiful and well-maintained. Weather was spectacular. I listened to my iPod wearing earphones, and Mom read a courtroom thriller.

I was happy with fruit for lunch, but she wanted a hot sandwich. “I’m on vacation, John. Let’s stop at McDonald’s.”

“My mother wants a hamburger. What are her options?” I asked the nice woman behind the counter.

“Cheeseburger?”

“No, hamburger.”

“We have a special dollar menu. Cheeseburger and fries.”

“Fine. No cheese on her cheeseburger, please.”

“What about you?”

“What’s your best chicken or fish sandwich? Last time I ate at a McDonald’s was in 1963.”

“Classic chicken sandwich on a nice roll.”

It was good food, I admit. Halfway through our brief lunch, four busloads of lookalike Indiana high school wrestlers arrived. The joint was jumping, and we were glad to get back into the car for more driving.

Her 1999 Camry sedan with only 23,000 miles got 35 miles per gallon. She asked me if she should get a new car, because her friends all have new cars, and I told her she was out of her mind. With gas over $4.00, her aged Camry is the most economical conventional family car in the world.

We snacked, sang a bunch of oldies together, talked about her past vacations, and drove successfully to Cincinnati in 6 hours and 15 minutes, arriving at our hotel with twenty minutes to spare before the shuttle bus to the ceremony departed. Whew! That was close, but it was a fine trip, if we forgot about the previous day’s airport fiasco, and our missing luggage.

The wedding was delightful. Here are three photos.

Caption: Lovely wedding setting in park adjacent to Ohio River

Caption: With riverboats cruising by during the reception

Caption: Proud Father and Grandma of the bride

I was on the phone with American Airlines for another hour after the party. They found my suitcase in Cincinnati, and they were sending it back to O’Hare on Sunday’s first plane. No word yet on Mom’s luggage.

Sunday morning’s post-wedding brunch at Cincinnati’s Vernon Manor Hotel was on Father’s Day. The brunch was sensational: exceptionally diverse and delicious.

Mom and I then drove back to Chicago, in a mirror image of our experience from the previous day. Nearing Cline Avenue, we encountered a blackout-downpour-thunderstorm, followed by a serious construction detour delay. Seven hours after leaving Cincinnati, we were back in the shack, exhausted.

American Airlines delivered our lost luggage at 9:00 on Sunday night. My return flight from Chicago was—fastenyourseatbelts—uneventful and right on schedule.

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I wasn’t wild about the idea of driving to and from Cincinnati, especially after such a rough day on Friday. But the memorable ride turned out to be an ideal time to enter a positive state of mind, save a load of money compared to flying, and get along well with my mother.

I’m not exactly a kid any more, and she has been widowed for four years after 59 years of marriage. The two of us probably will never have such an opportunity again. We’re still upbeat about it, in spite of the O’Hare ordeal.

Get to know your mother, or father, or old friend, or cousin, or sibling, or child, or neighbor a little better. Go for a walk in the woods together. Have some lemonade on a lazy afternoon, sitting on a park bench. Take a stroll on the beach. Sing along with Mitch, or Elvis, or Benny, or Barbra.

Or drive them to Cincinnati for Sunday brunch. Relax along the way, and don’t sell that old Camry.