The '82 holidays over, our little family settled into a new routine. It was not that dissimilar from our old routine. But as I remember it, slower. We were closing in on two years in our new house, and had overcome the excitement and surprises that usually accompany such a risky undertaking. Here's a pic of our tidy little abode known as a Baby Ford, built in the '20s.
And this.
In this shot Ted and Christy took time out from racing around the snowless sidewalks of Francis Street to catch their (foggy) breath and pose for the old man on their trusty mounts. The little riding truck Ted is straddling disappeared over the years. But Christy's Volkswagon is still hanging in our garage and is a favorite of our grandchildren.
Outdoor playtime was often followed by scenes like this.
Hobnobbing around the neighborhood in a snowsuit is hard work. A girl needs her recovery time. Upon occasion, Christy's mostly attentive parents were able to wrestle her out of her winter armor before she crashed. But this situation was not uncommon.
Son Ted has another sister, Jamie, daughter of Ted's mom and her second husband. Occasionally Jamie, who is six months older than Christy, would accompany Ted on his weekend visits to Dearborn. Here's a pic of the happy threesome after an outdoor play session.
Similar scenes defined most of that mild winter of '83. Like this.
The outfits changed, but not the weather. There was another favorite indoor activity during that winter which we caught on camera a few times. That was curiosity about the little girl in the mirror. Christy's active imagination, which blossomed fully in her early school years, was showing itself already.
I relate to this picture very well as, according to my mother, I spent a fair amount of time at that age talking to my little friend in the mirror. I can't remember his name, but he looked a lot like me.
In late March as winter was winding down, Nancy took a two-week instructor assignment in Atlanta. In what was a forerunner of times to come, I decided to take time off and join her for the second week with the kids. Sort of a low-budget vacation.
Still developing our schtick as vacation travelers, we took it slow. By we I mean Ted, Christy, my sister Cindy and me. We took two days to make the 700 mile drive to Atlanta, staying one night somewhere in the hills of Kentucky. A far cry from our prime years of driving a 1000 miles in one day with a van full of kids. Or even - in the crazy days - driving straight through the night to central Florida. About 1200 miles.
I should add here that Nancy and I are now on the down side of the driving bell curve, as we finally had our fill of double digit hours in the car. With all the time in the world (retirement), why were we killing ourselves? Those true crime podcasts (our new guilty pleasure) would still be there the next day. So our new practice is to drive eight hours or less a day, completing our travel for the day before dinner. Then lounging in a somewhat upscale hotel room for a few hours with comfort food and something to wash away the road dust. Despite the fact that this means an extra day (or two) to reach our final destinations, we've taken to the new routine with relative ease.
Back to 1983. We arrived in Atlanta on a Sunday and checked into a not-too-fancy high-rise condo. Nancy moved over from her hotel of the previous week to join us. The week unfolded pretty much as planned. While Nancy went to the office each day, the rest of us saw the sights. Here are a few pics. First our accommodations. Modest, but our kids first experience in a high-rise.
The kids loved pressing themselves against the glass on the enclosed balcony of our 14th floor condo, and gazing out over the city. My parental paranoia was in overdrive. I don't even like ladders. Those glass panes looked a little shaky to me. But most of our time was spent outside in the inviting Georgia weather. Here we're walking around checking out the neighborhood.
One day, for a little excitement, we got dressed up and went to the zoo.
There we met several new friends, both foreign
And domestic.
All in all, it was an exhausting day.
Note the lo-tech child transport device we employed. No shoulder harness, no bumpers, no sun shield and no hard-shell protective seat. Called an "umbroller". But, it was great for the parents. Easy to carry and store. The child safety people policed these all up a few years ago I think. We fell under the grandparent amnesty clause, so no charges were brought.
On another day we took the 30-minute trip out to Stone Mountain east of the city. According to the tourist brochure, Stone mountain is really the tip of one gigantic rock that formed 350 million years ago. Within the last 100 years the rock has become controversial because of the Confederate monument carved into its north side. But it had a good run before that (349,999,900 years). So I give it the benefit of the doubt. Just for the record, here's a shot of the monument, the largest carving of its kind in the world. It will likely be "uncarved" in our lifetime, I think, due to its racist origins. But the incredible mountain will still be there.
The non-controversial face of the mountain, impressively large and sheer.
A shot as we board the train to the top of the mountain.
And one final shot from that day of Ted, taking a break from his umbroller chauffeur duties, hoping I would soon run out of film.
Our wild week in Atlanta ended without incident. Nobody fell through the condo glass nor off the mountain, and Nancy completed her teaching gig. So there was nothing to do but head home. I think the kids were ready, too. They were and still are excellent travelers. But judging by their expressions as we headed back up through Georgia carpet country and though the mountains of Tennessee and Kentucky, they were happy.
On our way home we stopped in Covington, Kentucky, for a visit with two old friends, Dick and Mary. These two spent several years in Detroit before their move to the regional office in Cincinnati, Dick as Nancy's and my division chief. We had partied hardy with Dick and Mary during their Detroit days.
As with most senior leaders, Dick could be controversial at times. But he was always supportive of Nancy and me in our careers and taught us a lot about navigating a large organization. He also introduced me to country music, for which I am still very thankful. I have many fond memories of our time together.
As we prepared to take to the road for the last leg of our trip, we took this family shot.
All but one of us seem to be having a good time. But even Christy cheered up once we got on the road, as documented in this rearview mirror shot.
We arrived home safe and sound, and happy to be there. As March passed into April, we returned to our slow but steady "new groove" - work, managing child care, home fix-ups and Friday night with a "Monroe Street Special" for dinner (the best pizza I've ever had). Occasionally, there was some excitement. Like a trip to Grandma Burk's to play with "the castle" (introduced in an early post).
And finally, a trip up way up north (Indian River area) with my parents to visit some of their oldest friends Tag and Irene. Here's Tag "riffling the tickets" as we used to say (dorm-speak for dealing cards).
And Irene with my mother drinking happy juice from plastic cups.
So who are Tag and Irene? A little background. Remember this pic?
Now about Tag and Irene. To get to these festivals the band members, mostly early to late teens with a smattering of twenty-somethings, spent anywhere from two to five hours on a '50s style, diesel burning bus with threadbare upholstery and little tiny sliding windows. It was great.
As would be expected, the parents of band members would often journey to these festivals in support of their budding musicians (and to see how their investment in music lessons was paying off). But they drove in their own comfortable cars. Enter Tag and Irene who also had kids in the band. They and my parents got to know each other as they would carpool on these trips.
As mentioned earlier, these trips to tote a 23-pound musical instrument up and down the main streets of rural Michigan, often behind horse-drawn wagons of potatoes or sugar beets or pickles, could take several hours. So here's how that worked.
The bus full of kids would leave early in the morning and average about 50-55 miles each hour on the bus. My parents with Tag and Irene in tow, would leave about a half hour later, traveling more like 65-70 miles an hour in their car. They would soon catch and pass the bus, then continue onward for another half hour or so to a well-situated tavern. There they would enjoy a beer or two until they saw the bus go by. They then called for the tab, hopped back in the car and resumed the chase. Typically, we would see their car cruise by our bus two or three times before we disembarked at our festival destination. The parents, in surprisingly good humor, would be standing there waiting for us.
With such a solid foundation, it's no surprise that Tag and Irene's friendship with my parents lasted much longer than the band. There'll be more Tag and Irene stories later in this timeline, and many will include beer (or other happy juice) in plastic cups.
Now back to the end of April 1983, and to the end of this post. I'll resume with the exciting May of '83 next time. Talk to you soon.
Grosse Pointe Charles
