Selective Memory

I do not come from a family of travelers — or campers, for that matter. Our summer vacations were truncated due to softball schedules and summer school, leaving us about three weeks in the summer to get away. This was shortened further by my parents' garden obligations, shortage of money in August, and the poor-traveling ability of a certain eldest daughter (that would be me and my motion-sickness-prone stomach.) So, we spend a glorious week on Deer Lake in Wisconsin, at a place known to us as "Mac's cabin" belonging to a former principal of my dad's, John McManus.

But one summer, my godparents took me out camping to a Yogi Bear campground. I must have been about five, I suppose. I fondly remember sitting in the back of their car; I remember sitting in the pool; I remember knowing all the words to "Afternoon Delight" for some reason and my godparents smiling saying, "if only she knew what the song meant...." So, when I saw the listing for Yogi Bear Campground in the Indiana Dunes brochures, I jumped right to those memories, thought it would be fun for the boys, and off we went. I failed to notice the number of sites (almost 1000) — an important detail as it makes the campground a lot bigger, busier, and less accessible for two young boys to navigate independently (at least with their mom being comfortable with their navigations...)

Not only did I miss the small print with the Indiana campground, I missed the specifics of my childhood Yogi Bear experience. The aforementioned pool of memory was less-than clean with dead leaves floating on the top and an entire morning was spent in the tent, trapped by a downpour, leaving us with only a camping pan for a restroom. I'm sure my godparents and I packed up after the storm, maybe stopping for a movie on the way home. Brian, the boys, and I spent the night in the care of Yogi and friends, but packed up in the morning, leaving behind the crowds in their golfcarts and campers. Instead, we found an open site in the Indiana Dunes National Park. No crowds, no golfcarts, no playground (sorry boys), but lots of tenters, clean bathrooms, private showers, and — yes —bugs, a wonderful way to end the vacation.

Thrill Seekers

If I were to ask you for an adjective to describe our boys, chances are slim that "daring" and "risk takers" would come to mind. Yet, that is what they were yesterday at the aforementioned water park in Mackinaw City. Bob tried water slides beyond his knowledge and meandered down a "lazy river" — putting extra tubes on his head, exploring the limits of his tube, making the lifeguard jump in to pull him out after his tube capsized.... It was fun to see him not hold on "white knuckled" like his older brother would have done.

Now for the older brother. He's been an aficionado of water slides ever since his adventure at the St. Louis Park Water slide in ought-eight. It was his best day, he wrote in school: lunch,

water slides with his cousins, dinner at home, then back to the slides until close. The park we visited yesterday boasted 12 water slides, with two of them being of the "extreme thrill" class. After warming up on the milder rides, Ed and Brian climbed the ladder to the precipice (I'm not exaggerating here — the dual slides were 280' long and 6 1/2 stories high.) Ed ascended — and descended...quickly. I might even describe it as plummeting to the earth, but I'm his mother just over-reacting here. And THEN....he goes up again to try the other high slide. I'm still a little shocked about his boldness, but pleased at it. Just when you think you've got 'em figured out, they throw something at you that you wouldn't expect.

Enemy Territory

Noticing one's brand is difficult at home, but incredibly obvious while on the road. We've been flying our Minnesota colors while vacationing in the NFC Central/AL Central/Big Ten region and, as Brian says, "Making friends."

Our first stop was Green Bay, WI. Home to just over 100,000 people and twice as many Packer fans. Lambeau Field is a mecca of sorts to those flying the green and yellow and there is nothing lukewarm about their affiliation or affection. Of course, we were not just around Lambeau but inside of it — on a tour led by an enthusiastic guy from Eau Claire. We got to see statues of Curly and Vince, a Heisman, sit inside a luxury sweet ($100,000 a year and it could be yours...) and walk down the Packers' tunnel to enter the field (the visitors' entrance was described as a "crack in the wall".) Then, after being warned not to walk on, roll in, touch, lick, or pick the stadium grass, we took sat down on our momentary "18 inches of aluminum pleasure" (what they call the bleachers), saw the scoreboard and yelled, "Go Pack Go!" Through it all, Eddie wore his Vikings hat. And was teased ever so gently by the tour guide — a lifetime Packers/Brewers fan who raised his eyebrows at Ed's national-league affection for the Cardinals, but collaborated with Ed on dislike for the White Sox/Yankees.

Now, I am not a football fan — I am a baseball fan. But there we were, standing in the tunnel to the field and the guide tapped a kid and said, "Now, just imagine you were standing here on game day about to play in front of 80,000 fans. Can you hear them cheering? You have to believe that you will hear them and then you just might." And of course, the gate opened and in piped a game-day recording and we walked up the tunnel, crossing over the bricks crossed by Lombardi himself. And I got goosebumps. And Eddie grinned, wide-eyed.

Now Bobber — he liked the helmets in the gift shop ($270), but refused to try on an actual uniform at the kidsfest thing they had going on outside the stadium. And I think he liked the players on bicycles. Oh, did I mention we visited on the first day of Packers training camp? Timing. Is. Everything.

We left Lambeau for Mackinaw City, Michigan set up camp next to a family from Troy, MI who immediately called our attention to our Twins' gear (it's okay — the daughter likes Scott Baker), offered to buy Ed some green and white Michigan State gear, and smiled at Bob's Vikings' pants/Twins' shirt combo this morning (it's okay — the dad liked Culpepper.) The boys are notably well-stocked in Minnesota gear, making us stand out while away from home. But Brian is right — it does help us make friends. Rivalries — especially in the Midwest — give strangers something to talk about and a common language to share without the nastiness of East Coast venom.

We have some pics that we'll post later this evening, if all goes according to plan. Now, we're off to water park extreme. We'll be in the straits area until we leave for Motown on Saturday morning.