atlas and the jubilee

The Mags made it back safe and sound, folks. We had a ball playing in the Gulf and I only found one Cheetos bag I had to throw away. Well, that and an empty 16 oz. bottle of Mountain Dew. Can someone explain to me the mentality of an idiot that would litter a beautiful beach? That is the one thing I absolutely do not understand about humanity and it burns me good. It's called a trash can, you hick..use it! Alrighty then, I will calm my ole self down from that little tangent and proceed to share all that was our Redneck Riviera experience with you travel bug readers.

Let me begin with the beautiful, powdery and CLEAN sand. I stress the word clean because I hail from L.A.- where syringes and dirty butts dance at your toes. It was lovely and I couldn't help from just squeezing handfuls of it. Great exfoliator for my old gams, too. However, the water wasn't the blue that Mama's used to seeing in her beloved Tahiti but green's not all that bad of a color. It wasn't as muddy & kelpy as I thought it was going to be and it was just teeming with those delightful grey torpedoes who we all know and love. No not narco subs....dolphins! One day we were gifted by 3 or 4 of them as they flipped and carried on with their mischievous selves right there before our open mouths and abundant applause. What a magnificent creature. The girls were squealing like nobodies business...and were very lucky to have a front row float with Daddy as they were out bobbing just yards from all those cute bottle noses! Tres fun. And it was made all the more yippee-doodle by the pomegranate, jet-fueled margarita I had put in my trusty water bottle. Pama's Pomarita was the drink of choice for this Gulf Shores gal and it fit the atmosphere just perfectly. Along with all that does-a-body-good, healthy beta carotene, too. I was bummed when my hubby informed me that I couldn't trademark the name because someone had already beat me to it. Bummer. I could have had a little business going.

Anyhoo, this eco-system, a proud member of what the eggheads call The Fertile Crescent is pretty darn fascinating. From it's kettle of estuaries and marshes, chock full of all kinds of interesting life all the way up to it's Pine/Oak woodlands..so tall and majestic, those trees were...It opened my eyes to just what a well-oiled machine it is for groundwater recharge, storage, flood control and shelter to 49 species of just mammals alone! From the goofy gulping of the pelican to the gorgeous carriage of the osprey, we were in bird heaven. Don't even get me going on the gazillion lizards and beautifully shelled turtles that were the girlies favorites. We visited a well put together estuarium while down there, got to ride "on a boat with cars, Mom!" and even took a gander at Britney & then boyfriend, Justin T.'s, old ocean side mansion....way before they got super-duper mega rich and discovered places like the Cape of Antibes and the Seychelles.

One of the most interesting things we learned about was the Mobile Bay phenomenon that occurs on it's eastern side whereby a bunch o' crustaceans and bottom fish..crabs, flounder, stingrays, you name it..come ashore to dance and splash about. Basically getting their fishy selves right on down, Southern style, and having themselves a bonafide beach par-tay. Not much is known about this strange occurrence. It happens in the summer months when both the wind and waters are very calm. The sky, the previous day, has to have been cloudy and overcast for it to happen. The tide comes in, forcing the marine life to move up onto the shoreline...eventually becoming trapped in the shallow water, flip-flopping around. The locals then begin to whoop and holler, put down their Busch cans and go and grab their nets...scooping up some easy din-din pickins for them and their Alabama kin. It has something to do with the decomposition of leaves, plants and wood brought into the Bay and the results of oxygen depletion from all of it in the salty layer at the bottom. I'm not a scientist, plus I was kinda toasted at the time I was listening to how it all works, so that's pretty much all I can tell ya about it. Pretty neat though, I thought. I guess one could say that Mama was having her own personal "jubilee" while educating herself on the fish kind!

Big Daddy and I wimped out on the twelve hour drive and decided it best to stay the night at the halfway point to give the girls a booster break. Well, heck, I'm gonna be honest here, people- he has a bad right leg and I have a waitressed-out lumbar region and we were just too damn old to endure it. The kids had nothing to do with it, really. Mama being the budgeted SAHM that she is, picked a lovely Days Inn in Grenada, Miss. that she thought would work out well. The Dump Inn was more like it. Nearing midnight, exhausted and jonesing from a-way-too-long-past cocktail hour we pulled into the far back room by a dirty dumpster and saw what appeared to be a pimp fighting with his be-atch. Oy. Let's just say, I kept my shoes on until the very last minute when I curled up in bed with my glass of luke warm Sutter Home. The kids were oblivious however and were out like a light after snarfing some milk and a bag of Goldfish. Good times. As we pulled out bright and early the next morning, I had a very disgruntled husband by my side and some wicked indigestion from what I do believe might have been the worst breakfast I've ever consumed. We soon passed by our first swampy looking area- complete with algae, goopy underbrush and probably an alligator or two. My oldest asked her Daddy about that weird bunch of water. "It's what the Days Inn uses to make their coffee, dear", he retorted. That became the line of the trip for me.

And speaking of the ball and chain...as if our Honda wasn't packed to the hilt already, G. decided to bring along his borrowed Rand McNally 3 by 3 foot, spiral-bound book of maps, which basically became like his big breasted mistress while on our travels. Good grief, it was love & he was obsessed with that thing. He regaled us with all kinds of upcoming exits, towns and just a lot of boring mileage counts. Yeah, right. Like I needed to be reminded of the 1520 miles I had to cover coming and going. Oy again. That thing was in my way and bugging the hell outta me the whole time...and trying to keep the coffee and ketchup from dripping on it became a full time job. What with the that thar machine that played the kids their movies (a mother's salvation by the way), ridiculously extra baggage and at least 25 snack-sized Ziplocs full of fruit leather & granola, it was a wonder I had any place at all to stretch my poor cramping legs.

As the miles passed one by one, I began to breathe a little easier though, relaxing into the tuneage. There are a few times in my life when I've felt complete and utter satisfaction. You know, those rare moments when everything just falls into place...no liquid enhancement (rare for me, I know), no conditions..just joy. The simple kind. Soft and quiet. I had such a feeling in the early hours of morning, driving down the prettiest road I think I've ever cruised. What Mississippi doesn't put into their education, they sure do their highways. Smooth, beautiful medians and tree lined..a cozy track of emerald green. With the sun's rays peeking through the clouds, I felt in some weird way that this little bitty moment in time, was just about perfect. With Ray Charles supplying some killer rhythm, my kids safe and sound behind me and a weeks discovery ahead of us..I felt good. Special good. Until I saw the flashing lights just up ahead of us, in the opposite direction..cars lined up for a mile. Someone, I do not and will not ever know had been in a horrible accident and from looking at the car being pulled out of the ravine, with no front on it whatsoever..I knew then they weren't gonna be soaking up that gorgeous morning with me anymore. As the ambulance did a slow, no siren pass on my left a couple of miles later, I felt somber and a whole helluva lot lucky. Appreciative of the air that I was breathing, the sunshine on my arm and just the happiness of being. That was my lesson for this trip. One that was somber. One that was contemplative. One to remember. That and never booking a one star hotel ever again.

Coupled with seven or so attempts of T. trying to poop in an unfamiliar john and an excruciating 2 hour, 34 mile drive in bumper to bumper congestion getting onto the peninsula, our what was supposed to be a 12 hour drive turned into a Great Wall of China one, but we finally arrived. Well, to Wal-Mart, anyway. I had thought the route would never end but my marriage was definitely going to. G. and I were at each other's throats. Facing another two hour, whole-weeks-worth-of-food grocery shopping feat while bleary-eyed with a really numb ass brought out the worst in both of us. And then with two very wiggly, hyper chilluns thrown in the cart on top of that...well, we were plum spent, as my mama used to say, throwing barbs and hurling fruit at the kids. And we hadn't even got to the condo yet! But arrive we did- all in one piece, and still hitched. Opening the door and taking a peek at that balcony with the sea laid out before us was splendid. We were very pleased, needless to say, and relaxed by about 50% in that one single sigh. That is, until Daddy Mag forgot to support Mama's liquor bag from the bottom and Mr. Cuervo hit the tile floor like a cheerleader on Jello shots. While three of my clan got to go down and enjoy a leisurely inspection of the grounds, I spent the next two hours mopping up sweet and sour. Nice.

The next week we laughed, we ate, and we nipped. Boy, howdy, did we partake. I told my husband on the drive back home that I was quite certain a 12 step program was in order. He told me he'd do two of those steps with me, but that was it. One lazy morning after returning from a very early morning escape..er, I mean, walk along the coast...soaking wet, Geez squished out onto the terrace. "What happened to you?", I asked. "I dunno', he said. 'I was just ambling along, sipping my joe and then suddenly had this overwhelming desire to jump headfirst into the sea." I told the kids, who were next to me, that we were darn lucky their daddy returned. Hey, you never really know. They have been known to go out for a pack of cigs and never come back. "That was very mid-life crisis of you", I quipped. "Yeah', he says, 'I almost did a Norman Main when I thought of that 5am breakfast shift I have to do the first day after I get back." Awww..poor guy. Yep- it's a sad state of affairs, Big Daddy, but eventually we all must return to the rigors and ugliness of reality. Except for the Jolie/Pitt family, of course.

I got a call from my sis near the end of our stay informing me that our mom had fallen and busted her head up pretty good (the last time was only 8 months ago!). My heart started racing and I felt the need to hop a plane immediately but was told by the docs to finish out the trip and all would be well until I got home three days later. Her head scan looked good but there was a serious problem that the men in white had discovered and we were going to be facing some scary decisions for treatment. I was without a computer and couldn't perform my obsessive Google-rama as I am known to do (much to the dismay of my husband)...leaving me feeling absolutely helpless. And boy, do I hate that. I took a deep inebriated breath, focused some good thoughts and tried to absorb all that rhythmic beauty of the sea to calm my nerves until I got back to the situation and could find out more. And to also 'control it all', as my loving soul mate so bluntly put it. I was hoping to escape Life for nine days but have learned you never really do. Not for a second. It keeps ya hopping, doesn't it, ladies and gents?

We finished up our stay a few days later and said a sad goodbye to our treasured alfresco breakfasts. And somewhere between Hattiesburg and a prayer I received a call telling me that what the medical pros had thought was a thoracic aneurysm was only a shadow of blockage and that my mom would be all right. As the miles of road moved beneath me, bathed once again in the precious light of morning, my appreciation ran fathoms and I felt humbled. Shortly after, I passed by a newly erected cross where that accident had taken place the week before. A long, beautiful swatch of purple cloth was blowing in the breeze and below was a bouquet of soft white orchids. I wondered who they were and where they were going that day..the music they liked, what made them happy. I reminded myself again that it isn't the destination but the journey that fuels us. My prayer was very deep that morning.

Our Yee-haw finale was spent at Graceland. And what a fun, kitschy ending it was. The El-vites were everywhere and this particular Days Inn redeemed the chain ten-fold for Mama. Our room across the street from the hallowed grounds was fab. Clean, good-sized and the guitar-shaped pool was a big hit with the munchkins. At night the neon was aglow and there were endless Presley movies on the tube. You could even call down to the front desk and ask them to put a particular one on! As I drifted off into a Dark Eyes Vodka slumber (on sale for only 6 bucks at the Piggly Wiggly!) I could hear Ann Margret shakin' it and bakin' it- 60's style. Groovy man.

The next morning while enduring a thunderstorm that would rival Andrew, I was beyond determined to get into the free one-hour admission they offer of the grave site and gardens of the King. My husband threw a fit over his bowl of fruit loops, demanding that I not venture out in the nasty weather until it passed. Well, my free sixty minutes was quickly ticking away and I have never been one to listen to a man telling me what to do....so armed with a paper-thin T-shirt and a weak cup of Folgers, I braved the F4 winds and flying beach umbrellas that had scarily been re-planted over in the back ally. The kids, not wanting to miss a moment, followed their mammy out the front door..leaving Dad to yell in vain at our insanity. When I say it took me 20 minutes just to cross the street, I'm not kidding. It was a Jungle Room out there..darn hairy. The girls were crying, the rain was falling sideways and my Walgreens umbrella was inside out. Daddy, gripped in fear for the safety of his girls, was bringing up the soaked rear, with a look of terror on his mug. But Mr. Presley's spirit carried us up to the gate- safe and sound. I'm sure the passing cars had a real doozy of a Jon and Kate moment to watch on their way to work. "Sorry, lady. We're closed due to the weather", was all this water-logged girl got out of the guard. I knew the 'But don't you know who I am?' line wasn't gonna work. And it sure wasn't going to be my over humidified hair-do that looked like fur through the whole trip that would open any gates for me either. So off we went. Elvis had definately left the building. So much for that freebie.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, minutes later...cooler drained, re-iced and ready to go, we slowly made our way down Elvis Presley Blvd., passing by his beloved casa one last time. I couldn't help but think of two things- that ole El would probably roll right on over in his grave knowing the hotels made such a big ta-doo over those silly movies he absolutely hated performing in and...just what an easy going, soft spoken, Christian boy would think of Scientology getting such a huge chunk of change off his name and legacy.




Good Lord. Talk about a Great Wall of China entry.