Welcome to my world - The world of Tish

Friday, March 25, 2005

Griswold Family Vacations were based on my family

In 1979, my parents purchased a used 1972 Itasca motorhome.

Who knew that brown and gold interior would not transition into the 1980's well?

And who would have thought that an eight track deck AND AM radio wouldn't be sufficient?

Like many motorhomes, the table folded down for a king sized bed, and above the driver was a double bed with approximately six inches room for turning over. This doesn't do well for a young Tish that is for one thing, clausterphobic.
The bathroom doubles as a shower, one that you could use the toilet AND shower at the same time.
As for the kitchen, I think my Easy Bake Oven may have held more cupcakes than the motorhome's tiny oven.
The refridgerator was held shut by one latch that easily sprung loose upon hairpin turns. Once, Uncle LouLou suffered a severe concussion while asleep in the floor under the fridge. Dad dodged a skunk on a Colorado backroad and WHAM, the fridge door flew open and a frozen liter of Dr. Pepper beaned Uncle LouLou right between the eyes. There's no telling if it did any real damage. He can still count cards.

Every year, we took this monstrocity as transportation and lodging to all parts of these United States.
On the trip to Colorado, someone (and it's still a point of argument to this day) didn't secure the sewer line correctly.....three miles up a mountain and the State Police pull us over.
"Are you aware your sewer line is dragging behind you?" Our giggling in the back didn't help, I'm sure.

RV parks aren't known for their timely accomodations, but in North Carolina we happened to find one that had not only a game room but an actual COLOR television. Little did I know that in control of the remote sat Derwood, an overgrown High School flunkie. In a matter of minutes, he decided we would marry, I would bare him three children, and forever would I reside at the Pine Crest RV park. Um, sorry, but at 14 I wasn't looking to get 'hitched'. My sister and I made our escape by asking for pork rinds. The next morning we watched him from a crack in the brown curtains searching EVERY campsite for his true love.

Then there was the time that the motorhome's engine caught on fire. We all stood on the side of the road waiting for Dad to put it out so we could resume the never ending game of Skip-Bo. My sister and I might fight 24 hours a day on vacation, but we always played Skip-Bo.

In Hot Springs, we hooked up at a camp with an indoor pool. For a teenage girl, this requires at least an hour if not longer of primping. A piece of advice: don't plug in your curling iron while drying your hair and the makeup mirror is on. I was responsible for blowing the fuses at this four star RV park. It took hours to regain power for around 50 motorhomes BUT I looked good, so I'd say the ends justified the means.

We purchased bread from some Quakers/Puritans on another trip. I beebopped out of the Itasko wearing my version of Madonna's white shirt and mini-skirt with at least three layers of poorly matching makeup smeared upon my face. My walkman was cranked up to 10 so all could hear Bon Jovi. I know they thought I was the Anti-Christ-ess.

My parents still have the motorhome. Mom updated the brown and gold interior with something more cheerful and modern. My children LOVE to spend the night in the motorhome. It is an adventure, a game, and a rollercoaster for them. Twenty five years ago, it was that for me, too.

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