Blow by Blow account of Family Vacation.
Fusco's at old Cape Cod ( a reality-show proposal)
Seventeen family members, ages one to eighty-one, in one house from Saturday to Saturday.
Day One: Leave Worcester at 8 a.m. in four-car caravan. Three son-in-laws with GPS follow yours truly with hand-written directions. Make it to Harwich exit then lose way...technology takes over.
Occupy entire dining area at Box Lunch. Four-year-old grand-daughter has meltdown.
Renovations our lessor promised after our stay two years ago not apparent. Living-room curtain rod still falls off at slightest provocation; refrigerator still luke-warm; outside grille still not propane friendly; ants carry two-year-old grandson to woods.
Happy Hour between 3-4 p.m. Two tanqueray and tonics.
Dinner at O'Shea's where son-in-law's guitar teacher from Worcester plays Irish folk-music with band called “ Fergus.” Grand-daughter has 2nd meltdown.
Wife and I exhausted, kiss goodnight. “ Tomorrow,” we promise.
Day Two: Beach day. Wake reluctant family members up with gym-whistle. Mom's handicap placard gets us front-row parking at Coast Guard Beach.
“ Thank you, Grandma, for being handicapped!”
Once 17 are settled in, lifeguard delivers severe thunderstorm warning. Believing our God is mischievous but not cruel, we stay and play sand-football. Immersion in water makes body look like a seaweed salad. Sun pops up!
Happy hour between 4-5 p.m. Two T&T's.
Son-in-law Brian has sports-orgasm after three victories in lawn-boccie. 17 invade ice-cream stand at 9 p.m.
Wife and I exhausted, kiss goodnight. Pledge “ Tomorrow!”
Day Three: Dream my wife becomes my boss at Goretti's and writes me up for mis-spelled name tag.
Rent paddle boats and canoes at Bass River. Share a paddle boat with my daughter and two grand-daughters. Legs cramp up after 73 minute odyssey.
Devour the fried oysters and a hot dog at Kream n' Kone. 17 take over ballpark in Chatham and play “Family” softball. Wife swings a bat like lumberjack with vertigo. I pull my groin while stretching for a throw at 1st base.
Happy Hour between 5-6 p.m. Two T&T's, Coors Light, and 3 Alleve.
Wife and I fall asleep on porch.
Day Four: 17 to Martha's Vineyard. Wake the reluctant with “Daybreak” by Barry Manilow. Take the ferry from Woods Hole. Forty-five minutes of diesel-air and ballsy seagulls.
Ocean Bluff on the island a tad disappointing... like a boardwalk-less Hampton Beach. Spend two hours and $50 in arcade with the boys while the women shop. Highlight is ride on old-fashion carousel grabbing for the brass ring with my four-year-old grand-daughter.
Fit all 17 in Entourage for fifteen-minute journey from handicap parking to shuttle parking. Clown-car analogies abound.
Happy Hour between 8-9 p.m. One T&T. Young adults play drunken lawn boccie in the dark.
Wife and I fall asleep watching “Pretty Woman” for ( who's counting) 14th freakin' time!
Day Five: 2nd beach day. Brother and sister-in-law surprise my nephew (one of the 17) by bringing their family down to celebrate his 19th birthday so it's 21 of us at White Crest in Wellfleet. The walk down then up the dunes is breath-taking... literally. The waves pound your body like an angry boxer. The birthday boy and my 18-year-old son dig a beach-hole that's Normandy-like.
“Look there's a Seal in the water,” my ten-year-old son exclaims. Quickly scan the sand for Heidi Klum in a two-piece.
Later, it's tacos, birthday cake, and wine at the hacienda. I take a nap from 9:30-11:00 p.m. My wife goes to bed at 11:05 p.m.
Day Six: A blueberry- pancake breakfast leads to a stampede of the two facilities. The women promise they'll be right back from Hyannis if we watch the children. Seven hours later, we have trampolined, bumper-boated, ball- parked, and ate at the World's Largest Buffet except in Alaska , but no sign of the fairer, smarter, wilier sex.
“That was a fast one you pulled today,” I admonish my wife.
“Tonight's the night,” she Rod Stewarts.
Happy Hour between 6-7 p.m. A Mountain Dew and grapes.
My wife and I say goodnight to the 15 at 10 p.m.
“Yahtzee!”
Day Seven: Mini-golf for 17 at Holiday Hill at 9 a.m. Off to Cuffy's where I fall asleep in a chair by the entrance and snore for customer entertainment.
Two-year-old grandson refines his little Jesus complex and falls for a third time in the parking lot. His forehead has more lumps than a hypoglycemics' coffee cup.
I watch some of the family play basketball at the park. I miss the sport; my hips disagree.
We share our final Cape meal at Ardeo's a nice Italian restaurant in Yarmouth. My daughters and their husbands order exotic martinis. My wife and I color with the grandchildren.
No Happy Hour. I have the obligatory sun-blister on my lip. Packing for home has begun.
My wife and I shake hands goodnight...I'm oozing.
Day Eight: Gym- whistle everyone's attention at 7 a.m. We need to vacate the premises in three hours. Play with my one-year-old grand-daughter so her parents can pack. Four-year-old grand-daughter is reluctant to leave.
“It makes me happy here, Grandpa.”
Ride back to Worcester is a pain-in-the-ass three hours .Unpack. Papers and mail. 273 emails. Unwind. Think of the bright memories of the 17 in old Cape Cod.. Vow not to do it again...'till next Summer.
Submitted by bardofaisle9 on Sunday, September 06, 2009 (05:46:14) (340 reads)
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