A couple of years ago on a big summer trip through northern California, we ordered Chinese food from a restaurant in Berkeley called King Dong.  When we showed up at our friends’ house with the little white cartons, they said “We love King Dong!”  They are gay, which made this even funnier.  Our boys don’t remember nearly enough about our trip to the glorious national park of Yosemite, but they still talk about King Dong.

Locally, we all shudder at the Chinese restaurant “Tung Garden.”  Just not appetizing.

A few miles away, there used to be Minella’s Diner, which everyone called Sal Minella’s.  Who could resist that temptation?  I for one could never set foot in the door.  Why not just call it Ptomaine Palace?

My mom used to hate the name of a fast-food restaurant in Kansas City:  Squat and Gobble.  I think it specialized in chicken.

Inspired by these memories,  I’m collecting bad restaurant names.  Send them to me in the comments section – my sons will be the Supreme Court justices and the winner will receive a prize to be named later.

Inside was the owner’s name, contact info, many pages of neatly inked notes in a European-style hand, and the offer of $50 reward if returned.

Since this happened on January 4, Malcolm’s 12th birthday – a dreary day of driving and bickering with his brothers – I told him the reward, if and when it arrived, would be his.  As a consolation prize of sorts. 

We emailed the owner from the sterile hotel room you see above, and when we got home, mailed the notebook back to his small Caribbean island.  While we waited, we also googled him, and found that his family has been on this island for 400 years.  You can drive for three hours on their land, one blogger said, and not reach its borders.

Malcolm watched the mail, his face falling day after day as nothing arrived. We explained that letters don’t zip back and forth internationally as fast as he might expect, but still, the waiting was hard.

On the last day of January, Postman Tim knocked on the door with a registered envelope. 

And when Malcolm opened it up, it contained not $50, but a $100 bill.  Crisp!

There was also a travel booklet describing the island, and a lovely letter inviting us down anytime.  ”I wish there were more honest and sincere families like yours,” wrote our new friend.   Yes, well, I must confess out that it’s easier to be honest when a reward is involved.  

Forget Nicholas Sparks and his novel “The Notebook.”  To the five of us, “The Notebook” will always be what we found in the glovebox on that snowy birthday evening in Santa Fe. 

Back home now, I’m looking at pictures from our fantastic week in Colorado and reliving all the fun.  We broke out of our rut and mixed up the character combinations.  Normally Hugh & Malcolm are two peas in a pod.  This time, Ian & Malcolm took snowboarding classes together, while Chris and I skiied with our middle child Hugh, who is almost never alone with us.  

We played Pit, the official game of my parents and brothers, and this time, the boys really got into it.  So did my nieces and their friends,  Much hilarity ensued.

At my brother’s request, I taught my niece Logan to make the family holiday requirement, Ice Box Rolls.  Here she labors under the scrutiny of the Bossman, her dad.

Chris the car nut got to play with Griffin the car nut.

Logan turned 13 and Malcolm turned 12 right after New Year’s Day.  Another board shop T-shirt for the collection.

And speaking of Infernos, we struggled somewhat hilariously through knee-deep powder (thigh-deep for the kids) in Tom and Wendy’s backyard to burn the Christmas tree late one night.  Throwing ours in the compost will always feel hopelessly boring from now on.  A bonfire cannot be beat.

While it’s good to be home and lay my head on my own perfectly squished pillow, memo to self:  do not let the suitcases get too dusty in 2009. 

Greetings from the intrepid travelers!  Every few months, we pack up the mini-van and head up to Rhode Island to visit Dave’s family for a few days.  And after hosting Thanksgiving in our home for the last several years, it was our turn to make the road trip this year.  The drive, which can take anywhere from 5 hours to… uh…forever, is always a crap shoot.  I would stand on my head to guarantee a smooth go of it.  In fact, yesterday at 5:30 in the morning, as Noah and Dave bickered prior to loading into the van, I actually stood on my head in our family room and refused to leave until everyone got happy.  I can stand on my head for a long time.

Such silliness was not as ill advised as you might think.  A successful road trip is predicated on two chance factors:  the brothers’ temperament and traffic in Connecticut.  If one is good, the other follows suit, and vice versa.  I know what you’re thinking.  Surely a bad mood can’t possibly increase the traffic.  I am here to tell you that it can.  Imagine the following scenario which has taken place in our mini-van in this exact manner more often than you’d think:

The scene:  Dave is cruise controlling along at about 72 mph on the Merritt Parkway.  I am fast asleep navigating in the passenger seat.  Noah is listening to his iPod; Chase is zoning, both are in the bucket seats behind us.  Surf board, snow board, ice skates, suitcases, computer, dog crate, DVD, chum bucket and dog are crammed into the remaining space.  Claustrophobics would not do well on our van trips.  To amuse himself, Chase begins to play a little puppet game using his bare hands.  He also provides his own soundtrack.

Chase:  Rrrrrrrr. (pigeon noise)  Mrrrrrrrrp.  Cheeeeeeepy.

Noah:  CHASE!! I can HEAR you through my iPod.  Cut. It. Out.

Me: (To Noah) HE is not bothering YOU.  HE is playing.  Leave him alone.

Chase: (realizing he has successfully vexed his brother, increases the decibel level by about 75 percent)  RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! (flock of pigeons noise) MRRRRRRRRRRP. CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPY.

Noah:  MOM!!!!!

Me:  (realizing that Chase has now taken advantage of my siding with him) CHASE, cut out the noises.

Chase:  Can I at least still do hand movements?

Me:  Sure.

Hand movement.  Hand movement.  Hand movement.

Noah:  Those hand movements drive me crazy!  STOP!!

Chase:  (huge smile and more hand movements)  What?

Me:  THAT’S IT!!  Chase NO hand puppets for trying to bother Noah.  Noah, NO iPod for being completely intolerant of Chase.

Noah:  What????  Are you kidding!  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Chase:  Sob.  This always happens to me.  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

At this point traffic comes to a complete standstill. 

Thankfully, we dodged this deja vu moment on the way up.  Everyone was in a decent mood and we zoomed through 5 states in record time. I think it had something to do with my headstand.   On Sunday, before we leave, I think I will try bending over backwards and see how we do.