Saturday, October 1, 2011

How I Spent My Vacation

This is my Blog, so I guess I can be as self-indulgent as I wish, without regard to being considered as bragging or anything. And all this happened so long ago, this is my way of affrirming its reality. Since our lives then were so routine and, let's face it, dull, anything out of the ordinary stands out as memorable, though now only by me, a la those Madison County Bridges.
When I was 25 years old, I resigned from teaching English at HVC. No one could understand why, because I'd been granted tenure, probably with the assumption I would remain at my old Alma Mater until retirement. The thought served to suffocate me, so I resigned from my job. I didn't even have another lined up, but that was not a big deal in those days. I needed to finish my Master's Degree, but instead of continuing at Albany State, I took the giant leap of enrolling at Oneonta. I'd never really gone anyplace by myself before, so it really was an adventure. During that summer, I reached many levels of understanding, of myself and others, that were completely new to me. I have vivid memories of that summer, but what I'm recalling now occurred after that summer ended.
I'd become friends with a girl named Dee, who lived in Watkins Glen. She was a teacher of course; I think all of the students enrolled that summer were teachers or prospective teachers. We vowed to continue our friendship, as so many college friends do, but Dee actually arranged a winter vacation during February break at Lake Placid. She had recruited four of her hometown friends, and I invited Barbara to go with me. (My sister was married by then.) My car was ailing, so I borrowed Dorothy's car, and B. and I drove to Lake Placid on a Friday night during a snowstorm. The roads then were rural, not like now, and we did a lot of slipping and sliding, but I don't think we minded. We were off on vacation! The 5 other girls were not able to arrive until the next day, because of the weather , so B. and I drove up to the hotel where Dee had made reservations. It was on a hill, and when we drove up to it in the dark and snow, we both had the instant impression of ---- Bates Motel. It loomed up in the darkness, unlighted and deserted-looking. We decided to look elsewhere for the night's lodging. Down the slippery slope we went, and in effect started knocking on doors. Motel after motel told us they had no vacancies, even though the signs said otherwise. Finally, a motel conceded to let us in for the night, but it had no heat. By then, we didn't care, anything but "Psycho."
The next morning the five from Watkins Glen arrived, and we all checked in at the gloomy hotel on the hill. The morning light and a group of seven allayed our fears, though it was a spooky-looking place. That day we all went to the Olympic training site on Mt. Von Hoevenburg. We had to leave our cars in a lot and pile into an open-backed truck for the trip to the top of the bobsled run. Three passengers snuggled onto each sled, behind the professional who steered and the one who was at the rudder, a tight fit, with everybody's legs wrapped around each others'. They put a helmet on each of our heads and took off. All I remember is being sideways, as the bobsled was on the icy wall of the run, and feeling the ice and snow kicked up by the runners. You could see nothing but ice and snow. It was exhilerating. I would never do it now. I think that may have been one of the last long runs offered, because Miss Rhiengold's sled had tipped over, injuring her, the weekend before, and they were about to modify the tourist run.
The seven of us were to decide on where to go for dinner, after our day of wagon rides, and hiking up and speeding down Mt. Whiteface. I must say here that the Watkins Glen contingent seemed to lag behind even Valley Falls in terms of coolness, or, in today's lingo, hotness. Not to say they weren't great people, but as far as style went, they were not there yet. They suggested some place like Flora's Tearoom, or such. ( I didn't have anything against tearooms exactly, but even today, The Whistling Kettle makes me shudder.) I spotted a brightly lit Steak House restaurant, and said why not go in as we are right here. Tht decision turned out to be a very positive one, at least for me and Barbara. (To be continued)

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