The Trip - Part 1

So I went on an adventure. It started out Thursday night. I met R-botron at her house and we made our way to Elkhorn, NE to run some errands. R-bo realized she left her booooots at home and had to turn around and go back. I waited at Scooters in Elkhorn and she drives like a maniac, so I didn't have to wait very long. We headed to one of my grandpa's houses to drop some stuff off and then we left for our destination: Burwell, NE, Calamus Country. My grandpa has another house (actually a trailer on a foundation) there and that's where we stayed. The reason we were going to Burwell was to drop off my grandpa's car and it was sort of on the way to our final destination, Nebraska National Forest, near Halsey, NE.

This is my grandpa's cookie jar. When you open it, it howls, and it is not full of cookies, like you'd expect. It's actually filled with dog biscuits.


This is the hallway in the trailer. The door that R-bo is standing next to is the door where long ago, my grandpa was screwing something into the side of the trailer. He had me stand there and help him with something -- I don't remember what. What I remember most was the nails. He had like 15 nails in his mouth. The door kept flapping open, so I thought I'd be helpful and close it. What I didn't realize was that my grandpa's fingers were in the hinge. He couldn't tell me either, because his mouth was full of nails. Even though it was really hard to close (since there was a hand in it) I kept trying, over and over, and grandpa just kicked his one leg and grunted through the nails. It took a moment for it to register in my brain why he was doing that, and then I let go of the door. I felt guilty for the rest of the trip, but now it's just a lovely wonderful fond memory that I like to retell at family gatherings. Grandpa has blocked it from his memory and claims it never happened.


My grandma and grandpa used to be married. They aren't anymore. Prior to their divorce, the cabin, (which is what we called the trailer, nice little euphemism, eh?), it was always in good working order, and rather tidy. It had a certain garage sale charm. Many of the things that were there previously are still there, and there have been some additions. This is one of the additions:


This is me after driving for three and a half hours:


I made this when I was eight. For some reason I found it touching that it was still hanging on the wall. It made me feel like my grandpa cherished it since I made it, but I subsequently realized that he has no idea who made this. For all he knows, Cloris Leachman made it. In fact, now that I think about it, Cloris Leachman might have made it, and I may have tried to pass it off as my own. The memories are hazy.


This is the man den.


I was going to sleep in "the back bedroom" as we call it. When I opened the door, I immediately sensed a problem. My ears told me that there was some type of buzzing from this room. I flipped the lights on, and noticed that the bed was covered in a bunched up set of sheets and about fifteen fly carcasses. There were also fly carcasses all over the floor. I used the sheets to throw the fly bodies on the floor. I called R-bo and told her that I needed new sheets. I made the bed, and hopped in, and then became more aware of the buzzing. There were about ten flies flying around. I told myself to be tough and just go to sleep, but then they started dive-bombing my head. At that point I got up, and went out to the garage and slept in grandpa's motor home.


This is the whiskey collection.


This is my grandpa's neighbor. Notice that the windows have plywood in them? That would indicate that no one lives there, right? WRONG! Someone lives there. Yeah. Seriously.
To be continued. This does get better folks.