I know I’m being dramatic, but the fact is, I’m a Southerner. I was raised on the notion that, as a woman, I am responsible for serving as the hostess with the mostest when visitors come to town. As a result, our bathroom is always spotless and the dishes (almost always) put away in case a guest should visit our home. When people drop by, beverages are offered, snacks served up, and much alcohol is consumed by me to keep me from following guests around, fluffing pillow cushions after they get up from the couch or dousing the bathroom with air freshener as they exit. When I’m too drunk to get up from my chair, I think everyone is much happier. I know I am.
The reality is that I suck at entertaining. It stresses me out and I don’t like doing it. I know it’s my duty at times, but I lack the necessary interest to turn into Martha Stewart. Whenever I entertain guests, I reconsider my decision to be a mainly cheerful person. If I were grumpy all the time, no one would want to visit us. Or at least, if they did, they wouldn’t stay very long.
But it’s not in my nature to be mean on purpose (except to the Post Office, but that’s another story). So when Peter told me his parents from Austria were going to visit us for two weeks, I put on my game face and helped him plan. This was going to be a very complicated visit, one that required many hours in the car and not enough Xanax for either of us.
You see, Peter’s parents are adventurous. They’ve visited the U.S. before. Peter and his folks rented a car and drove throughout the southern part of America. A few years later, Herbert and Andrea (Peter’s parents) flew from Vienna to Seattle, rented an SUV, and toured around the Pacific Northwest by themselves before visiting us in Montana for a few days on their way to Yellowstone.
This time, it was as though they looked at a map of the east coast and said, “We’d like to see all of that, please.” First, they told us they wanted to visit us in North Carolina with a quick side trip to see Niagara Falls. Peter patiently explained that upstate New York was nowhere near North Carolina and that a two week visit with us wouldn’t include a trip to the Falls.
Herbert and Andrea looked at the map again and decided that they would travel to Cuba first and then fly to the U.S. This time, we had to explain that one cannot easily fly from Cuba to the United States. We again encouraged them to spend two weeks with us at the beach.
Finally, they decided on a two-week long German-language bus tour of New York, Boston, Toronto, Quebec, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C. And yes, the tour included a visit to Niagara Falls. We’d meet them in D.C. to tour around for a few days, drive to Roanoke, Virginia so that they could meet my parents for the first time in person, and then drive to North Carolina for a few days at the beach before driving them back to Dulles Airport.
This seemed pretty ambitious, and even Peter was scratching his head at how much time we’d spend in the car. Living in rural Montana an hour’s drive away from a Wal-Mart has prepared us for lengthy car travel, but I don’t think Peter’s folks had any idea how far apart things are in America (spoiler alert: after this trip, they vowed to fly into Raleigh-Durham for their next visit).
As Herbert and Andrea began their bus tour, Peter and I loaded up our car and Gracie the wonder cockatiel and headed toward Virginia. We’ve made this cross-country trip several times and have it down to a science. We generally stop in the same places each year and oftentimes eat in the same restaurants. This year’s pilgrimage began as planned, but things quickly went south when I came down with some kind of gastrointestinal bug. After an unplanned 45 minute stop at an Iowa rest area, Peter found me an urgent care facility that took our insurance and shot me full of anti-nausea medication.
With a queasy stomach and wobbly bowels, I poorly navigated Peter’s drive to Virginia. Our frequent stops along our nation’s highways were reminiscent (according to one friend) of General Sherman’s scorched-earth campaign to the Atlantic. We finally collapsed several days later at my parents’ home, but quickly had to leave for our place in North Carolina to prepare it for Herbert and Andrea. Then we raced back to Virginia to pick them up in D.C.
After our multi-day trek across the continent, two 4-hour long trips to D.C., and three 6-hour long trips to North Carolina, Peter and I calculated that in one month we had spent at least 50 hours in the car.
Keeping illness and endless car travel in mind, you can see why this might not have been my best attempt at hostessing. I valiantly fought D.C. traffic, waited in endless lines at Monticello, and puzzled giant pieces of luggage into place in our small car trunk. Oh, and there was the language barrier problem (I don’t speak much German; they don’t speak much English).
Despite the numerous stressors involved in this visit, Peter and I learned a lot about one another by watching our in-laws. After not-so-patiently waiting for Herbert and Andrea to order lunch (this process took 20 minutes once), I discovered why it takes Peter so long to order a meal at a restaurant. After practically sprinting after my mother as she trotted around kiosks at the mall, Peter learned why I walk like my pants are on fire. While holding a pose for Herbert in front of the U.S. Capitol for five minutes as the sun turned my scalp into bacon, I found out from where Peter gets his tendency to take forever to take a picture. Hearing my Dad call other drivers on the road “buttheads” alerted Peter as to why I have a penchant for calling said drivers “jackasses.”
In short, our appley asses don’t fall far from their trees. And if that’s true for the bad stuff, it’s probably true for the good stuff. Like his parents, Peter is incredibly generous with his time and money. I anticipate his kindness will evolve into the same thoughtfulness that encouraged his folks to bring my parents special gifts from Austria. Like my parents, I value giving my time to my community (Dad’s involved with Boy Scouts; mom sorts books for charity fundraisers), and perhaps one day, I could give more of myself than just a few hours a week at our local hospital.
So really this was “an opportunity” rather than just a “had to” visit. Sure, his folks discovered that I’m a lousy, grumpy hostess, but maybe they also saw a woman who loves their son and his family so much that she’s willing to put her flaming intestines to the wind to make sure everyone gets picked up from the airport.
