Ice Cream and Stomachs: Churning in South Carolina
Why is it that we often have the wrong information about where things are located? People often give the name of a large nearby town rather than a small town. I suppose it is easier to find some places (like Greenville) on the map than it is to find other places (like Simpsonville). That should be clarified, then. Matt, Dorothy, and the young ones don’t live in Greenville. They live in the Greenville Vicinity. Or Greater Greenville. Or Greenville Improper. Maybe it would be easier to just say they live in Greenville.
If anyone can forget where Matt, et al, live after all of that, good luck remembering your own street address.
After we landed in Simpsonville, or Greenville, or where ever that darned airport is located, we were quickly chauffeured via the Sac-Mobile to the family estate. It’s a pretty nice neighborhood. So nice, they don’t have a park. They have a “club house.” A club house is a bunch of park equipment, neighboring a swimming pool, neighboring some tennis courts, neighboring a house-type building with a sign out front advertising things like “Tuesday: Poker night.” Now, you’re perhaps saying to yourself, “Lots of towns and cities have that.” Yes, but my understanding is that this was just for the neighborhood. And it wasn’t even one of those weird Twilight Zone neighborhoods that look wonderful at first but you come to find out they have zombies and dark secrets either. It seemed pretty normal. I mean normal aside from the trampolines.
It seemed that every home in Simpsonville had a trampoline. Apparently, the town slogan is “Simpsonville: Trampolines-A-Plenty.” (Word on the street is that “Simpsonville: Feel Free to Call Us Greenville” came in a close second.) Now, don’t get me wrong. Trampolines can be a lot of fun. Fun, that is, if you’re young, light, and have a death wish. Even after the first few minutes, my stomach had a feel that somethin’ ain’t right. Then came the demand: “Mark, do a butt buster.” I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. A butt buster has nothing to do with the metal frame of the trampoline and doesn’t end with someone saying “Walk it off, walk it off.” It’s much worse.
A butt buster is, to the uninitiated, is where you bounce on a trampoline and then pull up your legs so you land on your butt and then bounce back up to your feet. Man alive! If you thought your stomach was churning after normal bounces, you’re in for a treat. Not only that, but your back hurts, your shoulders hurt, and your neck hurts. (Yeah, it took me a few days to learn the technique enough to not nearly paralyze myself.) Surprisingly, there are multiple ways to perform a butt buster. Legs straight out. Legs crossed. Knees to the chest. Oh, yes, and safely--that is to say, watching others.
But, (Buster,) stomachs weren’t the only things churning on this vacation. The family purchased an ice cream maker. I don’t know the original purpose for the purchase, but the day after we got there we needed to take iced cream to Soren’s class. So, Dorothy made blueberry sorbet. It was pretty good. The kids liked it. They also liked that one classmate had his birthday, so his mom brought chocolate-chip cookie bars. One kid--I don’t know his name--noted how cool it was that they were having pizza, apples [actually, pears], cookies, “this stuff” [the sorbet], and raspberry milk all in the same lunch. I figured the tables and chairs would be low and the kids loud, but I don’t remember the food portions being so small. So, if you ever want to feel tall and hungry in a loud room, visit an elementary school lunch room.
I haven’t yet mentioned the house itself. It’s a very nice house. Some noteworthies: two stories, hardwood floors, a screened patio, and a guest bedroom. That’s right--no more sleeping on the sleeper sofa. That is, unless you don’t do a butt buster--or so I was told. (Man! There are some CRAZY South Carolina laws!) Actually, the house wasn’t fully two stories. Only a portion of the house had the second story. Other portions had an atrium effect going. You know, where the room goes from the floor of the lower level to just this side of the roof. It looked very nice, but, in all honesty, the only thing I could think about was, if we owned it, how would I reach the top when Stephanie told me it was time to paint it? Oh, the troubled life I lead.
But it had the ice cream maker, so that was good.
On Friday evening, the town (Simpsonville, Greenville, or Someothertownville, I’m not sure) held a street carnival with vendors, “rides” (small inflatable objects where kids could bounce a lot) and a big tent holding a posh dinner and celebrity viewing. We enjoyed ourselves, had some bad expensive food, and didn’t see Kevin Costner. How many of you can say you’ve had that happen during YOUR vacation?
But it was not all fun and games. We had a discussion and it turns out that I am not lifting weights properly. In fact, I’m not even on the right weights, much less lifting them correctly or even doing the correct number of sets or reps. I might as well have been busting my skull with the weights. Oh wait, skullbusters is one the exercises I’m supposed to do. (Not related to the butt busters, although whoever came up with that exercise family tree must not have seen me try a butt buster.) So, after several demonstrations and a bit of reading, I’m now the proud borrower of a book about weightlifting. I’m doing some of the correct weight-training exercises. Incorrectly, most likely, but still doing them. And, I can tell I’m doing them, because I hurt.
Star Wars was also on the agenda. No, episode III hadn’t been released yet. However, like all good South Carolinianaisoes, we decided to freshen up our Star Wars mythology memories by watching episode II. Rumor has it that this was the better of the first two episodes which, as you know, are widely reported to be abominations to the deity known as Han Solo. I’ve never been a big Star Wars fan, so I don’t know. But I do know that a lot of folks in the area had the same idea we had. None of the rental places had a copy for us to rent--of ANY Star Wars movie. And since we didn’t have our own (thus the attempt to rent), one was purchased. So we watched it. Then we watched Napoleon Dynamite. Why? Because we wanted to! GOSH!
Then, as happens during most trips, it was time to go home. A very early flight, another flight, car ride home, grocery shopping, laundry, chores, eating sleeping. The whole vacation had a lot for us to do, but we got it all done. How?
We busted our butts.
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The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer and do not neccessarily reflect those of the rest of the family.
© 2005, Mark Wentz