“BE QUERQUELL, BE QUERQUELL!”- Our newest family mantra when met with even a hint of imminent danger.

Saturday, August 19th- We wake up and Joan treats us to a marvelous breakfast of eggs AND pancakes. Our small boys are great pancake eaters so all is well with the world. Rick sets up a small train set in the living room to future railroader Gabriel Shaw Morbeck’s delight. Weeks later when our photographs came back Gabriel saw a picture of Rick and delightedly squealed, “He LIKES me, He LIKES me!”, no doubt traceable to their manly time spent together with the trains.

 We bid the Sullivans a fond farewell, stopping to take a timer picture of us all out in the backyard.

We decided to take the whole clan up to OSV for a final quick cruise around. The little boys enjoyed going to ye old schoolhouse where they had ye old schoolhouse style toys to play with and Sally darted over to Ye Olde Gift Shoppe to buy some tasteful souvenirs.

We manage to avoid visiting the Commonwealth’s largest liquor store and endeavor to hook up with my old friend I-84 West. I would have liked to have stopped somewhere on the way back to Fluffia to break up the trip a little bit, but our major destination is Hartford, CT (“It’s 11:04 AM in the Insurance City; I-91 is backed up through the ‘Mixmaster’”) I try to imagine what kind of children-friendly interactive entertainment would be offered there: Hey kids, now you can write a sample insurance policy on Mrs. Kitty’s leg; Or do you want to spend the day examining actuarial tables?

Our fully laden van blasts through Hartford without stopping and we find a convenient McDonalds on I-91 South. These fast food chains are insidious: The boys are suckers for the free toys and the extensive outdoor Playlands. I’ve decided to take the coast route through Connecticut (“Don’t send us back to Kennycut, Uncle Bwill! Let us stay here with Cissy and Mr. French!”), mostly because it’s a little shorter and I haven’t been on it for so many years. It’s nice without all the tollbooths which formerly clogged it up every 15 miles or so. We pass through Wallingford, CT and I wonder whether there is such an entity here as the “Wallingford Presbyterian Church”. We all strain our necks on the Cross Bronx Expressway to try to see Yankee Stadium and everyone enjoys going over the GW Bridge.

We stop to pay homage to the plaque of Vince Lombardi at the “Vince Lombardi” Service Plaza on the New Jersey Turnpike. We’re all set to be home in an hour and a half until we get caught in backed up traffic near exit 11. I take a succession of wrong turns trying to make the best of the situation but somehow end up on the twin Parkway bridges over the Raritan (“Thou Queen of Rivers, Raritan!”), much like we were headed to the Shore. We finally cross the “waistland” of New Jersey on Rt. 33 and get back towards the Interstate. The boys all nap and we’re happy to finally return to Rutledge after a series of bizarre detours.

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