And Now, Three Generations in One Small Car

by Lillian Csernica on January 22, 2014

In my last episode, I described the adventure of my husband, my two teenage sons, and myself on the road to get our flu shots.  There was ice cream involved, true, but it wasn’t exactly a trip to Disneyland.

Now it seems cruel Destiny has something even more challenging lined up for me.

Tomorrow, bright and early, I must climb aboard my mother’s small purple vehicle while my sister occupies the back seat and my mother does the driving.  This is not a happy thought.  I will be on my way to my weekly therapy appointment, and by the time I get there, oh my God will I need it.

(Ha ha. I wish!)

My mother’s driving is a white knuckle event, and my sister gets car sick.  My sister is flying down to SoCal for a few days, so Mom will be taking her to the airport.  That in itself is a scary prospect.

But wait!  There’s more!  There’s always more.  I don’t know if Mom will be taking my sister to the airport WHILE I’m engaged in repairing whatever damage the drive does to my psyche, OR if I get my CBT fix and THEN I have to live through navigating the San Jose Airport with Mom and my sister while we’re on a tight schedule.  Think “National Lampoon’s Vacation” meets “Outrageous Fortune.”  (If you haven’t seen “Outrageous Fortune” starring Bette Midler and Shelly Long, you don’t know what you’re missing.)

So stay tuned!  Tomorrow, assuming I make it back alive, I will tell the harrowing tale of this potentially disastrous conjunction of passive aggression, longstanding emotional baggage, and sheer terror as we deal with Highway 17 during the end of rush hour.  I’m gonna get my snark on, I can promise you that!


Filed under Depression, Family, Goals, Horror, Humor, Self-image, Writing

14 responses to “And Now, Three Generations in One Small Car

  1. Rebecca Douglass

    Yow! Good luck! I was going to suggest you offer to drive, but I seem to remember that you don’t drive? I deal with my FiL’s driving by always offering to play chauffeur. In any case, I’m the world’s worst passenger–I not only get carsick but also canNOT keep my mouth shut about how the driver is doing, and do you see that car up there and. . .


    • I am capable of driving, and I have a valid license, it’s just that there have been issues off and on over the years and we’ve all just accepted the fact that I don’t drive. I have to play navigator for Mom because she’ll start chattering away about some TV show and forget where we’re going.


  2. That sounds about as terrifying, if not more so, than all the times my mother has missed the right exit out of Oakland, has accidentally entered San Francisco, and ends up driving around Angel Island a few times before finally getting us back on track. It involves my comforting the screaming and crying mother, and my brother obnoxiously pointing out how we could’ve left Angel Island a few turns ago. The GPS is always to blame.

    Anyway, best of luck making it to everything without throttling anyone.


    • Okay, I’m really hoping you’ve been looping around Treasure Island, because if you are on Angel Island in your car you are really in trouble! 😀


      • Oh geez, I’m more jet-lagged than I thought…:’D
        Yes, Treasure Island, that’s the one. Though I’m pretty sure the GPS tried to send us off to Angel Island once. Thanks for catching that, though.


      • Rebecca Douglass

        If the GPS is trying to send you to Angel Island, watch out–it may be trying to kill you! Though better Angel Island than Alcatraz. If it start saying “turn left 500 feet to Alcatraz,” I recommend shooting it before it can fulfill it’s nefarious intentions.


    • Hi, Dorian! Oh wow, I’ve been on a ride like that! One night my mother missed the correct offramp three times in a row!


      • Hey Lillian! I’m back with decent internet again, so I can finally get back to reading/commenting on blogs!
        Glad I’m not the only one who seems to have an evil GPS…
        Though speaking of driving adventures, we also tried following a friend to Comic-Con one year, starting at around Hollister after another nine-hour drive from home in Oregon the day before. Said friend was self-taught, and the sort to cut through four lanes of highway traffic at once when seeing his exit. We were in a soccer-mom van.


  3. OMG! I used to make that run when I was working Northern Ren Faire, only I was coming up from Orange County to SF. Parking at Comic-Con must be the ninth ring of Hell….


    • Oh yeah. We either ended up stuck at the top of a parking garage, or parked under a bridge next to all the homeless spots. Nothing bad ever happened, but both were quite a trek from the Con.
      And hey, I didn’t know you worked the Ren Faire. I actually went to my first one this last year!


      • I worked various Ren Faires in the western U.S. from age 18 to age 28. My mother equates it with me having run away and joined the circus.


      • “My mother equates it with me having run away and joined the circus.”

        And the problem with that is. . .?


      • A lot of bad things happened to me as a result of working Ren Faire. One of them was the car accident that killed me. Another was meeting my husband at Faire. For many years my mother would say, “We could have gone to Sea World.” (Instead of the Ren Faire.)


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