A Cautionary Tale, Part 1

 

 

Photo by Ann Kone out her window in Brooklyn, NY, early February 2025

 

The grandgirls around the age they were in story below

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bridesmaids at their babysitter's wedding, 10 years later

I began Grace's Mosaic Moments in January 2011 with a 2-part blog about something I had experienced only a few weeks earlier. The story—true in every detail—is the epitome of how what should have been a simple act was compounded by a series of minor incidents into a Perfect Storm of Aggravation and Grandmotherly Distress. I mean, all I was supposed to do was drive my three grandgirls home from a Christmas program at First Baptist Church in Orlando (on the west side of Orlando when we lived on the east side).

Uh, huh . . .  

Even if you've read this before, you might want to look again and be reminded how easy it is for things to go wrong, particularly if you are responsible for children or grandchildren. 

Below, please find A Cautionary Tale, Part 1:

 My daughter is a blonde.  She is also CEO of a Real Estate Investment company.  This does not mean she does not have blonde moments.  

Each Christmas my daughter and her husband take the extended family (about fifteen relatives and employees) to First Baptist Orlando’s Singing Christmas Trees, a truly superb presentation in a church that seats about 5000.  This year, my son-in-law also bought tickets on the same night for a concert in downtown Orlando. So it was arranged that I would drive their three girls, ages 4, 6 & 7, home in my daughter's SUV, while she and her husband drove directly to the concert in downtown Orlando. Sounds simple, right? I even had help from others in the group to get all three little ones into my daughter’s SUV through the crush of 5000 people attempting to leave at the same time.  So far, so good.  

By the time the girls were settled into their seat belts, there weren’t many cars left in the lot.  I buckled up, started the engine . . . and the car didn’t move.  I tried again.  No movement.  My daughter had set the hand brake in flat-as-a-pancake Florida?  I looked where the hand brake is on my car.  Nothing.  I looked where the brake was on my old car.  Nothing.  It was, by the way, nearly pitch black in the parking lot.  The 7-year-old put on the overhead light for me, but I still couldn’t see any hand brake.  

I got out of the car and called to the one couple still walking toward their car.  They kindly came over, but they too could not find the hand brake.  By this time people were getting into the car in front of me.  We had a five-way consultation, the two couples and I, and the husband of the new couple gave it a try.  Took him about ten seconds, while the rest of us stood by, red-faced.  I like to think he was more familiar with a Honda SUV than I was. With profuse thanks to all, I climbed in.  At last we could go home.

Figuring the couple who had been parked in front of me knew the way out better than I did, I followed them.   Which took us out a different way than we’d come in.  (Oops.)  No problem, just turn right and right and . . . except in all the traffic I ended up in a Left Turn Only lane.  (Double oops.)  After two or three blocks I figured I’d better make another right and right and hopefully end up on the road I should have been on in the first place.  Except . . .

We were instantly in a residential area, and that’s when I had time to glance at the dashboard and notice the Gas Light was on.  Houses, houses everywhere, and not a sign of a thoroughfare with a gas station.  And at that dire point, the 7-year-old said, “Gramma, do you know where we are?”

Uh, no.  But of course I didn’t say so.  I just kept doubling back until I saw—oh, joy—a stoplight.  And at the intersection, a GAS STATION.  Before pulling up to the pump, I tried calling both my daughter and my son-in-law.  I was not happy!  Lucky them, their phones were off.  They were enjoying their concert at the new Amway Arena.

The children, fortunately, knew which side the gas tank was on, so we managed to pull up with the pump on the correct side.  I popped out, stuck in my credit card, and the silly machine wanted to know if it was a debit card.  When I said no, it cancelled the transaction.  I tried again.  Same result.  To say my blood pressure was soaring would be putting it mildly.  There I was with three small children in the car, and I had to go INSIDE.  Fortunately, we were right in front of the door.  I told the children to stay put and dashed inside, where the attendant managed the transaction while I kept looking out the glass door.  

Put ten dollars worth of gas in my daughter’s car and headed out, the children completely angelic or I might have lost myself along with the car.  We did a couple more turns, looking for lots of lights signaling a major road.  And there it was.  Kirkman, the road that runs past Universal Studios.  I was so turned around by this time that I simply chose a direction, knowing either north or south would lead me to a major east-west road that would take us home.  And, sure enough, in less than a mile there it was, the 408, Orlando’s East-West Expressway.  Yay, hurray!

But, no, this isn’t the end of the story.  The night’s “annoyances” will be continued in my next post on Friday, January 21, 2011.

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Featured Book:

The so-called Hero in Menace at Lincourt Manor is possibly the least likable of all my main male characters. Descended from an aristocracy older than England's, he tends to be overly arrogant, oblivious to his wife's needs, possibly even uncaring. I am happy to say he manages to redeem himself, but it's touch and go 'til it's almost too late.

 Violet Larrabee, a merchant's daughter born in India, achieves her greatest dream, marrying the man she has loved since childhood (the great-grandson of a Bengali rajah), only to have her world plunge into a succession of nightmares. Abandoned by an all-too-busy husband, she must cope with a dilapidated house, hostile servants, and a succession of escalating events that culminate in multiple murders. Murders that might possibly have been committed by her husband.

Violet faces her problems with courage and determination, seldom faltering as she proves herself far from the shy, shrinking flower for which she was named. Until, with the solution to her problems almost at hand, a dramatic stumble nearly puts an end to her life and all possibility of Happily Ever After. 

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Thanks for stopping by,

 Grace (Blair Bancroft)