in which our hero votes Oklahoma off the island*...

Is it too late to go back to 49 states? I'm ready to expel Oklahoma (OK) from the union because it's too far away, it's too ridiculous, and they almost won't let you go to the bathroom after 11pm.


For starters, why does it have to be so far away from everything? You've heard the phrase 'the middle of nowhere'? Oklahoma is not in the middle of nowhere - it's out past the edge of nowhere. You can't even see the border of nowhere from Oklahoma - and trust me, there ain't much to get in the way of the view, not counting casinos. Driving through OK I listened to XM satellite radio. They have a channel that plays only songs from the 60s, and I heard every song twice. That's the equivalent two decades of music, all inside the Oklahoma borders. It's a heapin' helpin' of desolation and remoteness, surrounded by wilderness, and I drove from one side of it to the other. And drove, and drove, and drove, and drove....

As you enter the State of Oklahoma, the first sign you see, even before 'Welcome to OK, Spend All Your Money', is this one: Do Not Drive into Smoke. Huh? Do Not Drive into Smoke - I need a sign for that? Thanks, Captain Obvious. I told the Charming and Delightful, drat, I was so looking forward to driving into smoke, and now I can't.

I don't see how this works out well for OK. Do they think everyone else is so stupid they need a sign to tell them not to drive into smoke? Thanks for nothing, Okies. Do Not Drive into Smoke - smoke from where? Does Oklahoma not have fire prevention week like everyone else? Do they lead the nation in arson or something? Have they never heard of firemen, those guys in the shiny red trucks with flashing lights, sirens, and y'know, water, that come out and put out fires?

And adding insult to injury, they repeat the sign every thirty miles. Like I would need to be reminded. Hey Oklahoma, you ever hear of fog? It's thick, and gray, and reduces visibility like, well, like smoke! Slow Down in Smoke - I can see that. Turn On Headlights in Smoke - that makes sense. But Do Not Drive into Smoke? C'mon, man!

As if being too far away and thinking I'm such a moron that I can't drive with limited visibility, isn't enough, Oklahoma is a biological hazard after midnight.

We had been on the road for more than nine hours, stopping only to refuel the Land Ship, my brother's Suburban. It's one of the things I love about traveling with the Charming and Delightful - she's a very low maintenance travel companion. Even though it was after midnight, when she said she needed a bio break, I went on high alert for a place to stop. Luckily, we passed a sign advertising free rest rooms (free? they charge for pottying in Oklahoma??!!), and I pulled up to a dimly lit storefront. But the gas pumps were operational, so while the C&D went to use the bathroom, I fed the Land Ship. Wouldn't mind a little relief myself, I thought when I was gassed up. I passed the C&D on the way, and she said don't bother, they're locked. Huh, that doesn't sound very free, I thought.

Luckily, a lady came out of the men's room pushing a mop bucket. Great timing, I said, would you mind unlocking the woman's room so my wife can go to the bathroom? Sorry, she says, I can't. We're closed, and I can't unlock them. As she says this, she unlocks the woman's room, reaches in and turns out the light, and re-locks the door. C'mon, man, what's up with that?

Frustrated, we pull back onto the turnpike. One unpleasant side effect of traveling on a full bladder is a heightened awareness of every bump and ripple in the road. I was very conscious of and thankful for the Land Ship's smooth ride. Within fifteen miles, we rejoice at the sign pointing out a World Famous Restaurant (the one with the golden arches I used to work for), and happily pull up to the door.

One thing the World Famous Restaurant is world famous for is clean restrooms. Happiness and joy abound, except for one, teeny tiny little problem. Despite having dozens of people milling about inside the restaurant, the doors were locked. Say what? An employee unlocked the door to allow a couple to exit. I reached for the door, and she shut it in my face. Can my wife come in and use the restroom, please? I'm sorry, she says, we're closed. Closed? C'mon, man, you have dozens of people in there. I'm sorry, she repeats, I can't. We're closed.

Well now I'm getting mad. I thought about asking the people on the bus parked nearby if they would let my wife use their bathroom, but she was already heading for the gas station about a quarter mile away. She was not happy. She was less happy when she came out of the less than world famously clean restroom.

Perhaps it was the nearness of the hour to one o'clock in the morning. Perhaps it was the weariness of nine straight hours of travel. Perhaps it was the frustration of two people who said they were sorry but showed no remorse or sympathy at all for the plight of a fellow human being. Regardless, the net effect was we were not very happy with our introduction to Oklahoma. And it didn't help when the guy in the toll booth shut his door on me as I pulled up, forcing me to use an automated doohickey. Said automated doohickey, probably because it was almost two in the morning and I was really tired, caused me great consternation. I had to figure out how to select the right option for my vehicle, then dig up two bucks in exact change. Mr. Tool Booth finally peeks around the corner to see what the hold up is, at which point I used language inappropriate for younger chillrens. Or women. Or drunken sailors.

So, if I have the chance, I will gladly give Oklahoma and their closed restrooms and their stupid signs back to the Indians. But I doubt if I will get the chance. You see, my grandson now lives in Oklahoma, and he will for the next three years, which means I'll be back. And just how bad can anyplace be where the World's Best Boy is?

*with apologies to the Prewetts, our friends from Oklahoma. While Jeff had the good sense to leave, his brother still lives there, I think, and the one time I met him he came across as a very decent person.

in which our hero ruminates about missing his chillrens

Hansen's Rule of Adult Children: Wherever they are, you want them somewhere else. If they're away, you want them home, but after they've been home a while, you start missing your cherished routines. The Charming and Delightful and I relished raising our daughters and our two imported chillrens. But when they all went off to college, I settled very nicely into empty nesting. In fact, I settled into it so well that it's difficult for me to interrupt it.

Living under Hansen's Rule of Adult Children creates cognitive dissonance. When informed of a visit from the kids, excitement and anticipation grow. Cleaning takes on renewed vigor to put spit and polish into all nooks and crannies. Grass is cut, weeds are pulled, leaves are raked. Stores are visited to lay in all the necessary supplies to properly and thoroughly spoil said visitors. Happiness and joy abound when the car comes down the drive!

And yet within days of the arrival, thoughts turn to missed routines. I get increasingly cranky with every short night, no matter how delightful the previous evening's conversation. In quiet moments alone in the garage, I find myself accelerating the countdown to departure. But when it's finally time to go, before the car gets to the top of the driveway I'm awash in sadness, missing my babies, all thoughts of discomfort banished. If only they could stay a little longer... Unless of course they actually turn around, when my initial reaction would be what now? Will I ever get the TV remote back?

Hansen's Rule of Adult Children was not in effect when my oldest daughter and my grandson came to live with us during her husband's deployment to Afghanistan. That's because no interruption, inconvenience or lost sleep wasn't trumped by living every day with my little guy and his mom. It really didn't matter how bad my day was when he would reach for my glasses and say 'fight, Pa', signaling his desire for a wrestling match. The Charming and Delightful still smiles at the memory of pulling into the garage and seeing a naked boy waving from the door. Every time I went outside, there was my little buddy right behind, ready to help. And every day was another chance to see what an accomplished, able, loving wife and mom my daughter had grown into.

Nor has Hansen's Rule usually applied to the Youngest Daughter, in whom I may have instilled a little too much independence. Her visits home have been too infrequent and too short in duration to allow for the full displacement to take effect. I'm just too tickled to see her to worry about being displaced from my routine.

Come to think of it, the Rule doesn't work that well with my imported kids, either. (Imported is shorthand for our two exchange students...) The last time Hanna-Girl was back in the US, she was here for more than three weeks. Rather than help her pack, I distinctly recall telling her that there was a perfectly wonderful university right across the river in Peoria that she could attend. Besides being our alma mater, I argued, it has the distinct advantage of allowing her to live with us. She chose Vienna and Hamburg, of all places to attend university, instead of Peoria. Nevertheless, I'm on record that she's welcome to visit whenever she likes, for as long as she likes. And the same goes for Morten, our Danish son, despite my overwhelming desires to alternately hug him or bonk him on the head. He's turning into quite the young man.

Honestly, Hansen's Rule of Adult Children probably isn't a rule at all. For all the moaning and complaining I do about having my world turned upside down whenever the kids come to visit, I don't really ever want them to leave. But they must, because life goes on, and didn't I raise them to live their own lives?

I reckon Hansen's Rule of Adult Children is just another way of saying you're getting too set in your ways, old man.