Where Did You Go on Vacations as a Child?

As a child, between the ages of 5 and 9, we would drive through Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, and stay in cabins at Elephant Butte Lake. I think we vacationed there three times. I remember the cabins were right next to the lake. It was called Elephant Butte Lake after the rock formation protruding from the lake. The summit looked like an elephant laying on its side. The dam built in the Rio Grande created the lake.

Over the years, I checked, and the cabins are still there and available to rent.

It seemed like a very long drive to me. My mother would wake me while it was still really dark outside. When I was younger, she’d carry me out to the car and when I got older, she would walk me out. While Mother drove, I would sleep in the back seat until it was time for breakfast. I also remember standing up in the car so I could see where we were going. Sometimes I would stand between my daddy and mother and sometimes in the back seat. Mother had to drive because Daddy was crippled by Rheumatoid Arthritis and Cancer. We would have to have the biggest heaviest car because it would ride softer and would glide over most bumps. Riding in cars with a stiff suspension would make my daddy cry out in pain. That meant that the back seat was huge, and I could easily stretch out and sleep or play with toys.

I remember the cabins had shiny wooden walls. To me, the adobe on the exterior walls had strange shapes. The walls were very thick. I could play in the cabin or the picnic area across the road, but I wasn’t allowed to go near the lake on my own. At the picnic area, I made friends with other kids and with a squirrel. His ear was missing a notch, perhaps from an attack, so I named him Tuffy. He would come straight up to me, and I would share bits of my food with him and talk to him. My mother was not happy to learn about Tuffy. She told me to stay away from “that dirty, nasty squirrel.” She told me he was a rat with a bushy tail. He had a bushy tail, but I still saw him every day and would leave him bits of apple when he wasn’t at our spot. I always knew it was him, even when we came back the next year, because he had that distinctive notch in his ear and he would come right up to me and let me pet him. Our last year there I couldn’t find him.

One night, we were playing a card game. Daddy, Mother, and me. Most of the time, I was barefoot at Elephant Butte Lake. The floors were cool because there was concrete painted that ubiquitous dark red. I remember I we were having fun, playing cards and laughing. Then, suddenly, I screamed and jumped! Something had crawled over my foot! I spun toward the direction it ran and saw the scorpion scurrying over to the wall. I cried. Mother said, “Stop that, it’s nothing.” Although, during the rest of our time there, we all would check and shake our shoes before we put them on.

During my teen years, Mother told me that when I was 21-months old that they took me to Disneyland on opening day. Too bad we never went back, so I could remember the experience. We lived in Canoga Park, Los Angeles. Just about an hour from the brand new park. As an adult, I’ve seen several documentaries about Walt Disney and about Disneyland. They always show shots of the first visitors. I secretly look for my parents to see if I can find us in the crowds.

Our last vacation as a family was just with my mother. In the summer of 1965, when I was 11 years old and had just finished the 6th grade. Daddy had passed away on February 12, 1964, and it was just the two of us now. We drove from Tucson to Centerville, Iowa, to visit my maternal grandparents, Oscar Floy Hobart and Alice Edna Norton Hobart, visiting at several places along the way.

Our first stop was in Deming, New Mexico, which was on the way to Truth or Consequences. Aunt Beulah lived there with her husband. I’m not sure if she was actually a relative or just a close friend to my parents. She had throat cancer from smoking. There was a gapping hold at the base of her neck. Beneath her chin, she placed a vibrator so she could form words. It was fascinating to talk with her. She was a hardened old gal and had the craziest stories to tell. I remember they were very colorful and enthralling. That gaping hole was also where she would smoke her cigarettes. If she started coughing, she’d use a tissue to mop up any phlegm. It was disgusting.

Next, we went to Amarillo, Texas. There my Uncle Bill and Aunt Pam lived. They had two children: Billy and Pammy. Yep, four people and only two names. Uncle Bill was my daddy’s brother. The most I remember about that visit was continuously finding partial bottles of some brown liquid that smelled terrible. Someone had hidden them all over the house. Later, I learned from Mother that Aunt Pam had a “drinking problem”. No one ever used the word alcoholic.

Eventually, we arrived in Centerville, Iowa, and stayed with my grandparents. GPa and GMa. My grandmother was an amazing cook, and we had unbelievable meals. For breakfast, there were waffles, pancakes, oatmeal, eggs, home fries, homemade hash browns, bacon, sausage, toast, and homemade preserves. GMa to make all these different foods for us; they were ready, hot, and waiting on the table for us every morning.

In Centerville, I met many cousins. My mother was one of 10 children. The first child, a daughter, died very young. Next along came two boys, and my mother was next, followed by three more boys before her last three sisters came along. For a long time, she was the only girl surrounded by brothers. Brothers who did their best to toughen her up. Toughen her by playing dirty tricks on her. One time, they loosen some screws on her bike and eventually it fell apart while riding. But no matter, they all still loved each other and mother became a very resilient person.

There were several aunts and uncles living in Centerville, all with at least one child. One aunt lived in Des Moines; which was about two hours northwest of Centerville. She moved there for her husband’s job. We went to visit her one day. We spent the remaining time in and around Centerville. When we drove over to Uncle Bobby’s house, his son Jimmy. was running around in the front yard playing with a hose. He was a toddler, but still in diapers. Actually, he had taken his diaper off and was running around naked yelling F**K, F**K, F**K as loud as possible. Mother and I were in tears. We were laughing so hard.

I spent lots of time with cousins. We would go all over the area together. One time we went swimming, but I didn’t have a bathing suit. My cousin Susan had a red one that she lent me. We recently reconnected on Ancestry, and she reminded me of this story. She told me it made her mad that it looked better on me than her. That was a surprising revelation. On another occasion, the cousins were at a farm and we all helped bring the cows in to the barn. My cousins showed me how to hold on to a cow’s tail and slide along the grass as it made its way home.

That vacation to Iowa in 1965 would be our last. There were no more vacations for us as a family. In just two years (1967), my mother would meet and marry Arlie L. Heinlein and we would live in his house for only three years. I would meet your dad in 1970 and Arlie would kick us out of his house because I defied him and continued seeing your dad even after he forbade me to do so. The sneaky old man set a trap for me and caught me in a lie. Then Arlie kicked my mother out of his bedroom and she had to share the other twin bed in my bedroom. That continued until the renters moved out of our home on 17th Street. Fortunately, Mother had kept our home, and we moved back there. Not long after moving back, I went to see our old neighbors across the alley from us. I really like them because when I was very young, they would babysit me when my mother had to work, and my daddy was in the hospital. They lived directly south of our home. Their names were Victor and Florence Lukas.

Norma Maynard, January 17, 2022