Oregon Trail family reunion logistics and other personal inadequacies

Inadequate.  Been on that trail a long time.  Inept. Inarticulate. Introvert. Sometimes I was given a label. Other times I hung labels around my own neck. There's been a long-running competition in my head and gut between those lethal quicksand labels and others that dubbed me a creative, funny, responsible artist, teacher, and wordsmith.

On the trail I couldn't ever shoot enough game or ford the river.  Those traveling with me died off rapidly of starvation, snakebite, and dysentery. I rarely made it to Chimney Rock playing the old Oregon Trail "educational" computer game in the early Nineties.  My youngest, the Woolly Mammoth, could get his wagon to Oregon every time even though he could not read the prompts and probably should have been taking an afternoon nap with his Special Bunny.  Back then the game graphics were primitive, and no voices narrated the trek.

One of my precious daughters-in-law prompted me to get on the stick and organize my kin into a virtual wagon train headed to Oregon for an approaching holiday. Seven adults, one baby, one very small dog (not Jack, the brindle bulldog), three time zones, five airports. Looking for relaxing reunion lodging with some kitchen facilities.

1982

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder