Hi, Diary.
After we left the Standard gas station, it didn’t take long for us to spot the lake on the right. “There it is,” announced Dad, “Silver Lake, in all its majesty.”
“It’s a lake, all right,” agreed Mother, “but majestic? I don’t know about that.”
“It’s majestic, all right,” I chimed in. Everyone in the back seat stared at the body of water that was blue and clear instead of muddy coffee, the color of our Wisconsin River.
Dad parked the car in the back of a large building that had under its single roof a tavern, restaurant, and dance hall with hard wood floor. Nobody was dancing, but people sat on redwood picnic tables that were set up inside at which some people ate while others just sat.
“Everybody out,” ordered Dad. He didn’t have to say it a second time because we three boys on the back seat bailed out of that car like paratroopers exiting a plane.
Thankfully, Mother packed our swimming suits and towels in the Oldsmobile’s trunk, “just in case,” she said before we left Wisconsin Rapids.
“Yaaay,” we yelled and a few moments later, Doc III, Dork, and I stood at the lake’s edge, the three of us minus our shoes and socks. Waves lapped at our toes.
“It’s ice cold,” announced Dork.
“But clear as glass,” I said.
“Take a gander at that slide,” said Doc III. The slide, the eighth marvel of the world, was the tallest thing around. And it was inside the roped off swimming area. Boys were sliding down, whistling, shouting, and laughing. “Boy,” I’d like to go down that slide,” I said.
“So would I,” said Dork.
Can you believe that, Diary? Dork finally agreed with me. It was the first time in his life, my life, too.
That’s when we ran back to the open dance hall where Mother, Dad, and Crazy Annie sat at a picnic table. “Can we go swimming?” asked Doc III.
“Can we?” I pleaded.
“Now?” asked Dork.
“Later,” said Dad. “First, your mother and I want to look at some rental cottages. The bartender told us which way to go.” Of course, we three moaned, groaned, and growled. The way Dad eyeballed us, we knew right away we shouldn’t have. “Let’s go,” he said. “Now,” he added. After we left the parking lot, Dad turned right toward the stop sign. Next, he turned the car right on Highway 21, which, it turned out, followed the other side of the lake.
In no time at all after we rounded a curve, we saw a sign on the right side of the highway. “Turn Here for Nelson’s Family Cottages.” Dad twisted to face his spoiled daughter, my sister, Crazy Annie. “See that sign?” he asked.
“Yes. What does it say?”
“If we turn here, we’ll find cottages for rent.”
“Oh.” Dad turned the steering wheel hard right and we soon parked in front of a large white house with a sign out front that read, “Nelson’s Cottages.” Above a side door was a sign with red letters that spelled out, “Office.”
“I’ll see if anyone’s in,” said Dad. He got out of the car, and made his way to the office door. He knocked only once.
A moment later, a smiling lady with the whitest hair opened the door and stepped out on the sidewalk next to Dad. She looked at our car and all us kids inside along with our mother. She waved at us with a welcoming smile.
Honestly, Diary, she looked just like Santa Claus’s wife in a Coca Cola advertisement on last year’s back cover of Saturday Evening Post’s Christmas issue. Her silver wire rimmed eyeglasses complimented the brightest blue eyes. I swear her smile lit up the whole, wide world, her teeth as white as baking soda, her cheeks, rosy red.
She turned back to Dad and they talked for a while. She nodded. Dad nodded. Then, both of them beckoned for us to join them. We all bailed out of that car as if there was a stink bomb inside. “We still have the large cottage open during the last two weeks of August next year,” said Mrs. Claus who told us she was Mrs. Nelson.
“That’ll work for us,” said Dad.
“Yaaay,” we kids shouted. The large cottage was beautiful inside. Mother and Dad picked their bedroom and Doc III and Dork picked out a second bedroom with twin beds. “That’s ours,” announced Doc III and Dork.
The greatest surprise of all turned out to be the rear porch with large screens and huge green and white striped canvas shades that rolled up and down by pulling cords on their sides. The beautiful lake was below the porch. When nobody said anything, I could hear waves lap at the shore. That’s when I noticed both couches were “Hide-a-beds.”
“I get to sleep on this one.” I touched one couch.
“And I get to sleep on this one,” shouted Crazy Annie.
“James and I prefer to sleep on the porch,” whined Dork.
That’s when Crazy Annie put up a fuss. “Dad, James and Billy already picked out their bedroom. So, Gordon and I should be able to sleep on these couches.”
“You’re right,” said Dad. Dad always agrees with his only, very spoiled, daughter. Lucky for me.
“We’ll have to bring a rubber sheet along with us,” said Mother. Where did that come from?
“For heaven’s sake, why?” asked Mrs. Nelson.
“Because he,” Mother pointed straight at me, “still wets the bed.”
Why, I ask you Diary, why did she have to say that in front of someone we barely know? Well, she did, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”
However, Mrs. Nelson smiled. “I have a son, Gary, who wet the bed until he was fourteen years old and in high school. And now, my goodness gracious, he’s a doctor. He and his wife, Jill, have gifted me with two granddaughters and a wonderful grandson, so far.”
“My Jim’s a doctor, too,” bragged Mother.
“Oh, you’re a doctor, are you?” Mrs. Nelson asked Dad.
“Yes,” said Dad, “Internal medicine and eye, ear, nose, and throat.”
“Maybe you’ll become a doctor,” she said, looking straight at me.
“No,” I said, “I want to be a fireman.”
“Only a year ago, he wanted to be a cowboy,” said Dad, laughing.
“Can’t a guy change his mind?” I asked.
Everybody there, except for me, laughed. Finally, I laughed, too. Mrs. Nelson hugged me. “You’ll be all right, son. You’ll be just fine in whatever you choose to be when you’re all grown up.”
“We’ll take the cottage,” said Dad.
“Yaaay,” we kids replied.
After we left the Standard gas station, it didn’t take long for us to spot the lake on the right. “There it is,” announced Dad, “Silver Lake, in all its majesty.”
“It’s a lake, all right,” agreed Mother, “but majestic? I don’t know about that.”
“It’s majestic, all right,” I chimed in. Everyone in the back seat stared at the body of water that was blue and clear instead of muddy coffee, the color of our Wisconsin River.
Dad parked the car in the back of a large building that had under its single roof a tavern, restaurant, and dance hall with hard wood floor. Nobody was dancing, but people sat on redwood picnic tables that were set up inside at which some people ate while others just sat.
“Everybody out,” ordered Dad. He didn’t have to say it a second time because we three boys on the back seat bailed out of that car like paratroopers exiting a plane.
Thankfully, Mother packed our swimming suits and towels in the Oldsmobile’s trunk, “just in case,” she said before we left Wisconsin Rapids.
“Yaaay,” we yelled and a few moments later, Doc III, Dork, and I stood at the lake’s edge, the three of us minus our shoes and socks. Waves lapped at our toes.
“It’s ice cold,” announced Dork.
“But clear as glass,” I said.
“Take a gander at that slide,” said Doc III. The slide, the eighth marvel of the world, was the tallest thing around. And it was inside the roped off swimming area. Boys were sliding down, whistling, shouting, and laughing. “Boy,” I’d like to go down that slide,” I said.
“So would I,” said Dork.
Can you believe that, Diary? Dork finally agreed with me. It was the first time in his life, my life, too.
That’s when we ran back to the open dance hall where Mother, Dad, and Crazy Annie sat at a picnic table. “Can we go swimming?” asked Doc III.
“Can we?” I pleaded.
“Now?” asked Dork.
“Later,” said Dad. “First, your mother and I want to look at some rental cottages. The bartender told us which way to go.” Of course, we three moaned, groaned, and growled. The way Dad eyeballed us, we knew right away we shouldn’t have. “Let’s go,” he said. “Now,” he added. After we left the parking lot, Dad turned right toward the stop sign. Next, he turned the car right on Highway 21, which, it turned out, followed the other side of the lake.
In no time at all after we rounded a curve, we saw a sign on the right side of the highway. “Turn Here for Nelson’s Family Cottages.” Dad twisted to face his spoiled daughter, my sister, Crazy Annie. “See that sign?” he asked.
“Yes. What does it say?”
“If we turn here, we’ll find cottages for rent.”
“Oh.” Dad turned the steering wheel hard right and we soon parked in front of a large white house with a sign out front that read, “Nelson’s Cottages.” Above a side door was a sign with red letters that spelled out, “Office.”
“I’ll see if anyone’s in,” said Dad. He got out of the car, and made his way to the office door. He knocked only once.
A moment later, a smiling lady with the whitest hair opened the door and stepped out on the sidewalk next to Dad. She looked at our car and all us kids inside along with our mother. She waved at us with a welcoming smile.
Honestly, Diary, she looked just like Santa Claus’s wife in a Coca Cola advertisement on last year’s back cover of Saturday Evening Post’s Christmas issue. Her silver wire rimmed eyeglasses complimented the brightest blue eyes. I swear her smile lit up the whole, wide world, her teeth as white as baking soda, her cheeks, rosy red.
She turned back to Dad and they talked for a while. She nodded. Dad nodded. Then, both of them beckoned for us to join them. We all bailed out of that car as if there was a stink bomb inside. “We still have the large cottage open during the last two weeks of August next year,” said Mrs. Claus who told us she was Mrs. Nelson.
“That’ll work for us,” said Dad.
“Yaaay,” we kids shouted. The large cottage was beautiful inside. Mother and Dad picked their bedroom and Doc III and Dork picked out a second bedroom with twin beds. “That’s ours,” announced Doc III and Dork.
The greatest surprise of all turned out to be the rear porch with large screens and huge green and white striped canvas shades that rolled up and down by pulling cords on their sides. The beautiful lake was below the porch. When nobody said anything, I could hear waves lap at the shore. That’s when I noticed both couches were “Hide-a-beds.”
“I get to sleep on this one.” I touched one couch.
“And I get to sleep on this one,” shouted Crazy Annie.
“James and I prefer to sleep on the porch,” whined Dork.
That’s when Crazy Annie put up a fuss. “Dad, James and Billy already picked out their bedroom. So, Gordon and I should be able to sleep on these couches.”
“You’re right,” said Dad. Dad always agrees with his only, very spoiled, daughter. Lucky for me.
“We’ll have to bring a rubber sheet along with us,” said Mother. Where did that come from?
“For heaven’s sake, why?” asked Mrs. Nelson.
“Because he,” Mother pointed straight at me, “still wets the bed.”
Why, I ask you Diary, why did she have to say that in front of someone we barely know? Well, she did, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”
However, Mrs. Nelson smiled. “I have a son, Gary, who wet the bed until he was fourteen years old and in high school. And now, my goodness gracious, he’s a doctor. He and his wife, Jill, have gifted me with two granddaughters and a wonderful grandson, so far.”
“My Jim’s a doctor, too,” bragged Mother.
“Oh, you’re a doctor, are you?” Mrs. Nelson asked Dad.
“Yes,” said Dad, “Internal medicine and eye, ear, nose, and throat.”
“Maybe you’ll become a doctor,” she said, looking straight at me.
“No,” I said, “I want to be a fireman.”
“Only a year ago, he wanted to be a cowboy,” said Dad, laughing.
“Can’t a guy change his mind?” I asked.
Everybody there, except for me, laughed. Finally, I laughed, too. Mrs. Nelson hugged me. “You’ll be all right, son. You’ll be just fine in whatever you choose to be when you’re all grown up.”
“We’ll take the cottage,” said Dad.
“Yaaay,” we kids replied.
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