Ho-Tales

Our brief overnighter to Salt Lake this weekend reminded me of one of my most memorable road trips. I was 23, going to violin making school, and the Violin Society of America convention was in San Francisco. There were only about 15 students at my school, and we all wanted to go, of course. We couldn't imagine anything more stimulating than talking about varnish into the wee hours with fellow afficionados.

I had a friend from China, Yanfu Tong, who had saved money he earned from making violins in his tiny apartment to bring his wife and twin sons here. They all lived in a one-bedroom apartment across from mine at the school. Yanfu and I decided to drive together to San Francisco, along with his family. We barreled along I-80 West toward the Bay area, me listening to the family shout in Mandarin the whole time. Mandarin isn't a quiet language. At the convention, Yanfu and Yaqing and their boys stayed with Chinese friends in an empty apartment, save for several giant bags of rice and some sleeping bags. I didn't spend much time in the hotel room I shared with about six of Yanfu's Chinese friends, but I did save a lot of money by spending my few sleeping hours on the floor. For one meal, I went to Chinatown with the Tong family, never saw a menu, and had one of the best meals of my life. I don't even know if we paid. Hey, it never hurts to have Chinese connections in San Francisco!

The last day of the convention, we left in the evening and had to stop on the way home at a Motel 6 somewhere in Nevada. Being in poor student mode, all five of us shared a room. Yanfu and Yaqing slept in the bed, the twins and me on the floor. The room was ridiculously puny, and I was right next to the bathroom with a sheet and what felt like a thin layer of astroturf separating me from a slab of concrete. Mandarin warnings flew around the room as Yanfu tried to get the boys to settle down. It was finally quiet. Then somebody tooted and we all giggled, just a little bit. Then a lot. The language barrier was down and the floor didn't seem so hard. One of the funniest nights of my life, for the sheer absurdity of me bunking with a Chinese-American family, three of whom had just arrived in this country and didn't speak any English, in a Motel 6 in Winnemuca. That's a memorable trip.

Friday night, for a minute, I doubted the sanity of seven people sleeping in one hotel room. Seven Chinese violin makers, maybe. But Freestone...That's a different story. He has a routine that he HAS to go through every night before he falls asleep. It requires singing and story telling on Freestone's part, and it must be done in its entirety. Freestone had staked out his spot under the desk in the hotel room and was set up in his "office/bed." The rest of the family, camped out around the room, patiently listened, giggling frequently, as Freestone went through several renditions of his song, "Mimi Mouse! Mimi Mouse! Minds her manners in the house! When she drinks her milk she never makes a mess! Mud pies never stain her dress!" He sang with gusto, stopping to highlight every "M" sound. By the time he had moved on to "Annie Apple," he was winding down and we all had a song that would forever make us burst into fresh laughter.

Since we may never fall asleep together around a campfire, the cramped hotel rooms of our family vacations will have to serve as the glue that keeps us together. Every family has different glue, and this method of adhesion may not work for some. For me, I love it. I would never trade the giggles that only happen at bedtime for anything as paltry as sleep. I'll sleep later, when the giggling has stopped.