Cooperative Living May 2014 - 42

RURAL LIVING by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
I jerked awake to find the curtains
wide open and the bright morning
sun shouting into the room. I groaned
and looked over at the chair beside
the window. There was Mom, fully
dressed for travel, her packed suitcase
at her side, her purse clasped in her
lap.
" I'm ready when you are! " she
chirped happily.
Oh.
THE ROAD
LESS
TRAVELED
Garish
Bedspreads and
Country Lanes
did something recently that I haven't
done in maybe 40 years.
Well, it began with something I
have never done: Check out of my hotel
at 7:15 a.m.
I was at a Virginia Press Association
conference in Richmond. The night
before, I had " partied " as much as I ever
do these days - nowhere near heartily.
Ah, I fondly remember the VPA conference
days of dancing and availing myself
of the delights of the " hospitality suite "
until the wee hours. Sleeping until the
housekeepers demanded I vacate the
room.
I used to bring my mother along on
those trips. Mom and I were great travel
companions; much of that is because she
would " keep me in check, " so to speak.
I remember one VPA conference back
in my old dancing and hospitality days. I
crept into our room sometime around
3 a.m. and fell into my bed.
40
I
At the recent conference, I attempted
conviviality as long as I could. I
was back in my room at 10 o'clock. I
awoke at 5:52 a.m. and dallied
around. By 7 o'clock, I had no options
left but to leave. Our hotel sat on
Route 250 at Short Pump. Short
Pump, as I remember it
from my college days,
was naught but a wide
spot in the road.
Today, it is a shopping
Mecca - or a nightmare,
considering
what I now think
about shopping. Short
Pump is, to me, a confusing
conglomeration
of commercial establishments,
each of
which looks very
much like the other. I
cannot imagine going
to Short Pump to have
a " fun " day.
Instead of heading
back to the interstate,
I decided to turn west
and take Route 250 for
forever. One would simply put four gallons
of gas in the car - that cost one
dollar back then - and head toward
home. Daddy would always fill up the
car - probably spending about four
dollars - before he put you back on the
road to VCU.
'... Rows of
colorful
chenille
bedspreads
hanging on a
long line, all
available for
purchase.'
a while. These days, the longer I can
prolong merging onto the scary
scramble of the interstate, the better.
Thus it was that I found myself
meandering along what passes, near
Richmond, as a peaceful country road.
Every time I saw a sign pointing
toward I-64, I decided to wait until
the next one. I was amazed to discover
that 250 is actually a shorter route to
Charlottesville than the interstate is.
Back in the days before the interstate
- yes, I remember them - 250
was the main road between Staunton
and Richmond. It was a dark and
lonely drive that seemed to take
One would pass through Short Pump
and Oilville and Hadensville with nary a
sight to see. Well, there is one sight I
particularly remember from childhood.
Somewhere alongside the road between
Afton Mountain and Staunton, there
were the bedspread displays.
They were my favorite sights to look
out for: Rows of colorful chenille bedspreads
hanging on a long line, all available
for purchase. The colors were often
beyond garish. The
designs were intricate -
flowers and butterflies
and trees splashed in
pink and orange and
purple and green. I
loved those bedspreads!
I always begged for us
to pull over and buy one
for my bedroom. I was
never indulged.
" Those are awful! "
my mother would
exclaim. " You have
terrible taste! "
Daddy would always
clench his pipe in his
teeth, pronounce the
sellers " gypsies, " and
keep on driving toward
home.
I was reminded of all
this on that early Sunday morning drive
back to Hot Springs. My mood could
not have been rosier. There was no traffic
to speak of; I was not jockeying for
position on the interstate. I was not
looking ahead, behind and to the side
for lurking state police cars. I was not
dodging tractor trailers.
I kept my eye peeled for those garish
bedspreads but, alas, they were nowhere
to be found. The highway system may
have improved, but my taste remains the
same. 
To order Margo Oxendine's A Party of One,
email recorder@htcnet.org, or call 540-4682147
Monday-Thursday from 9-5.
Cooperative Living/May 2014
Cooperative Living May 2014

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