The Hotel from The Shining, and The Parable of the Wagon Master

*Thinking of Anne and her dear family*

Threesome status:

With me, Sam, and Hot Tub crammed into one tiny room, we weren't getting much sleep. So, being the magnanimous person that I am, I opted out of the love triangle. Sam and Hot Tub are doing just fine now.

Looking lame on everyone else's blogs status:
Not surprisingly, I look pretty stupid when other people are recounting their favorite moments from SCBWI. Check it out here and here.

Creepy Hotel status:
Yesterday we went to the Stanley Hotel, the site where Stephen King was inspired to write The Shining. He stayed in room 217, and thought up one of the creepiest stories of our time.

You should've heard my mom telling the grandkids about the story:

mom: "There once was a man, who stayed in this hotel, and went crazy and killed his entire family. So their ghosts haunt the hotel. Then, there's this writer, who takes his wife and son up to the same hotel to stay during the winter. Well, he goes crazy, typing stupid sentences over and over on a typewriter, confessing to a bartender, who is really a ghost, and stuff. He kills a guy with an axe, and then he tries to kill his wife and son, before he is frozen in the maze. Any questions?"

Grandkid: "What the heck is a typewriter?"

The Roads of Doom:

The roads in Rocky Mountain National Park were narrow, and in some places the edge abutted a sheer dropoff. (Can you believe I actually used the word “abutted” in a sentence? It’s like I’m living in a freakin’ Jane Austen novel, right?)
Okay, so this picture really doesn't do the whole dropoff thing justice

Anyway, back to the road. Often, when I have nightmares, I dream about narrow, steep roads. More specifically, I dream about catapulting over the edge and rolling to the bottom of the ravine, and when the car finally stops, it’s nothing more than a twisted piece of metallic wreckage.

That’s the kind of road we were on.

Why is it that I can love Sam most of the time, but when he gets behind the wheel, I often call upon the fires of Heaven to strike him down, he bugs me so much.

So, in Rocky Mountain National Park, Sam is driving, and my fingertips are sweating (because that’s what they do when I’m anticipating death by cliffs) and Sam keeps pointing out the freakin’ wildlife.

Sam: “Look way up there… way way up there. Here. Lean over. See? Elk!”

Me: “If you’re lookin’ for elk, you’re not watching the road. Please, please just watch the road.”

Sam: “Check out that dead tree behind us. What do you think killed it?”

Me: “Who cares! Stop looking at trees. Watch the road!”

Sam: “Fine. Fine. I’m watching the road.”

A couple agonizing moments pass, as the edge looms ominously… uh, nearby. I close my eyes, and simply hope for the best.

Sam: “I’ve added my picks, do you want to add any songs to the playlist?”

I glance over to see Sam navigating his iphone with one hand and steering with the other.

Me: “Rakkin Frakkin! Watch the road, you tool! Remember the parable of the… wagon… guy?”

Sam: “The parable of the wagon guy?”

Me (closing my eyes, and still suffering from altitude delusions): “Yeah, the parable of the wagon master. You know, where someone is hiring a wagon driver-”

Sam: “Who’s hiring him?”
Me: “I don’t know. God is hiring him. And three wagon masters vie for the job, and one of them shows off by driving close to the edge-”

Sam: “Wait. Why would God need a wagon master?”

Me: “I don’t know, Sam. It’s a frakkin parable. Anyway, so everyone gets fired, except the guy who stayed the farthest away from the edge. And he gets the job. Because he was the safest, not the showiest.”


Sam: “There's no way that's in the bible."

Me: “Just watch the friggin’ road.”

So, anyone want to road trip with us? Seriously, we are fun.