A PJ Vacation

 

That's me in the green. Dressed appropriately.

Mom was a stickler for clothing customs and traditions.

“Wear a jacket.” “Put on your shoes.” “Where’s your hat?” “You need gloves/boots/armour in the barnyard.” “Get your helmet!” “I don’t care what the other girls are wearing, you are not going swimming naked!”

And others.

Clothes were almost a uniform to her. You wore what was appropriate. When it was appropriate.

Oh, we were still able to dress in what was going. Bell-bottoms. Not-quite-mini skirts. Go-go boots. (Okay those were my sister’s which I may or may not have sneaked out of her room.)

But one had to wear what. And when.

Now to my story . . .

Husby and I were in the sweet little town of Cardston, Alberta.

Husby and his partner, Shayne, wanted to build a museum there and/or spruce up the main street.

It entailed lots of glimpses into history.

He and Shayne were given a tour of the period hotel that graces the main street.

The Cahoon.

And I had my own glimpse into history . . .

Mom and dad and we kids were in Cardston for some reason.

I don’t remember why. Relatives? Church? Business?

I was five. I had gotten into the car because whenever the family was going somewhere, it was an ADVENTURE.

Soooo . . . Cardston.

While we were there, as sometimes happens in the Great Canadian Prairies in close proximity to the equally-great-but-for-different-reasons Rocky Mountains in the winter, a great storm blew in.

And engulfed us.

And the town.

And probably quite a large part of the surrounding countryside but I was basically concerned with what I could see out the car window.

Dad decided it was far safer to seek refuge right where we were.

We drove to the only hotel. The Cahoon. A great stone structure that loomed over main street.

Requested and were granted rooms.

And proceeded to ready ourselves for bed.

I remember three things that make sense to me now, knowing that the stop-over was completely unplanned.

But that didn’t when I was five.

1. A great iron bedstead that creaked and was really springy and perfect for jumping. Except that Argus of the Hundred Eyes (ie. Mom) was watching me.

2. I didn’t have to brush my teeth because I didn’t have a toothbrush. 

And, most importantly...

3. Mom stripped me out of my clothes and tucked me into the great, springy bed in only my undershirt and panties.

Wait. What? No Pajamas?

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Not even a nightie?

This had never—ever—happened before. I was expected to actually sleep? Almost naked?

I know I probably went out like the proverbial candle, with or without my pajamas.

And woke the next morning as refreshed and energetic as if I had been in my own bed, on my own ranch, in my own PJ’s to a fourth new and exciting thing:

4. Breakfast in the hotel restaurant!

It’s funny how all of this came back as we stood there, staring up at the great, old hotel.

P.S. You have to know that pajamas still make up a large part of preparing myself for bed.

Just ask Husby.