Wayland and Winchester

By now I am sure I've well established that me Grandpa Joe was not particular in his habits or person. Yet that won't stop me from driving the point home all the more.

I remember the first time I took an overnight trip with him. We spent a night in the little town of Wayland, Michigan, where Joe found a run down hovel of a motel. The cost was $14 per night with two double beds. Even I knew back in 1977 this was so cheap that it would have been a giant red flag waving furiously to almost anyone else. But not me Grandpa. He took the room.

The floors were not carpeted or even tiled. They were bare cement; the bathroom floor too. I could not get myself to shower or have a drink of tap water. The mattresses on the beds caved in towards their middles; it was a challenge to crawl out of bed in the morning. You more rolled uphill, then down getting out of bed. The TV got exactly one channel which at least had Tiger baseball, so there was a plus. Joe let me watch the game, though probably because he had little choice.

Years later found us in Winchester, Illinois, in the west central part of that state. It was smaller than Wayland, and there was a restaurant he liked. It is not an overstatement to say that nothing, not one thing, in that whole eatery matched. No two chairs at any one table matched, nor was there a matched chair in sight at all. No two tables matched each other. No tiles on the floor matched, as myriad solid colors mixed with lines and swirls and circles each ending abruptly at the edge of their respective one foot squares. But at least the floor was covered.

The frames on the doorways had various framing, and not even the counters matched (there were two, each with pies and snacks displayed which honestly did look good). To be fair, the restaurant was quite clean. Oh, the food was indeed good too. I just don't remember exactly what I ate, having been taken in by the overall ambiance of the place.

I mean, there is something to be said for atmosphere.