In twenty-four hours I will be embarking on a much-anticipated flight to Geneva to visit my sister and her family. As international family travel goes, this should be a cakewalk.
|One of several reasons we're flying to Geneva. |
Who wouldn't fly 12 hours to hang out with her?
Ok, I just realized I don’t know what that term really means. What is a ‘cakewalk’?
So I distracted myself with the google and learn thus:
the cake walk was originally a plantation dance, just a happy movement they did to the banjo music because they couldn't stand still. It was generally on Sundays, when there was little work, that the slaves both young and old would dress up in hand-me-down finery to do a high-kicking, prancing walk-around. They did a take-off on the manners of the white folks in the "big house", but their masters, who gathered around to watch the fun, missed the point. It's supposed to be that the custom of a prize started with the master giving a cake to the couple that did the proudest movement.
Huh. This flight should be a piece of cake. This flight should take the cake. Same reference. Interesting.
I am flying with a very reasonable 13-year-old girl, not multiple toddlers or teens, and she’s good company to boot. (Another etymological search: Old English ‘to bote’ something added to/ moreover) She can carry her own self packed bag, has downloaded a library’s worth of Game of Thrones on her kindle and I have four unread New Yorkers and three seasons of Walking Dead on my iPad. I no longer need to travel with a diaper bag. More’s the pity. We might wish I did.
Mary Allison Tierney's essay The Gingerdreadman is included in the anthology Mamas Write, available at Amazon, or your local independent bookshop.