What is... Pan Cake?

Being a blonde is fun. I can’t really say if it’s more fun than any other hair color since I’ve always been blonde in varying shades, but it’s pretty fun. What’s the most fun thing about it? The blonde moments. A vineyard, ripe with awkward and delectable stories. An endless shelf of little books, tales that perhaps don’t paint me in the best light, but entertain just the same. This particular gem comes from a little restaurant a few years ago, when my mother, my sister Kara and I all went for brunch.

We sat down and began to peruse the menu, looking for something that sounded good. That day, I was particularly grouchy, I don’t remember why, but whatever it was really had me in a mood. The waitress came up with pen and pad in hand, ready to take our orders. We were in a rush, but I couldn’t decide what to order so my mother suggested I just get a pancake.

I looked at her, baffled.

“Pancake?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “What is a... pan - cake?”

Now, I don’t know what power had decided to remove my brain that day. But in my mind, in that moment, I had never heard of pancakes. My brain constructed an image of a birthday cake in a skillet and I could not fathom how that would be a breakfast food. I also didn’t get why everyone was staring at me, trying to tell if I was joking or not. I wasn’t. Not even a little. 

Thankfully, my mother salvaged what little she could from the situation by asking the waitress for a few more minutes to decide, in which she and Kara tried to explain to me what a pancake was, how I had eaten them a dozen times before, while I belligerently continued to misunderstand.

I don’t remember now if I realized my mistake right away or if it really did take awhile for them to get through to me, but six years later, I still have not lived that moment down. It comes out whenever someone is ignorant of something they should definitely know, whenever someone says something really stupid, or whenever we need a laugh.

On the upside of being the butt of a never ending joke, I basically have created my own catch phrase.

What is, pan - cake?

- Katie

Detour Debacle

Kohrs women have never been very gifted with great directional abilities or general common sense. This can be an issue when it comes to road trips. For example, Kara’s first time driving to Kansas City. Between Omaha and Kansas, there’s a little town called Rockport. If you’ve been there, you know there’s a gas station and a McDonalds and that’s about all we ever expected to see of it.

This particular occasion, we stopped for a quick break. Then, Kara followed the ill advised directions of the GPS and instead of turning onto the interstate, we turned left, down a road with country houses on one side and cornfields on the other. This wouldn’t have been a problem, if we had had the sense to make a U-Turn right away. Instead, we kept going and a couple turns later, we found ourselves in the middle of a cornfield. The middle. When taking a turn off a gravel road onto a mud road at sunset, Katie called foul.

When Katie started driving to Kansas City, her first few times were uneventful. This luck would not last.

Last weekend, we began the usual trip, prepared with plenty of snacks. The first two hours went perfectly, the time passing quickly with a lively, if rather nerdy, conversation about stories and plot. We were twelve miles from our exit when the unthinkable happened. Traffic stopped. We were stuck, between mile markers, with no real idea of where we were and suddenly realizing our poor choices. Dark shirts, long pants and bringing cheese crackers with no water to speak of, we were ill prepared for this. Shortly after turning off the car and thus the air conditioning, we began to bake in the summer sun.

For the next hour or so, we desperately texted people who might know if there was any hope we’d ever move, changed in the car, and periodically debated if drinking the warm sugary pop we had brought would help battle heatstroke. Finally, the State Troopers had everyone make a U-Turn and head back north. With no idea of where we were, we turned into Dearborn/New Market and found a gas station. Two liters of water and 64 ounces of pop later, we picked a GPS detour and started again with a sense of foreboding considering our last experience with unknown country roads. People who aren’t from Nebraska have this idea that if you are, you must be at home in cornfields. In reality we’ve never had much contact with cornfields and in our minds they equal a: getting really really lost, or b: being kidnapped by a strange brainwashing cult. 

 In reality, countryside was beautiful, lush, green, wide open roads. But when we were about to turn onto the interstate, we realized we hadn’t gone far enough, our only option was still north. So we stopped again and started calling around for ideas on what to do, other than head back to Omaha to sulk the rest of the weekend.

Plugging in Platte City did the trick and a short while later, we were back on familiar roads. We arrived in Kansas sweaty and smelly after a five hour ride, thrilled to see our friends and pass out in their entryway. 

- The Sisters Kohrs