I normally consider vacation as something to be taken seriously: a sport, if you will. I grew up in a home with English immigrants for parents, who carted each of their children to the post office almost straight from the hospital to get a passport picture taken.
Plane ticket booking days pre-internet were akin to the opening of the NFL season, as my mother sat around the kitchen table with stacks of paper, calling different airlines with her landline phone and comparing prices.
