One hundred
Twenty
Six
Miles.
I call it the slingshot. Shot out and rebound back and that is what C and I did in four days. I'm tired but not exhausted. Despite the soul sucking cold, and the distance, and the purpose for the slingshot, it was a good trip.
I learned a lot about my son. He has a wicked sense of humor. We listened to streaming comedy through Pandora. He likes Lynyrd Skynyrd. Now he knows about The Carpenters - probably more than he ever wanted to know. He's tough on the outside and marshmallow soft on the inside.
We discovered together that I like Journey and Creedence Clearwater Revival. We have new inside jokes. We talked and
played trivia. At one point he even asked, "How do you know all this stuff?" I told him I just remembered things, like what I read or what I was doing at a particular time. My head is filled with all sorts of off-the-wall pieces of information. Can't decide if that's good or not, but it is.
We watched The Big Lebowski together and pondered the necessity of John Goodman's character as well as that of Steve Buscemi's. We watched the in-depth interview with people responsible for creating and working in Hidden Figures and talked about the importance of the space program in my life and in the world's
history.
And now, we're home again, none the worse for the wear and tear 2,126 miles can put on a car and on a body and thankful for the chance to spend the time together and get to know one another in a different kind of way.
It was a good trip.