Roadies and roomies
So for the first hour of My Road Trip With Dad, the Chrysler's navigation system kept us on a two-lane blacktop to Kansas - and me in a darkened mood.
No Interstate. No super-highway. Just 168 miles of two-lane, through farm towns and fields and the expanse that is eastern Nebraska and Kansas.
It was cool. Way to go, Chrysler.
We didn't talk much. Dad's at a point where he's moody. He's tired of having been cooped up for nine months while he's recovered from being run over.
"You know, I don't mind losing my leg," he said, looking always straight ahead into the expanse. "But I sure do mind losing your mother."
Yeah.
We hooked up with my nephew, and he picked me up to go to the liquor mart. First sister put me in charge of picking up the booze for Saturday's graduation celebration (sucker).
"What's our budget?" my nephew asked the cell.
"She said to just keep it reasonable."
I can do reasonable.
We got nice beer - quite the variety, all micro-brews - two bottles of red wine, two bottles of white and "Mom wants us to get two bottles of cheap Champagne."
Partygoers will no-doubt be thrilled at my nephew's good taste in wine selection. I picked him up a petite syrah and an old vine Zin and two really nice bottles of California white wines (none of the bottles traveled into the $10 arena).
Then we took dad to a Thai place for dinner. He liked looking at the hordes of coeds (and, hey, so did I, but not in a pervy way; just admiding the female form).
All-in-all, a good start to a long road trip.
I just wish dad would let himself go, however. Have a little more fun. He gets frustrated at the smallest of things. He paniced when he didn't bring a pair of black socks. I have black socks.
That is where he is, so I respect it. Maybe my devil-may-care attitude will rub off a bit.
Oh, he let me listen to punk for a good portion of the trek.
"Shit, this isn't music," was all he said.
No Interstate. No super-highway. Just 168 miles of two-lane, through farm towns and fields and the expanse that is eastern Nebraska and Kansas.
It was cool. Way to go, Chrysler.
We didn't talk much. Dad's at a point where he's moody. He's tired of having been cooped up for nine months while he's recovered from being run over.
"You know, I don't mind losing my leg," he said, looking always straight ahead into the expanse. "But I sure do mind losing your mother."
Yeah.
We hooked up with my nephew, and he picked me up to go to the liquor mart. First sister put me in charge of picking up the booze for Saturday's graduation celebration (sucker).
"What's our budget?" my nephew asked the cell.
"She said to just keep it reasonable."
I can do reasonable.
We got nice beer - quite the variety, all micro-brews - two bottles of red wine, two bottles of white and "Mom wants us to get two bottles of cheap Champagne."
Partygoers will no-doubt be thrilled at my nephew's good taste in wine selection. I picked him up a petite syrah and an old vine Zin and two really nice bottles of California white wines (none of the bottles traveled into the $10 arena).
Then we took dad to a Thai place for dinner. He liked looking at the hordes of coeds (and, hey, so did I, but not in a pervy way; just admiding the female form).
All-in-all, a good start to a long road trip.
I just wish dad would let himself go, however. Have a little more fun. He gets frustrated at the smallest of things. He paniced when he didn't bring a pair of black socks. I have black socks.
That is where he is, so I respect it. Maybe my devil-may-care attitude will rub off a bit.
Oh, he let me listen to punk for a good portion of the trek.
"Shit, this isn't music," was all he said.
Comments
your writings of your times with Dad bring a smile to my face. enjoy the times while they are here.
s.