Aug. 11 - continued
Bob (Later...):
Tough. Tough, tough and more tough. Mom has decided not to come. This was very hard on Dad, I know. The only reason my Mom wouldn’t be going on this trip is if she felt really, really sick.
Dad:
The next thing you know Bob and I are on our way to Seattle, alone. I really got a sense of how bad Paulette is feeling knowing how much she loves road trips. She loves Seattle and she loves all of our family and friends in Seattle, too. And she still could not make the trip.
Bob:
These reunions have become annual events as we learn each year more and more how valuable these get togethers are. And Mom won’t be making it. I can hardly believe that as I write it. It doesn’t seem right.
I know Dad feels terribly guilty about leaving her, too. But she insisted he go -- and there’s really nothing to do for my mom by being there. Again, she has food, a comfortable home and lots of friends and neighbors checking in on her. She just has to make the effort to check back into life...whenever she’s ready.
Aug. 12th, 2004 - Bob
Seattle, WA
Seattle, WA
At one point last night, my dad said the road began to look like purple jelly. That probably should have been enough to get us off the road entirely. Instead, we swapped back and forth on shorter and shorter intervals until we were doing more stopping than starting and we were better off taking a nap. We did just that, taking an uneasy and uneven 90 minute catnap in the Explorer at a rest stop.
I always have this fear that someone with a freshly cut off hand is going to come rapping at the window when pulled over in these situations...
I know what you’re thinking: how’s he gonna rap without a hand? Well he’s got another hand, doesn’t he? And don’t tell me a fresh nub doesn’t have it’s own particular, squishy rap.
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