Little A and I are planning a two-week (plus) road trip out East and back. On the way, we're going to visit friends and places, like zoos, where she can see animals. We're also going to try to eat reasonably well, meet up with old friends, and attempt to prove people who say, "Woah! You're taking a road trip with a toddler! You're crazy!" wrong.
Some thoughts as we prepare to leave.
We'll be visiting friends who I knew in Thailand, in grad school, in college, in high school, and childhood. We'll be seeing my parents and two of my brothers. So I've sort of been stuck in this haze of thinking about all these past places I've lived and been. The other evening, on a walk with Juno, we saw a glimmer of bright orange fluttering in the dark in front of us. As it crept closer, I realized it was a bicyclist wearing an orange cape. "Ha!" I thought. "Only in Minneapolis." But then I realized, no, it's not only in Minneapolis. The difference between Minneapolis and New York City isn't that one is a place where someone might bike down the street after dark in a cape; the difference is that in Minneapolis, I'd notice someone biking down the street in a cape. In New York City, I might not have.
My mom says that planning for our annual trip to the beach (sorting out linens, kids beds, toys, entertainment, maps, ferry reservations, food) is like planning the Normany Invasion. Planning this road trip, I feel more like a guerilla or a member of a special force: sleek, tactical, quiet, surgical. I'm only trying to move the two of us, after all.
People are nice. Really, really nice.... and hospitable.