Gone, the feeling finally hit as the near-full moon hung from the new night sky like a lamp over the Nevada desert.
My daughter Nicole requested a song by Meatloaf, accompanied by Phil Rizzuto. We talked and sang along.
Sure, the time from A-to-B would have been substantially reduced had we flown to see the Colorado Feders.
It was a disconnect in order to reconnect.
No computer. No cell phone service. No TV. No skirts, blazers or heels, just a T-shirt, jeans and my favorite Doc Marten sandals.
Conversation about current events, personal challenges and a bit of friendly ribbing with laughter filled the economy car.
The road trip afforded me the time to really get to know my future son-in-law, Kevin, while Nicole slept in the backseat, now dubbed the “car bed.”
This time there would be no chain restaurant fare in an airport, boasting “just-like-homemade” food. A picnic basket containing dolmas, fruit and cranberry juice were on the menu.
While the day turned to night we watched the landscape change; the wildlife, structures, sounds, weather and vernacular.
After 16 hours of playing the animal car game, washing my face at truck stop restrooms and thinking about nothing but the present, we saw the signs.
On the Fourth of July, we were just more than an hour from our destination. Through the smoky air from the raging wildfires, the signs read, “All fireworks banned.” This would not be an ideal vacation destination for most. I don”t need a tropical island, a drink with an umbrella or any other fancy amenities.
I wanted to sit cross-legged on the floor and listen to my favorite uncle, Mark, play the guitar. We would talk about books, memories, ideas and I would learn new stuff about my family. I remember when I was in grade school and he went to Africa with the Peace Corps. He was in our living room with his olive green duffel bag. He sent me letters containing amazing adventures. His handwriting was similar to my dad”s. I remember when he had long hair. I remember visiting him when he lived in Iowa. I remember meeting his own children for the first time. One day we”re going to write a book about squirrels together.
Now his youngest daughter, my cousin Cory, will be leaving for college in Chicago. She”s an artist. She has the sweetest, deepest smile anyone has ever seen. Her work has traveled nationwide and even landed in the lobby of Carnegie Hall in New York. She likes the Kinks, David Byrne, the Beatles, Flaming Lips, Air and Nico. No need to say more. She is cool quintessential.
We owe our vacation plans to Rebecca, the older of my two cousins. She wanted our families to be closer. We all have a lot of love for each other, our extended family. We live far apart and have various careers and interests that keep everybody pretty busy.
Since Rebecca reunited all of us years ago, we don”t want to lose our family bond. It”s been fantastic. Rebecca is the glue. We sat on the front porch of her new house on Wednesday and watched as the illegal fireworks filled the Denver sky. We shared our disgust about the people who disregarded the law amid the tragic loss of homes and lives not too far in the distance.
For more than two years, Rebecca has been with the “Wild Thing,” Max. I heard about him, saw lots of photos, but never met him.
It was time for that to change. On Thursday morning he told me he likes mashed potatoes, traveling, skateboarding, snowboarding, beer-brewing and all kinds of food. He definitely loves my cousin, too. I like Max.
This all sounds pretty flowery, so some might not guess I have an ulterior motive for heading toward the Rockies to rest, but I do.
My aunt, Kwansoon, is the queen of kimchi. The first time I met her she thought I was just being polite as I ate as many helpings as were offered of the homemade Korean delicacy.
It was simply the best kimchi I had ever tasted.
After many visits, she knows my interest is genuine. I will be bringing some home, too.
The road trip makes life three-dimensional. It reminds me that life is filled with uncertainty and flavor. It took a mere 16 hours to arrive at my uncle”s door. It seemed like a long time before I left Northern California. Now it”s a flash of memories and a journey of, and with, my flesh and blood.
