It is a long drive from northern Wisconsin to south-central Arizona. 2075 miles to be exact, from my house to theirs. And it was an adventure.
First memory –darling little Val, my cherub daughter, not quite 13 years old at the time, not quite a teen-ager. As we were driving down the road, she got this fantastic idea. They should just put dumpsters practically on the sides of the highways, so people could just throw their garbage out their windows as they drive by.
Grandma replied, “You have quite an imagination, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
A few miles later, a pile of garbage lay on the side of the freeway. “Well, there’s somebody using their imagination,” Val quipped without batting an eye.
And then there was Nicholas, 17-years-old and wanting to drive. So we let him and he did fine. But with Mother as co-pilot and Grandmother as backseat driver, the poor kid was doomed. We both kept our mouths shut as much as humanly possible, until we hit snow around Flagstaff. I mean lots of snow, coming down in fluffy white flakes the size of dinner plates.
But with all of our harping at him, all Nick had to say was, “It figures. I’m wearing shorts.”