Fuzzy Metrics

*** continued from previous post  ***


Mom walked up with a badminton set in her arms. She looked over my shoulder, studying the screen and the blue, highlighted path I had plotted. Our course blazed straight and true east-west across the map of Washington State before breaking into a squiggle as it snaked north across the border into the dark, dark heart of Canada.

Oh cool! So, that's the route we're taking?"

"Yes," I replied, full of pride regarding my excellent navigational skills, "I think that this will be the prettiest route we can take that will still give us a taste of the region, and afford us ample time to reach the Lodge on schedule." I smiled, convinced that she would admire the brilliance of my planning and relish the fact that she bore my children.
She leaned close to the screen and studied the way-points and miles, (Whoops! Kilometers!), and estimated arrival times. "Day number two looks like a long one."

"Yeah, but you have to remember that the numbers are in kilometers. Not miles."

"Hmmmm. . . still, that's a long day. 628 Kilometers. Do you think we can do that? Isn't that pushing it a bit?"

I gave her my best reassuring smile, and hoped it didn't look too patronizing. "Honey, please. Do I tell you how to pack? Trust me, I've got this covered."

Standing she said, "Actually, you tell me how to pack all the time."

This is true. "Well, maybe. But you have to admit you do have a tendency to go a bit over-board on the 'necessities'." Here, I actually put in air quotes with my fingers. I immediately wished I could have taken it back, but the horse was out of the barn. The plane was down the runway. The fuse, so to speak, was definitely and irrevocably lit.

"Did you just air quote me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

I froze. Luckily, I was on top of my game that day, and an answer, one that I hoped would avoid disaster, sprang from my mouth like a bus load of little leaguers at free beer and pizza night. "No. I wouldn't do that. Not air quotes." I jerked my hands around willy-nilly in the air. "Minor seizure. Nothing with which to concern yourself."

She stared at me for a moment, sighed, and with a shake of her head went back to looking for that combination panini-press and hair dryer for which she'd been searching these last two hours. After all, you never know when a nice hot sandwich is going to save your life. And as any sane person would readily admit, if that occasion should arise you want your hair to look its best.

*** the journey continues tomorrow