Kids on a road waving at the train as we pass. I used to take the son to see trains. And road construction.
He wants to go to Dartmouth. Or Georgetown. Or Princeton. At least until he visits University of Chicago next month and his friend newly matriculating at Stanford.
I've never traveled so extensively through the northeast. I've been through Boston and I've spent time in various bits of New Hampshire, Connecticut and Pennsylvania but never in such a down on the ground, get intimately familiar with the road sort of way. I haven't much enjoyed it.
And that may be the stress of the trip talking. It's been that and then some. It's not easy to travel with a 17-year-old who is averse to change and who is displeased to feel my foot firmly on his rear end, pushing him toward the door. Even if he thanks me for it someday.
Still we have our moments of travel hilarity. My dislike of non-dairy creamer is legendary amongst those who know me well (or who have to feed me coffee). Somehow this has given rise to a joke about dairy and non-dairy cows, particularly as we drove through Vermont. Various authors have come under scrutiny as well. When we passed Walden pond, I opined that Thoreau might have been one of the most boring writers to ever hit paper, while the son contended that no, the author of his summer homework novel--something to do with Balzac--should be accorded that honor and the daughter nominated Steinbeck as she had to read Of Mice and Men for the second time for summer homework and was seriously displeased.
(But that was the book that gave rise tp the family joke about "slangin' pups." We can cover that another day.)
So it's onward to New York with 2 kids and 150 lbs of luggage. Gods.
Go listen to some good music: "Even Better Than the Real Thing" from the album Achtung Baby by U2. This is the last trip where I don't bring a laptop. Blogging from my phone is hell and it looks like I'm writing in Dutch.
Sent from my iPhone