The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

Day one of our road trip back to Toronto and the family is weeping. Sad, isn’t it? Okay, that’s a lie. Elsie Pelsie is sleeping and Simon is searching weather patterns. I could have sworn we were shedding tears as one. But I guess it’s just me. This morning I was in Southern California wearing a tank top and drinking freshly juiced spinach! Tonight I am freezing my ass off in Flagstaff, Arizona having just finished off six chicken McNuggets. They weren’t like I remembered. “I don’t think my nuggets are fresh. Aren’t they supposed to be like freshly greased?” “Nope. They pull ‘em out of a drawer.” “That’s unfortunate.” I feel unclean. Not to mention the white stuff on the ground. Not to mention the storm warnings. Not to mention Elsie is not really feeling her car seat. She says she’s claustrophobic. I don’t understand. It’s not like she’s pinned up against a guitar and twelve other things. It’s not like she can’t see the sunlight from her secure nook. It would be cruel to pack a car that tight. Or it would be genius.

Tomorrow we set off for Santa Fe, aka Hippie-ville, aka Art Mecca that is second to New York in its sale of paintings (I learned that last time we passed through and have been aching to share). But first we are off to buy Elsie a snowsuit like responsible parents. Because it’s um…winter. And my butt cheeks are freezing, which means Elsie’s are too! We’re going to start at the Flagstaff Goodwill. I hear the children’s specialty rack is hot. Make note that I am leaving my turquoise Roots shoes at the Days Inn. The purging is symbolic. I’m breaking free of things I really like, but which no longer serve me. Isn’t that mature? Goodbye turquoise runners. Our season is done. Thanks for the vibrant foot coverage. Simon purged a pair himself back in Riverside. It’s a couple thing.