Postcard 1: Only So Many Views
Today, I got to downshift and
use the 4-wheel drive feature on the new Ford Escape. I think
the anti-lock breaks even kicked in once, but that's one of those
safety features designed not to disturb a sleeping baby, so I'm
not sure. All I know is that if I were anti-lock breaks, I would
have kicked in. We encountered some winter driving conditions
in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park on our way to Pigeon
Forge, Tennessee. To Dollywood. To see Dolly Parton in her holiday
charity concert.
"Look at that view," I say, slapping Tony across his chest, who has his nose buried in his laptop computer conducting database clean up. I realize at that moment, I've become my father, driving along twisting mountain roads, looking more at the trees than I am the winding pavement.
"Yeah, I saw it," Tony says.
"You didn't even look up."
"There are only so many mountain views I can look at," Tony says. This is one of those mysteries, if investigated and solved, the answer will destroy a relationship. It ranks right up there among not having a microwave because they bounce molecules, yet cell phones pressed against our brains are completely acceptable. Or yelling at the dog, "Don't make me raise my voice at you for the third time today," as if the dog is counting. Or how one under-loads the washing machine. These are mysteries that drive toddlers who know how to ask, "Why?" absolutely wild. For there is no answer, other than, simply, "It just is."
If friends ever point out these quarks, it's best to say, "I don't know." Or, "I never really wondered." Or the definitive, "Just because." And for the really inquisitive stingies, "That's the way God meant it to be." Nothing ends a conversation faster than blaming a quark on the Almighty One.
So baffled I was, but not surprised,
when I stopped the car and Tony rushed to take pictures of icicles.
He could only stomach so many mountain views, but icicles, on
the other hand; you would have thought he had grown up in Miami
Beach. I sat in the car and watched the sinking sun turn the
sky different shades of purple, casting an assortment of colors
on the mountain views, while Tony trampled through the snow like
a kid in a candy shop, snapping photos of icicles.
We're in Pigeon Forge now, relaxing at the Ramada Limited Suites. The holiday lights of Dollywood twinkle across the street. I've been drifting in and out of sleep as I thumb through the in-room reading material a TV Guide, and a "Ride the Fun Time Trolley" brochure. And Tony continues his database clean up. I imagine there are only so many views of Dollywood one can have.
12/12/03