So I get a voice mail from my dad. “I forgot to mention that I’m going to the Yukon. I’m leaving Monday. I’ll call you before I go.”
I thought people generally slowed down when they hit their golden years? You know, play golf, cruise, build models. Instead my dad seems to be speeding up. He bought his first new vehicle ever a couple of years ago and seems bent on wearing it out before he wears out. First a little jaunt to California, just to warm up the engine. Then across Canada. Yup, all the way across. And as our country goes as far up as it goes across, that dimension must be covered too. Why anyone would go up there at this time of year, when the bugs are inconceivable, I don’t know.
The worst part is that he didn’t consult me first. About what to take, I mean. I have a thing for preparation. I actually have dreams about packing. Helping someone pack for a trek to the Yukon would be a delight, but nooooo, he’s just traipsing off, probably without a bug shirt or bear spray or books on Yukon flora, fauna, geology, geography, and history. Sheesh.