On the Road Again

We are on our way.

Following a frenzied day of appointments (my periodontist is trying to get my gums to retrace their steps) and responding to last minute work crises (there are sooooo many life and death recruiting situations...bloodshed, thankfully, has been avoided) we pile an astonishing amount of stuff into the deceptively small interior of my very large SUV, and cruised
out of the neighborhood...stopping twice --- once to get the topical itch lotion for my daughter's bug bites, since she is the dietary preference for all manner of vermin ----and another time to pick up a disposable camera to replace the digital one I left charging on the kitchen counter.

It is a gorgeous afternoon and we'll be in our lush, green, dewy destination before nightfall, just in time to see the twinkling lights come on in all of the quaint little cottages as we meander through town.

The record breaking heat wave that has choked and parched all the plants and lawns across the northern US has finally broken. My yard is withered and brown, yet the weeds continue to thrive, growing rampantly between the cracks of my patio pavers despite gallons of weed killer.

But leaving that behind, we head out into a cloudless, sun-lit warm day with no humidity and a light breeze. Gorgeous.

And as if on cue, Mom rings my cell phone. Little rain clouds form in my head.

"Hi, Mom," I say. She is baffled that I know it is her. It is not the ring tone of doom that gives it away. I do have her name programmed into my phone. A little warning and a deep breath go a long way in situations like this.

We chat brightly for a moment and she, as always, brings up the weather. I tell her about the wonderful day we're having and how thrilled I am that the weekend is anticipated to be magnificent.

And then, in my joyful anticipation, I forget my audience and say the following:

"So the Clintons must be thrilled. If it is this beautiful here, it must be a picture perfect scene in New York. Chelsea is getting a dream weekend for her wedding in spite of the heat wave." Talk of the former First Daughter's wedding has dominated the news these last few days.

Mom connects the 3 degrees of separation (there could have been 2 dozen degrees of separation, she still would have synaptically connected all the dots) and bites on an opportunity to rail against the Progressives. In her opinion, turning the country into a Socialist state, spreading everyone's hard earned money around, taking from the rich and giving it to the lazy, blah blah blah.

And since I do have to devote at least one brain hemisphere to driving, I think I have missed some critical piece of conversation and ask what we are talking about.

"Those ridiculous Progressives!" she barks.

"Oh. I was talking about Chelsea Clinton's wedding."

"Well, he's one of them too!"

"Who? Mezvinsky?"

"No! Clinton! He wants to take everyone's money and spread it around!"

I am still confused.

"Mom, the public isn't paying for Chelsea's wedding. The Clintons are. It is a private affair. He's not taking anyone's money and spreading it around. (To whom? The caterer? Vera Wang? I am totally baffled how anyone's wedding, no matter how big and elegant, can be a political movement.)

"I know," she says. "I am just saying that that is what he is all about."

I anticipate that for the next week, all casual conversation will lead to a political rant. Whether it is a comment about the weather, frustration with the 1000 piece puzzle we are completing, talk of an anticipated trip to an amusement park, or the question to grill or not to grill, all roads will lead to Perdition.

I interrupt my mother's ongoing diatribe about the President.

"Mom?" I say, to get her attention. "I am making a rule. No politics this week. None. Not a word."

She acquiesces.

But something about the tone of her agreement is reluctant enough to make me think she's plotting a workaround.