On the other side of the country

Yesterday my three-year-old and I flew diagonally across the country to visit my father. The trip was a little more than 12 hours door-to-door, and honestly was easy compared to our trips to Europe, especially thanks to two things: a big bag of snacks and a DVD player. Since I also dared to bring a little box of milk for Little Girl, not trusting the airline to provide it, they made us undergo extra searching. They even patted Little Girl down. I was more bemused than upset, but that’s pretty absurd.

At any rate, we’re here, the weather is amazing, I’d forgotten how gorgeous it is in the Pacific Northwest, and I’d also not realized how wonderful it would feel not just to see my dad, but to spend time in his space again. It’s a place populated with picture and posters, books, mini-shrines, mobiles of whales and butterflies, exotic music and scents, details everywhere that remind me of this whole other section of childhood I had with him among these items, be it in Alaska or San Francisco or here in Seattle, so far from the single mother/Country Club/southern belle/overly academic upbringing at my mother’s.

And Little Girl is loving it, too. We woke up on a familiar futon this morning and she pointed out all that she could see: Art, mommy! It’s a heart! I see mountains! That telephone has stickers on it! Plus they gave her a helium balloon, set up a tent in the yard, and my father has endless interest in sharing narratives with her, and my common-law-stepmother keeps making all kinds of wonderful foods. Very good trip so far.