Here's the art. . .
I'm writing this newsletter in a hotel room in Tacoma, Washington. I'll hunt and peck it out later on my computer at home. I've brought my daughter up the winding interstate, past countless gas stations and roadside restaurants, to visit one of her top two choices of colleges. Her list has been whittled down by financial aid offers to here, Pacific Lutheran University, and Whitman College in Walla Walla, Washington. She's not here with me now in this cheap but clean hotel room. She's fifteen minutes away, probably trying to get to sleep on the hard floor of a dorm room in her sleeping bag. At least, the dorm should have been only fifteen minutes away.
We set out from the hotel with our trusty Tom Tom calling out the turns with satellite guided precision. Only problem was, Tom Tom wouldn't stick to the inside of the windshield. It kept falling, and we kept resticking it, our thumbs all over it every time. Somewhere in that process, we reset it to navigate home. We were back on the interstate in rush hour traffic before we discovered the mistake. A short drive turned into an hour long fiasco, backtracking towards where my common sense would have taken me if I hadn't taken Tom Tom's advice to "turn right in 800 yards."
Later this year, we'll lose our daughter to one of these schools, calling to her with comprehensive art programs, and recycling practices that would make Jimmy Carter grin wider than usual. She will be painfully missed, but I wish her anything and everything she wants.