Nine and a half months…
Sounds like a title from a romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant and, hmmmm… Jude Law! Why not? (But who would carry the baby? I think it ought to be Hugh Grant. What with his comedic tortured and sheepish brow schtick.)
Next week we will be travelling back to Burnaby. 9 1/2 months have passed! So very quickly I don’t know what can be said. We will head south on the #2, and stop in Calgary for a few nights before taking that familiar pass through the Rockies. I wonder how many times I’ve driven that route? Too many. Now that I’m in my forties I’m finding it more difficult to do the drive in one day. I think this might be my measure of whether or not I’ve passed the threshold into a particular kind of “older” body. Whether or not you have the endurance and stamina to drive for twelve hours straight (with a break for lunch).
You could have gotten your learner’s license in AB and helped me drive home, I told my daughter. Yah, helped you crash, she scoffed. Both my children (tho my son, now, is legally an adult!) have no interest in getting their driver’s license. It does not signify a rite of passage, nor do they associate it with autonomy and freedom…. We can get where we want on transit, they say, with a careless shrug of their shoulders. But, what about in the case of an emergency? I ask. We can call 911, they say. I shrug! On an environmental level, it’s great that they’re not aching to buy a car and add to the emissions problem. On another level, a dated and raised-in-the-country level, I cannot understand their lack of desire for a driver’s license! Maybe it’s a split between an urban and rural frame of mind. I grew up knowing that I could only get to where I wanted after I had my driver’s license. I think there’s some hard-wiring involved as well. The fight or flight wiring. I feel the need to be confident that I can drive away, whenever I want, should I have the desire or need. When the pandemic sweeps the country (Tiptree, “The Screwfly Solution”), when the aliens land (H.G. Wells’, The War of the Worlds), when the rapture goes bad (Jim Munroe’s, Therefore Repent!) … you’re not gonna want to stand in line at the Greyhound station. I told you so! I’ll tell my no-license children. Shut up, Mummy. Drive!