When Mom was two or three, she told her mother something that sounded like “yammer yada blaa boo” to my busy grandmother. Mom put on her mother’s high heels, packed up the cat and a little rocking chair and set off to visit her grandfather who lived three-quarters of a mile or so up the road. But Mom didn’t take the road, she dragged the chair and cat cross-country through ditches and fences, gulches and cactus.
Her mother enjoyed the quiet for a while then realized what was missing and panicked. Mom’s father had no trouble following the high-heeled chair-dragging track. He found Mom sitting just where she said she would be–exactly where her grandfather told her to wait while he finished his fieldwork.
Over the past ten years we’ve taken a number of trips with Mom. So far I’ve lost her in China, Denver, and New York City. We triple-teamed her in Peru last month and managed to keep her in sight, but next trip, I’m thinking I’ll ask her to carry a cat and chair, so she’ll be easier to catch.