{ Dust & Glitter, Truth or Consequences Main Street }
Alright, alright, enough love and healing and bladebla bla; that post up there was a whole lot of emo for a Tuesday, I know.
Let me show you Truth Or Consequences, please, because it is basically perfect in its absolute oddness, and I need you to go. Below are just a few of the many reasons why.
The thing about "taking Route 66 across the country" is that you can't really do it, not anymore. When the massive I-40 Interstate was built in the '80s, it basically mirrored the Western part of Route 66 and essentially put the old road out of business, so nowadays if you want to see Route 66 you have to sort of pop on and pop off of the Interstate whenever you can. And ever since we hit Oklahoma City, where our route collided with Route 66, that's what we've been doing, because it is so worth the effort, if only to see how great America's car-traveling culture used to be.
It's also sad, though: in a lot of these towns you'll find one "famous Route 66 spot" that's still doing well, maybe two, but the majority of the other businesses just couldn't survive the Interstate bypass and subsequent drop in tourist traffic. They're still so beautiful, though, and so romantic: full of gorgeous neon signs and '50s-style motels and interesting architecture and people with stories to tell. So you take your time, you have a second cup of coffee, and you listen. And sometimes you get a little lost trying to make your way back to the Interstate and find an all-but-abandoned overpass that's become home to thousands of birds that come streaming out in a huge cloud when you drive by, and you stop and get out of your car and watch them fly.
We've spent a lot of time on this trip discussing "what our children will remember." Goldie - well, nothing, obviously, but I still like to imagine that the things she's seeing and learning and doing during these weeks will ripple into her future.
The question of Indy's memories is a more complicated one. He's three and a half, almost four - I remember parts of my life from that period, but they're flashes: letting an ice pop drip into a garbage can in the playground, peeling sunburned skin from my babysitter's arm, a skinned knee, seeing my nursery school teacher walking down the street one day.
So I wonder: what will he remember? Will he remember getting to eat Cheetos? Only being allowed to buy one toy in the souvenir shop? Will he remember feeling nervous about not knowing what the place we're going to sleep in tonight looks like yet, or will he remember feeling excited about that not-knowing?
