Okay, I think I know where I am. I’m in Spokane, Washington, with my father. I just don’t know what time it is.
For the past two weeks, it feels like every day is a new time zone. We went from Central Time in Alabama to Eastern Time in Ohio and then back to Central Time in Michigan. One of the nights in Michigan, Daylight Savings Time hit and we lost an hour by “springing ahead”. Since then, we’ve crossed into Mountain Time and I think that it is now Pacific Time in Spokane. Not sure. Oh, well.
My father rages from “go go go” to “let’s see some things along the way” every hour or two. I would have loved to stopped and seen at least a couple things along the way, but my wants aren’t part of the equation. His are. So we missed the lovely national and state parks and the fantastic wildlife refuges that dot the landscape we’ve driven through, but we hit Custer’s Last Stand and the old prison-turned-into-antique-car-museum in Deerlodge, Montana. Whoppee. Ugh. Me bored. Sigh.
Why do they call it Custer’s Last Stand? It was the Indian’s win but Custer, who lost, gets all the credit for the spot. White man history, I guess. Sad.
I just dropped my father off at a friend of his to spend the night and I’m on my way to meet with a relative from my mother’s side of the family. I hope to get more genealogy, but also to catch up with some more fascinating members of my family. We will be in Seattle in a couple days, and I plan on S L E E P I N G. I haven’t had a full night of sleep in months. I need at least two. More sighs.