Torsdag august 11, 2022

 ROAD TRIP TO DEHLI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnPiP9PkLAs

    On August 9th, I took my 12-year old grandson to Duluth to rejoin his parents after his stay of July 31st to August 9th. I wrote about him in last week’s blogpost.

 https://wannaskanalmanac.blogspot.com/2022/08/torsdag-4-juli-2022.html .

    My wife decided not to make the ten hour round-trip. So, instead of taking the luxurious 27-year old GMC van she loves purely for its comfortable ride and damn the fuel costs, I drove the 22-year old Saturn wagon I prefer purely for its power combined with fantastic fuel efficiency. I would’ve liked to have taken the 24-year old Subaru Legacy Outback wagon, but it’s current lack of AC during these hot days, questionable McDonnell-grade front tires -- and better-than-the-van but-far-less-than-the-Saturn’s fuel economy persuaded me otherwise even though gas prices had fallen dramatically.

    My decision saddened the grandson. He tried to sleep the trip away laid back in the passenger-side bucket seat with the sun beating down on him. Telling him to look for the large dish-cloth shields in the backseat area that grandma uses across her lap against the very same problem on road trips, he shrugged off the issue by saying he liked the sun. ‘Hmm, okay’.

    Grandma had given him a pillow to use for the trip too knowing he’d zonk out. I tried to persuade him to stretch out in the backseat or lay down with his legs stretched. I stopped along the road west of Red Lake to rearrange the backseat luggage so he could recline even farther back. Despite the discomfort, he managed to sleep for a few miles every hour; we can do that when we are twelve years old and still wake up refreshed.

    Now that he’s matured a little more, plus the fact grandma bought him ear buds to couple with his phone, I have to no longer endure: “How much longer?” “When will we be there?” WHY DO YOU LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?” the whole trip so this was a rather pleasant trip for me in that respect. 

    During the times he was awake, we’d talk. Raised to respect his elders (sort of, he’s young) he (usually) listens to my often lengthy stories as just being part of his ancestral oral tradition, and part of mine; otherwise he abruptly changes the subject to pursue whatever trajectory he decides. 

    I used to take offense before I learned that he does listen even when it isn’t obvious to me; an example being that he’ll ask me to clarify something I’ve talked about hours earlier. Maybe the absence of his facial clues or mannerisms are cultural coping mechanisms he employs, but I have to remember he’s only twelve. We often joke about him practicing his ‘stoic look’.

   Not that he isn’t ‘full of the devil,’ because he often is, having the father he has. It comes naturally. When he’s at home in Wisconsin, he’s in shorts and Crocs around the clock except at pow wows or school, but here on the farm, not so much (unless you have Stenzel blood). Working with the trees or building some project we want him to wear gloves, long pants and sensible shoes (no flipflops or Crocs) to protect himself from sharp sticks, thistles, burning weed, etc.

    Poison Ivy is also a concern, particularly with grandma who stresses its danger to Ozaawaa (who isn’t allergic to it, nor is his father). But that doesn’t dissuade him from coming into the house loudly whining about a rash of Poison Ivy developing on his bare legs and is driving him crazy. He was joking.

    Or the time, he calmly told her (stoicism at its best) that the passenger door on the truck didn’t latch and “Grandpa fell out when I turned the corner.” She had her suspicions about that one.

    It wasn’t like she was above tom-foolery herself when he suggested to her, after he had walked back home from the field alone for the first time, that she call me and ask to talk to him, and when I’d say he should be home by now that she say, "No! Where is he? You didn't let him walk home by himself??" 

    I did my best to play along until I could hear him laughing in the background; then reversed my fears to surprise and accusation.
“Why you little shits!”

    Grandma said she was going to send an Uber driver out to get me ...  He arrived soon thereafter utilizing his best Dehli Indian accent he could manage (He’s pretty good too.) Laughter erupted from along Mikinaak Creek.

    I’m missing him already (the little shit).