Sunday, May 22, 2011
I had read online that tears are supposed to help pink eye. If that's the case and if that's what Isaac had, then he should have been completely better this morning.
He'd cried himself to sleep the night before because – did you know? -- our cat is a true Houdini! Point zero seconds to get out of her collar and her harness. Oh, she came back. I like to think our tight little family creates such a vortex of dependency that even our pets cannot escape. It's a longer, not-that-interesting story involving some blood and Bandaids, special treat food provided by the campground office, a raccoon sighting, the transmission of the van, and Isaac wailing at the height of the crisis, “I just want to read a boooooook!!!”
Despite being pained by his distress, the word nerd in me couldn't help but be pleases that this was his refuge. Well, books and the two-inch blue bunny my sister gave him a couple years ago.
So, like I said, he should have been looking spiffy-great, but in fact he looked worse than ever. Both eyes were puffy and bloodshot; he had deep rings under them. We applied cold compresses, warm compresses; we bought some children's allergy medicine, and then, we did what any concerned parents of a sick child would do: We took him to a meteor crater.
That would be THE Meteor Crater... “Experience the IMPACT!” Get it? The impact? You know what this is, don't you? Our first official Kitsch Stop! NOW it feels like a road trip! The cheezy announcer-voice loop recording on the radio (1610am Winslow, AZ), the signs along the road, the need to get off the highway and drive five-miles toward absolutely no-thing but this goofy site – no pretending you were just passing through and so you might as well take a peek...
They trained astronauts at the Meteor Crater in the 60s
The Universe is a kind place, my Buddhist friends tell me. And now I see it. Tens of thousands of years ago, outer space vomited down an enormous and economically viable rock, providing dozens of jobs for the good people of Winslow, Arizona. If I grew up in Winslow instead of Cape May, NJ, I might have spent my summers touring people who were too pregnant to do the Grand Canyon around this place. That is, if I wasn't employed as the “girl in a flatbed Ford,” smiling for photo ops.
It was laughably expensive to get in, though the woman at the ticket window took pity on us and didn't charge us for Isaac. I was much in love with the wicked winds that swept over the crater and stole your breath. If you've ever been down a roller coaster or up a lighthouse (most particularly Point Sur Light Station in Big Sur, CA) you have probably experienced this kind of wind drama. I have to say, though, the museum was pretty interesting. My son was partial to the “Make your own crater” exhibit where you chose velocity, density, radius, angle and planet and see what happens when you unleash a virtual asteroid. First time around my guy managed the outcome of “total destruction of the Earth.” Oops. Well, don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy. Ciao bellos.