We went a scopin' this weekend.
I know, again.
Em originally dragged her feet on this, claiming she 'didn't want to have fun,' she just wanted to 'hang out here at the house.'
I told her I'd spoken my peace and counted to three, and to my amazement, it worked. She's such a fan of
O Brother Where Art Thou that she actually resigned herself to the adventure I had in mind.
It helped that the other two thirds of the Friendship Circle were out of town, I think.
On the way there, I realized that my car was filthy. Really filthy. And that it was above freezing, into the 40s, so I should probably get a car wash.
I thought I'd be the only one with this idea, but nope. David Sedaris told us funny stories about his childhood (I had the audiobook of Dress Your Family out from the library) while we waited seven years and three minutes for some relief from the salt encrusting my car.
Kaleidoscope was it's usual marvelous, and we actually got to enjoy it this time. Last time we tried, Mo had a seizure right after the session started.
This time, too, they had a machine fired up I'd never seen in action. It's an old shrink-wrapper they decorated. They'd set out watercolors in the station near it, and were using it to dry the resulting art. Pretty cool.
It was weird when a group of men in suits came through on a tour (or so it appeared).
I wanted to go up to them and say, 'You can't come in here looking like this,' but I feared they might be Hallmark brass evaluating whether it was still a good idea to have Kaleidoscope.
I also wondered, times I've worn a suit: job interviews, weddings, funerals. I can't imagine what it's like to have to wear this as a uniform every day I'm at work. And if you have to wear it even when duty calls you to work on Saturday? While I envy these gents their (I'd suppose) six-figure incomes, I shudder to think of what their world is like.
I wonder if a normal person could even comprehend what it's like, having to wear a suit on Saturday for a field-trip to a children's art session.
After the session, Em wanted to visit the chocolate factory (a usual stop for us), but this time she had money in her purse. Burning a hole in her purse, really.
She asked about the M&M barks, and one was put on the scale and she was told it'd run $3.50. She asked what was cheaper, and the lady told her what was $1. Then Em asked about the chocolate dipped marshmallows, big marshmallows that come three to a stick. Those are $1.50. She asked for two, and I didn't think a thing of it. Marshmallows are mostly made of air, so a half dozen of them isn't all that much to consume.
But no, Em had in mind that she was sharing with Mo. I told her she didn't have to do this, she was spending her own money. I knew it'd be weird if Mo decided she wanted some: it's sometimes hard to explain to her the concept that Sissy spent her own money, it's not the same as Daddy buying for one daughter and not the other. But Em insisted, one was for Mo.
And Mo gratefully inhaled the thing, marshmallows and chocolate being two of her absolutely favorite things.
Em's money was still burning a hole when we passed B-Bop, the comic book shop. Every time we pass it, Em expresses curiosity, and every time I offer to take her in there, she declines.
This time, I decided to just do it. She protested that it might 'tempt' her, that what money she had left was being 'saved' for the next impulse that overwhelmed her judgment, but in we went. I tried to get a good picture of the honyocks in front of their sign, but the sun was in their eyes, meaning that while the photo isn't unfortunately back-lit, their faces are unfortunately painfully squinted.
While in the store I spotted a box set that made me think
Percy Trout.
Em bought a Simpsons comic book (I had no idea there was such a thing). I had fun thumbing through old National Lampoons.
Then to Wonderscope. Which still has the awesome Lego displays.
It was kind of crowded and noisy, but Mo seemed to enjoy herself anyway. And in the craft room, I got to playing with paper and glue and figuring out if I could make a decent nose cone for a rocket out of paper. I think not, but maybe if I fiberglassed over something like what I came up with, it'd work. I'd still have to figure out the transition to a straight column for the base, but I think I could do it.
On a semi-related note, I've got to do my taxes and find out if this is possible, but I think I'm going to try to take the honyocks to the Kansas Cosmosphere for a vacation. We haven't really taken one that wasn't a 'vacation at home' since the divorce, and it looks to be a relatively affordable one. A hotel with an astronaut themed swimming pool is nearby, and for about $40 we can do the full Cosmosphere museum and taken in three shows there.
I'd thought of it as something that could tie in with going to Argonia for the Kloudbusters high power launch in August, see the big boy rockets and hit the Cosmosphere, but that launch coincides with the State Fair in Hutch, so it might be a bit too hectic. Plus, the Kloudbusters launch might lack the pace required to keep my daughters enthralled, no matter how impressive an M motor sounds when it finally ignites.
But aside from that, I thought of it because I had a dream. In the dream, we went to Cape Canaveral for a vacation, and when we got there, the highway led toward a rocket on the pad that must have been the size of the Empire State Building. And despite the fact they were about to launch it, we were able to drive incredibly close to this monster.
Maybe one day I can actually entertain the idea of a vacation that includes an actual trip to the Cape, even if it doesn't include a 1000 foot tall rocket that's never existed. See a Shuttle launch, maybe, or catch the launch of a sounding rocket or satellite launch.
