On a recent road trip with my daughter, the grandkids in the back seat, reclined, and ready with the equipment of their time, a far cry from when I took car trips with KC. I reflect back to a time when I traveled with my parents. I was 30, It would be the last time, I spent with both of them together. Actually, in hindsight we had a couple of trips like this. It’s those times when you are confined to a small space and the most important exchange is conversation. My Dad driving his big truck, my petite mom in the middle. The groom and his bride. I realize just how lucky I was to experience such magic. The rambling dialogue and me, their adult child included in this symphony of words. Such a gift. As I was lifted by this recollection of laughter, love and commitment, I return to the moment. I gaze over at my adult child who will be turning my same age. I sense that we have the opportunity to have our own memory. She has just left her grandmother’s who has eloped and found love again, by this time the kids have dozed off and it was just us. She was excited, and full of clever repartee, animated in her talk of her grandmother and her new husband’s attire. She went on to relate they were wearing matching polo shirts, what she calls,” a face palm moment.” As she looked over at me and wondered why I was so quiet. I uttered , I am guilty of the matching shirt faux pas, a clear fashion police violation. By then I had piqued her interest. Her dad and I had done the same thing, but in our case, it was me, who had us wear these bright-colored t-shirts with a black zig zag pattern. Face palm. She immediately replied, Oh mom, you and dad looked like Charlie Brown. We burst into laughter, because I knew that was precisely what we looked like and all I could say is Good Grief.