Regie calls it “‘coffee’ and conversations,” the time she sets aside for true-blue, face-to-face, honest-to-goodness talk among family and friends.
For Cam and I (and her dad, too, perhaps most especially) we have “Commuting Conversations.”
Since she was born (and before that, too, for me especially), we’ve committed to living where we live and working where we work. A good 45-50 minute spread in between.
And at first, (and especially as she got older) we sang mostly. Sang and shared a few stories from our day. Then (and especially once her dad took over the morning drive) these conversations went next level.
At first it was nuclear armament and global warming. Cars, music of our youth, space travel, and Syrian suffering.
At first I was jealous: “We mostly just sing and enjoy the silence.”
At first I blamed my introverted need (auto-corrected as “nerd” during drafting) to preserve and recoup energy both before and after a day of coaching teachers (and, most especially a day of teaching kids, too, which is how we started out, at first).
Then I took back over morning commute duty. And maybe (perhaps especially) because Camryn also started middle school, we took up Commuting Conversations on a more regular basis.
Today, was the next-level gold standard. At first it was our plans for the day. Standard.
Then she pulled out her phone and, before I could sink back into the comfortable quiet, she started up again:
“Did you know that Chrysler owns Alpha Romeo and Maserati?” For a few miles we chatted back and forth, some car brands I knew; some surprised me. Next level.
Then we passed the lake, with the wind whipping white tips on the part (especially on this first day of spring) that was not frozen.
“That looks cold,” I tell her. This took us down the underwater equipment path, which, before (and perhaps especially as) we pulled into the school drive, turned into a conversation about depth and pressure and the giant squid:
“Yeah, like maybe it would be, like, the size of Texas. You know, without all that pressure.”