Where's Tut?

I am spending a beautiful fall weekend visiting with my parents. Beautiful does not begin to do it justice. Exquisite, glorious, pulchritudinous... if there is a fault to be found with this weekend, it would be that it is almost a little too warm for October. As a complaint, that holds about as much validity as: My husband is just a little too generous, or, I wish my children would stop doing extra chores without being asked, or, for my gentlemen readers, her breasts are just too darn large.

So.

What's the best way to spend a perfect fall day? Driving over the mountain to take in the foliage on the way to a craft show, of course. Tom and Lea opted out, which I am still trying to understand. It's a head scratcher. Mom, Liv and I are fans of craft shows. Dad likes live music and homemade donuts and he had reason to believe he'd be able to score both if he drove us to the show. Plus - he saw the attitude I was giving Tom about staying behind and probably knew that whatever I was dishing out to my husband, my mother would deal out a hundredfold to him.

Tut is no fool.

We neared the venue and there were detours because of road closures for the festival and the parade that had preceded it. Just before the detour we had passed several lots offering parking for $5. We'd passed them by, certain that we could get closer, but as the detour moved us farther and farther away from our course, this seemed less and less likely.

"Why didn't you park when we had a chance?"

I smiled. I KNEW it was going to be my dad's fault. It's always my dad's fault.

He turned down an alley, hoping for - I didn't really know what at the time. It turned out to be a fortuitous move. At the end of the alley, butting up against the very section of the show we were most interested in visiting, a group of youngsters were offering parking for $6. WELL worth the extra $1, we agreed. As we pulled up, they were posting their 'lot full' sign. I was trying to imagine how this was going to be Dad's fault (because I guarantee you that it would've been), when one of the boys approached my side of the car. I pushed the button to open my window, but nothing happened. I pulled it. Still nothing. I opened my door.

"If you're comfortable backing in," he said, speaking over me to my dad, "we can squeeze you in way back there in the back."

"Where?"

"Back there."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You'll have to back in."

"Where"

"Back here, sir. I'll guide you in."

The boy started directing us, from my side of the car, but I still couldn't open my window and the lot was too crowded for Dad to back in with my door open. The boy chuckled a little and went over to Dad's side of the car. After hitting several buttons, Dad managed to open his window.

The boy was coaching him like a pro, while my mom started in about the passenger window from the back seat.

"You hit the childproof lock button."

"What?"

"You're ok, sir, plenty of room, come on back."

"The childproof button! Why do you DO that?"

"Ok?"

"Cut it to the right a little, sir... plenty of room..."

"I've told you a million times not to hit that button. OOOOH! Why do you DO that? You do this ALL THE TIME!"

"You're doing great, sir. Come on back a little further, you're fine."

"HIT THAT BUTTON! Unlock these windows!"

"You're good, sir, right there."

The young man walked away, no doubt ready to talk to his buddies about why people over a certain age should have to retest for their driver's license every year. To be fair, my dad was driving just fine. He just - um - didn't know how to work his car... And in his defense - there are an AWFUL lot of buttons...

He put the car in park and Liv and I jumped out. There was a force as strong as gravity pulling me towards those tents. But Mom and Dad were still in the car. "Put that key back in and fix those windows before we go anywhere."

He did.

We walked to the show and it did not disappoint. I hate it when I get all geared up for a craft show and it's full of 'look what I can do with a glue gun' crafts. This one was full of wood and leather and fiber and silver and pottery. Yes, please.

I had just purchased a pretty pair of silver earrings and Liv was looking at some carvings of owls when Dad decided he'd like to get a head start on the promise of music and donuts. He arranged a meeting spot with Mom and he trotted off in the direction of the bandstand. The three of us shopped to our little hearts content and suffered not a moment's guilt for having abandoned him. When we'd had our fill, we headed to the designated meeting spot.

No Tut. "Where could he BE? OOOOOOH, that man..."

"Why doesn't he carry a phone?"

"I took it away. He didn't know how to use a phone."

Ok, I can buy this. After all, he couldn't manage the windows on his car...

"You should get him an iPhone."

"He couldn't even use his simple calls only phone - he'd never be able to use an iPhone."

"I know. But they have a GPS app and you can always see where he is. We're thinking of getting them for the kids..."

Upon relaying this story after we got home, Lea suggested installing a chip - like you would for a dog. I'll skip the DNA test, I'm pretty sure she's mine...

She looked some more - it was REALLY crowded. I mentioned that it was a beautiful day and an excellent craft show, right? We weren't the only ones who decided to take advantage of this. I started to panic myself. How were we ever going to find him?

Of course, we did. He was on the very corner upon which they'd agreed. But he was sitting by a garbage can, and she - as she expressed more than once - never expected him to be sitting by a garbage can. "A garbage can! Why would anyone sit by a garbage can? OOOOOOH, that man..." Poor guy, he was just seeking some shade. The shade of the trees was all occupied. He took what was left to him.

And he never did find any donuts.