New Times With an Old Friend

Well, she's not old. But Heather Herr (Voss) and I met in college and then roomed together and have only seen each other a handful of times since we graduated, so I think "old friend" will do nicely.

One day shy of a week after we closed on our new house, the boys and I took a break from moving in and met up with Heather and her two kids in Olympia, loosely half-way from where they were staying in the Seattle area. With three boys age 4 and under to entertain, we figured the Olympic Flight Museum would be a safe bet.

And it was. The boys had a fantastic time looking at all of the ammunition in the display cases and climbing in a Red Cross helicopter from the Vietnam War. And of course, whatever one does with Heather is fun, because she puts as much energy into one hour of living as I muster up in an entire month. Truly. I've had several good friends like that (ahem...Laurisa and Jana.) They do so much that I get tired just contemplating the fact that they do it. Opposites attract, I guess. Heather came prepared for the day with bags of toys and treats for the boys and me. Whereas it was all I could do merely to drive to Olympia and back without falling asleep.

Since I was too pathetically tired to add another destination to our outing after lunch at McDonald's and the museum visit, we ended up hanging out in the museum parking lot for a while after we looked at the exhibits. The boys played with toys that Jaxon (with a little help from his mom, I'm sure) had brought to share and some whirligigs from the museum.

These whirligigs (Is that what they're called? A propeller blade on a stick?) were made of very sturdy plastic. I launched one into the air with gusto, but its journey was cut short when it smacked into the underside of my nose. And smack it did...everything went dark for a moment, and I had just enough time before I recovered to think about how absurd it would be for Heather to come out of the museum (she'd gone back for another toy) to find me lying on the ground. Nothing says "I'm a winner" like nearly knocking oneself unconscious with a children's toy. Not having seen my head recoil from the impact, Heather probably thought I was making an awfully big fuss about the tiny cut on my nose. It wasn't even bleeding that much.

Heather's daughter Jaycee tired of the shenanigans after a while and went to sit in the front seat of their car, periodically laying on the horn to express her desire that we wrap things up. Which we eventually did.

And I drove back to Vancouver sleepy but thankful for the opportunity to spend time with an old friend who is a woman I admire so much.

(Shackelfords, I know how to get to Olympia now and we're comin' for you next!)