roadtrip with ping: the beginning

Pumping gas across from a Fireworks! store.

As we rolled down the road, we rolled back the years to when we were 20. I was studying in Taiwan and living with Ping's family. We recalled the open sewers, the lack of AC, the refrigerator in the living room, the kitchen in the alley, the family dogs. I was a hippie who only wanted brown rice. They said brown rice was for dogs, not people.
    Now Ping only eats brown rice.

Getting the hang of life on the road: don't change clothes, but keep the windshield clean.

We moved up in time, through marriages and kids and divorces and deaths. She knew my parents; I knew hers. She moved to the US and back to Taiwan. And back to the US. We didn't see one another often enough, but were always in touch. We felt welcome at each other's houses. My kid learned some Chinese words. Hers became fluent in English. I helped out when I could—not enough—and she tried to mold my appearance—but not too hard.

I don't want to go to Graceland. But if Ping wants to go to Graceland, I'm so there.