I talk to my mom on the phone every Sunday night. We just hung up, and she told me my favourite story ever.
First the backstory....My folks went on a driving honeymoon - they took my dad's old pontiac or chevy or whatever it was and drove to the Grand Canyon and the southwest US for a few weeks. They started a little ritual of kissing on each state line, and this stayed with me and my family to this day. My whole life, every time I drive across a state line I blow kisses to the other people in the car, to my family, or anyone else that I fancy kissing. Tom and I have even adapted our own bit that involves kissing and tapping the roof of the car. It's tradition.
So now the story...my mom had to run to LaCrosse last week, a trip she'd been putting off. Partly because of all the snow and bone-chilling cold, and partly because she doesn't like driving alone on the open road, and partly because my dad got all of his cancer treatment in LaCrosse and they'd driven that way together hundreds of times in the past few years and she just didn't want to deal with all the memories. But she needed to return some Christmas gifts and had to make the trip, even if she knew it might make her cry.
The first state line is about 15 minutes from her house, on a road that my dad redesigned right before he retired. It was one of his proudest achievements as a county engineer, and every time they drove it he would beam at how well it turned out. So by the time she got to Minnesota she was surrounded by his memory, and she was tearing up.
As she crossed the state line, she blew him a kiss.
And the radio immediately started playing Johnny Mathis' Misty, which was my folks' song.
Is that a perfect Valentine's story or what?