Overnight in Chattanooga

We convoyed from Lake Alfred through Georgia to overnight in Chattanooga. She drove in front with a mobile command center and an application called “waze.” I brought up the rear, keeping my eye on her and the rental between the lines.

We arrived at our lodging and decompressed. That means we parked the vehicles, ordered Italian via Uber Eats, and got on our mobile devices to catch up.

I walked to the side of the building, took this photo, and posted it on Twitter:

It lies at the bottom of the hill. A house devoted to waffles. I told myself no junk food this trip. Maybe a coffee in the morning, though. They are open 24/7, so early departure is no problem. pic.twitter.com/P60hbAYVgN

— Paul Deaton 🇺🇸🏳️‍🌈 (@PaulDeaton_IA) June 29, 2021

The next morning…

I appreciate, as characteristic, the "do it yourself" feel of Waffle House. It's as if any of the regulars at the counter could step in on a moment's notice and become cook should the current one quit or fall ill. Brand identity, I think.

— Paul Deaton 🇺🇸🏳️‍🌈 (@PaulDeaton_IA) June 30, 2021

No doubt “regulars” have stepped in to prepare orders. There was a lot going on at that exit off the Interstate.

We continued north before sunrise. Coming down the far side of Monteagle, I trailed in the truck full of her stuff from the last ten years. She turned on the windshield washers to see. The over spray hit my windshield a few car lengths back. I turned my wipers on too. That says something about parenting, although I hesitate to say what it is. I’d rather dwell in the complexity a while longer.