This evening, I type Malcolm’s travel missives with one hand while I ice my swollen pinky.

Malcolm: Morning in Iowa. Tranquil church and a museum for the Strategic Air Command. Not sure what this says about the world or my interests. The 90 year old in me loves the stained glass and the 11 year old loves cool missiles.

Me: I love stained glass, and I am nowhere near 90. Perhaps, I will learn to love missiles as I age.

Malcolm: More and more open road west of Chicago. Dined al fresco in Nebraska, thanks again to purveyors Barbara Brooks and Anna French.

Me: yum!

Plus tard (later).

Me: My finger has begun to return to its natural bend, so I think I am doing ok.

Malcolm: Glad to hear about those tendons.

Me: J’en suis sur (I am sure).

Malcolm: Hope I am doing ok with my promise to send you pictures and updates.

Me: You have far exceeded my expectations!

Later, I received a text from downtown Denver and confirmation of arrival at the planned destination.

Tic toc to Prescott.