I'll be missed

Apropos of Adam Villani's discussion of escalators in the comments to yesterday's post, and of the escalators I will ride down into the Atlanta airport train tunnels and back up into the concourses tomorrow:

I love escalators with a white-hot passion, and would gladly sit all day and watch the stairs disappear into the floor, flattening as they do so, trying to picture their sudden flip around the belt which takes place unseen, beneath the surface. I love how the toothed steps rise out of a flat plane and become flat again at the top before they slide under the plate. It's a little technological/topological magic trick that I can never quite wrap my mind around.

As a parent I have heard one too many horror stories about children's clothing being caught in those teeth, and I'm not nearly as cavalier about my kids riding the escalators as my rapturous joy in them suggests that I should be. In fact, I admit to being a bit of an escalator tyrant, insisting on holding their hands and warning them to step carefully as they exit, breathing a little sigh of relief when we navigate the dismount successfully.

I'm also an impatient rider. I subscribe to the D.C. Metro creed: stand to the right, walk on the left. Escalators full of people just standing, not climbing, drive me a little batty. What's the point if you're not going to climb at twice the rate you could under your own power? It's an escalator, not a merry-go-round; we're trying to get somewhere, so why would you treat it as a rest period?

And on a completely different note, here's a homefront story from Noel via e-mail:

Around 10 this morning, as we're gathering our things to go to the library...

ARCHER (in an amazed tone): What time's Mom gonna wake up?

ME: Mom's in Atlanta, big man.

(Pause.)

ARCHER: I'm going to miss her.