Driving home from Arizona, since I was by myself and didn't feel like diving the whole way in one day, I stayed the night at Ruby's Inn at Bryce Canyon. I got there about an hour before sunset and rushed right to the canyon to catch that great light:
Somewhere down there, in the bottom of that amazing canyon is my father's circa 1960's canteen. I can still see it in my mind's eye, rolling, picking up speed, bouncing, bouncing higher, then disappearing over the rocky edge and falling endlessly into the annals of family folklore.
Some of you may know who it was that dropped Dad's canteen that day. (It wasn't me. Nope.) I do remember that my father showed off his considerable vocabulary. But the mystery canteen-droppers identity is safe with me. After all, she might have undisclosed pictures from my teen years. And we're just not going to go there.