In the thick of my day I’m coordinating appliance repairs, authorizing insurance coverage and tracking tax payments. My focus is keen, streamlined efficiency. I’m an organizational hub of emails, text messages, phone calls and tasks. Or something like that.
And at day’s end I’m side by side with Jeb in his bed. The lights are low, the full moon high, and we’re reading The Boxcar Children (for the second time). Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny have made it through the storm. They open up the door of the boxcar to discover a brook and waterfall nearby. The sun is shining on the trees that drip with raindrops.
Henry’s gone to town to get milk. Benny and the girls are picking blueberries in the woods. It’s the end of chapter 3 and it’s lights out in Jeb’s room.
In the dark he asks, “What’s dry ice made of?”
I realize I have lived 37 years and have no idea.
“Is it cold?” he asks.
I really don’t know. I suggest we research it tomorrow.
I’ve got a link in this post but am too tired to read the answers. I still don’t know if dry ice is cold or what it’s even made of.