. . . is that one day you have a lovely friend ask if you wouldn't mind driving her to the town you grew up in and share the memories of what it felt like to be a kid there.
After many months (years) (possibly decades) of trying to arrange this little day trip, Lisa B. and I finally headed south to Provo where we discussed The Edgemont Years in which I rode bikes and ran through foothills covered in long burnt grass. She listened to me with every bit of herself. And then she told me growing up stories, too.