After approximately 2,200 miles with the radio on a good deal of that time, the facts are pretty conclusive — I must be a “classic!” Not only are the songs I listened to as a child termed “classics,” but even songs from my teens and 20s! At least I wasn’t bombed with the “oldies” moniker.
Further road trip analysis: real accidents = only 2; body count = 1 (judging by the camera crew and tarp on the freeway); car problems = 0. For all the above I am grateful, and for the fact none of the earlier incidents mentioned involved anyone I knew or seemed worse than they were. I still said a prayer. Always do.
Departures always make me tearful. OK, sob. Now the women know what a sap I am. They understood. Hmmmmm, I approve. The boys have both found nice girls. A mother’s wish.
The trip home
Good to be back
This trip was not just about seeing my cousin and loving on my sons and their new girlfriends, but also about getting “out-in-the-world” and remembering what lies beyond Cambrialot.
As much as I miss my boys and as wonderful a time as I had, there is no place like it. Now, is this road-buzz in my head ever going to stop?