Home-Tripping

The mesmerizing whisper of the windshield wipers clearing the endless raindrops away as we inch our way home. Home; the call of Chubby Chick, my own little house and overstacked desk, the work he was happy to walk away from but really is ready to be doing again. My thoughts drift as much as the semis swaying beside us, contemplating life, which somehow seems more real, more vivid when you’ve been pulled out of your normal ruts. More sweet memories and moments committed to the past. Nebraska will forever and always be dear to us. Life feels fragile; a wreck narrowly avoided as a little Fiat fiats about a little too friskily. The best conversations come to pass as the miles go by, side by side but no need for eye contact. The fact that no one can escape makes it ideal. My thick book beckons whenever my navigation skills are not called upon. Or my magazines or drawing supplies. Always, more activities than I can possibly complete lie at my crowded feet. Sonic sandwich wrappers waft about the truck. Piles of stuff erupting here and there like mini Mt. Vesuvius(s). I do a trash dump at the gas stations every now and then, but otherwise I choose to surrender cleanliness in favor of comfortable chaos. Roadtripping always calls for snackitty snacks. Mini unwrapped Reese’s with salty pretzels…mmmmm. We all love them. A trailer is following us since Lepanto, AR, so I don’t even bother to offer to pilot this big rig anymore. Princess Passenger is my sole role. Vital Farm Eggs on my lap, cradled with care. Thanks, Audge! Darkness is falling; we are weary. But the lights of home are pulling us along, mile by open road mile. The pull of my very own pillow; my favorite people so close to me hour after hour. My heart is happy.