On The Road Again

A road trip is a great thing. Even when it’s mandatory because you left your car in another city over Mardi Gras and now you have to drive across the state to pick it up. There’s something magical that happens on road trips. You spend uninterrupted time with another person (or yourself if you’re driving solo) you normally wouldn’t. You have long, lazy conversations that you normally wouldn’t.  You eat fart-inducing items from McDonalds you normally wouldn’t.


So off my dad and I went, across this beautiful state of ours, in search of a train station where I had abandoned my car like a snotty teen ditching her date on prom. We listened to a lot of Chicago, caught up on all the family gossip, discussed at length various ailments (gout?!) and just hung out at 70 miles an hour.

Road trips are also great because unexpected things happen on them. Once we had picked up my car, my dad said he wanted to visit the cemetery. We found ourselves standing in front of relative’s gravestones and I listened as he marveled at the passage of time, as he told small stories about the people buried there that I have never heard. It was sweet and sad. And there’s no place like a cemetery to make you realize how alive you are, and how much living you ought to be doing.


Also (!!) I found a gravestone for martha stewart.

On the way home we stopped in Columbia for my favorite meal with my favorite sister in law. Don’t tell the other ones.


Sometimes one thing inspires another. This trek across the country was just the push I needed to plan another one. This time, it’s west to Colorado.


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