What Stuck

I fretted about Ed’s and my upcoming trip, in which we’d fly to Atlanta, pick up a “gift car” from a family member there and drive it cross country to our kids in California, taking a southern route and seeing friends and family along the way. I fretted because I love my life at home and I didn’t know what to expect and I felt guilty about shirking responsibilities for a whole month. But I went. And went. And it all sort of runs together, except for a few things that stuck. Like…

… the sign at the Atlanta airport when I deboarded, that read, “Nobody calls it ‘Hotlanta’. Nobody. You’re welcome.”

… some mushy, tasteless grits in the South and some knocked out trout at Arnaud’s in NOLA and, in Atlanta, at a pub with my friend, Joanne, a plateful of sliders spread with pimiento cheese and topped with fried green tomatoes. Lord. Have. Mercy.

… Emmylou Harris, after wailing the song “Emmitt Till” at Atlanta Symphony Hall, saying, “I was listening to NPR this afternoon—You know that place with the ‘liberal bias’ known as ‘Truth’ ?”

… Booking.com, and how it sorta sucks, and how motel personnel are generally kind and gracious to an older couple learning the ropes on the road.

… the pain in the ass that is cheap toilet paper. I hope this provides you with ample sensory identification.

… my adorable, six year old great nephew, Cohen, teaching me how to floss and winning the “Patience” prize. “You shoulda seen me when I was learning,” he said.

… being reminded again how “the blues make you feel so gooood,” by Big Sam and his Funky Nation at NOLA’s Jazz Playhouse and then by W. C. Clark, the godfather of Austin blues, at The Saxon Pub. So bluesy. So, so good.

… the distance between my shoulders and my ears, which, a couple of weeks into the trip was approximately one and a half inches more than when I started.

… the tears I shed at the Ken Heard Museum in Phoenix when I heard/saw a presentation on how white Christians shredded the culture and individual identities of thousands of Native Americans children stolen and put in boarding schools.

… the look on our daughter’s face when she climbed in the gift car and saw the new sound system her daddy and cousin had installed.

… waving my virtual reality sabers at virtual hurling objects in time to rockin’ music, in the Oculus game, Beat Saber, as my tutor grandson cheered me on with “Go, Granola! You got it!”

That’s mostly what stuck. That, and how it felt to come home and wander in and out of rooms, so happy I was giddy. Grateful, too, that I could have such a blast out there and so love being home. Maybe I won’t fret before we take the next trip. Maybe.

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