I write to you from a comfy hotel room in Jackson, Tennessee. That's not how it was supposed to go.
I got it in my head to car camp the two nights on the road as I traveled from Albuquerque, NM to Boone, NC, sleeping on an inflated mattress in the back of Merletta (my Honda Element).
But there was math I hadn't done. Like area. And volume. (And what's the formula for patience?)
Think "sleeping in a bouncy castle that is 4 feet wide and 6 feet long and 4 feet high, with a 75-lb. dog and a creaky, somewhat-oversized 68-year-old woman."
My hips and back were very, very angry with me, and two hours sleep was not enough for the next day's nine-hour drive, but I did it anyway. I also ditched my Very Bad Idea and got a hotel room for the second night, where I slept like it was my freaking JOB, and Beasley snored along on his part of the bed, and now we are both very happy and rested and ready to roll.
Today I will complete my journey back to the mountains of North Carolina, to the sweet little town of Boone, where I lived for 16 years and moved away from in December of 2019. Which is the last time I saw my kids, my son and my daughter and my son-in-law.
Y'all, I am having a lot of feelings. A lot of feelings. I'm about to hop into Merletta, where Beasley will settle on his bed and I'll pop in my earbuds and cue up my favorite podcasts, and I'll sweep onto I-40 and point my car eastward. And later this afternoon if you detect a disturbance in The Force, it is a million emotions exploding in my chest as I hug my sweetie pies and cry and cry and cry.
Then, the word is, they're cooking steaks. And there will be beer. And joy. A whole lot of joy.
Back to ABQ in a couple of weeks, with Roadcinante and my daughter and son-in-law. Until then, happy June, and hug your loved ones and thank the stars and the moon and the sun and God and the Universe and the angels and archangels and the saints and the scientists for vaccines that finally bring us all back together.