White Knuckle Driving and Meltdowns - Magic Mystery Road Trip Revelations Part 6

You never know what's going to crop up.
Here's a perfect little mushroom that popped up
next to the Magic Mosaic Table after the rains.
It was a portent of things to come.

Wednesday we left Florida and headed North. Sweet North and home towards my puppies and kitty, whom I had missed every single day. I don't like being away from them, even when we know they're in good hands, and every day I'd air-talk "Good morning Lil Bear, Benji, and Joey Max," to them. Every night at supper time I'd air-ask if they were flirting for their suppers. They flirt so pretty for about half an hour before feeding time. They have an internal clock for mealtimes and treat times that you could set your watch by. And every night at bedtime I'd tell them how many more sleeps 'til we arrived back in town to bring them home.

The day started out all right, we had blue skies, puffy clouds, and lots to see from the initial roadways.

I like roads that aren't closed off by trees so we can see stuff.

Fixer-upper for sure.

All alligators: Stay put!

From the signs along the roadway we learned there are "ponds," "lakes," and "puddles." Yes, "puddles." Some of these puddles are large enough to go boating in. HA!

Another lovely puddle. What is this, the territory of giants?

Though this day started out fine, half-way through I wasn't sure we were going to make it. Why?

Atlanta. (Cue scary, alarming music.)

This is okay. It is NOT Atlanta. 

I don't mind the two-lane roads. We practically bonded with the drivers around us since we were all going in the same direction for miles and miles. We passed them and they passed us. It was like a sort of game to see who could go the longest without a rest stop.

Beautiful atmospheric skies.

As we drove, we marveled at the beauty of the skies and how the white, sandy soils turned into colorful red clay, and then rich, dark growing soils as we got farther north.

As we neared Atlanta, the roads kept getting wider with more and more lanes, more vehicles, and lots of noise swooshing past us.

Eventually we found ourselves on a SEVEN lane highway, and that's just the side we were driving on, there were another six or seven lanes on the other side going in the other direction. FIVE HOURS of terrifying fear. TRUCKS everywhere barreling past and cars whipping in and out. We called those "little zippers." There were assholes and idiots (nod to George Carlin's hilarious take on driving), along with the occasional good driver. They had a lane going down the left that was the "passthrough" lane. It had only a solid white line dividing it (illegal to cross that line for any reason) from the rest of the traffic and vehicles driving in that lane were going speeds of about 70, whizzing past the rest of us who were fighting for space, for a little space between us and the vehicles ahead, a little space to the sides of us where I was sure the spikes on the front hubcaps of the trucks would shred our tires, they were so close, and a little space behind us so we wouldn't get rear-ended.

I pressed my back as far into the back of my seat as it would go, I held on with both hands to the sides of the inside of the car around me. I held my breath for about five hours. And I prayed. I was so scared.

Heck, I used to drive San Diego traffic, which is mostly 4 to six lanes in one direction, but the highways were so much better designed because the on and off ramps were loooooong. Going through Atlanta they're ridiculously short, so merging is a nightmare, and the drivers are so aggressive they don't leave mergers any room.

It felt like it lasted an eternity and I vowed NEVER to do that again. I'm of an age where if I don't want to, I don't have to in most situations, and this was going on the top of my list.

Heading into a huge band of stormclouds.
Oh please stay up there and don't send us a deluge!

We were about to get drenched!

We had RAIN. A deluge of it that also lasted for HOURS. I couldn't see the road and Rob and I couldn't understand how drivers in trucks and big SUVs could fly by at high speeds regardless of the waterfalls on their windshields. It was so bad that for a little while we pulled off the highway and waited for the big rain to pass. Wouldn't you know, that right across from the stop sign at the end of the exit we took was a beautiful little church. We pulled into the church parking lot and checked the weather on Rob's phone as several other highway drivers pulled in after us. It was a fair-sized storm but looked like the red parts of the radar were passing to the east and we could continue on our journey fairly soon, which we did.

When we arrived at our hotel several hours later than we'd estimated because of the snarly traffic through Atlanta and the rain, I pulled out my "Despair Therapy," that my husband had teased me about when I bought it off a little book rack in our hotel in Florida. Despair Therapy works very well when you're fighting depression or fear or the long road back from the valley of the shadow of death. I wrote about the strategies I had learned to use as I climbed that road back up from my daughter's death. The post is called Countering Pain with Pleasure. It may initially seem somewhat disrespectful, but it's just plain good medicine when your heart is hurting. I found I had to force myself to experience pleasure again after the passing of my daughter. I think experiencing pleasure takes a certain amount of trust, and trust gets shot to hell with some kinds of death, maybe pretty much all of them. It took over a year for me to even consider strategies for nurturing good feelings in myself again. Now it's much more a part of my life, and I'm so grateful.

Despair Therapy

It works like a charm.

Rob went to get some ice and while he was gone I started to cry. I was missing my daughter intensely and heading back home, knowing I wouldn't be able to call her was hurting. My nerves, having white knuckled it for so many hours, were stretched tight as a rubber band. It was all catching up with me and I felt just exhausted. Rob was doing amazing. I was so impressed with him I fell in love all over again. He's the greatest person to travel with, and an amazing driver. I'd have gone 300 miles out of my way to avoid that Atlanta traffic.

I went into the bathroom to wash my face so he wouldn't know I had cried. And here's what I saw:

I know, right?!

The little touches in hotels, book racks, and little messages of encouragement are deeply appreciated.

I'm not particularly religious, rather am more spiritually aligned, but I did look for the bible in every room, and it was always there. There's something comforting about that too.

We could see from the hotel room a maze of shopping centers clustered on all sides of the highways, and Rob pointed to the steakhouse restaurant just the other side of our hilly hotel entranceway. "Would you like to go to dinner there?" he asked.

"I can't," I said. I was trying not to cry. So relieved to have arrived at the hotel alive after the chaos of Atlanta traffic and the waterfall windshield driving. I was not about to get back in the car, though I love our car and she takes very good care of us.

"I see a Walmart over there. Can you get us some water and tea for the car tomorrow, and maybe pick up something to eat here in our room?"

"No problem. I'll be right back," he said.

When he left I watched out the window through the leftover rain as he drove down through our hilly hotel entranceway and across to the Walmart. Then I couldn't help crying really hard. God. Where was my courage? Where was my strength? What the heck was the matter with me?

He brought back comfort "food." I put food in quotation marks because this is as far from real food as we ever get. It comes in a cardboard box and little plastic thingies that you can microwave. We're very used to eating all organic and doing our own cooking, using food mostly from the produce sections of the grocery stores at home.

But I was so relieved not to have to drive anywhere that I was very, very grateful for the meatloaf, organic salad (score Rob), mashed potatoes, AND mac 'n cheese. Rob took care of all the cooking just like he does at home, but here in our hotel room he danced back and forth between the microwave and his "de-packaging" zone.

Comfort food xo

Cheers, phew!

He fixed us a welcome glass of wine and served me my dinner on one of those little trays they have in the hotels, and I munched happily and started to feel immeasurably better. And guess what was on the television! A whole string of Chevy Chase's vacation movies. Hilarious! Gift from Heaven! We ate and laughed and slept very well.

And here's the thing - Magic Mystery Roadtrip Revelation Number 6 - Trust is a beautiful thing. And when we find ourselves feeling vulnerable because of various experiences we've been through, and our ability to trust is not so good, it's a huge blessing to have someone near us who can uplift us until we get to a place of strength. This was the "Jennifer emotional baggage" I'd been afraid of showing as we planned the trip. It was one of the reasons I dreaded it and didn't want to go. I wanted to be strong for Rob, and wasn't sure I could do that. I did pretty good through the emotional hard parts, but cracked a bit when we reached this safe haven. Uggers. Thank you so much, Rob, for your strength and unflappability.

I said to him, "How is it that you can drive through that traffic and be so calm? Doesn't it freak you out?"

"No, not at all," he said. "I just try to go the speed limit and drive predictably. And I let the aggressive ones go on ahead." He's amazing.

There was one time we had entered a very long construction zone where the traffic was being funneled from four lanes to one. The guy in the car ahead of us had kids in the back who were playing with a flashlight, which was dangerous as it was dark because of the storms and it was also getting late, so the light kept shining in Rob's eyes and he couldn't really block it. I said to him, "That guy shouldn't let his kids play with their flashlight like that, it's dangerous!"

But THEN the guy started making nasty finger gestures at us, and we realized there weren't any kids in his car, it was HIM messing with that flashlight. And all of a sudden he decided to have some fun with us and started BACKING UP on the highway. WTF?!

Rob honked our horn and started cursing and at the last minute the guy stopped backing up before he hit us and then shot flashlight beams into Rob's eyes again. I took a picture of his car with my phone and declared I was gonna call him in. I took several photos to make sure HE saw me taking them.

As traffic merged from the right, flashlight guy sat and sat, letting tons of cars in. He wasn't being nice, he was seeing how long he could make us wait before we lost our patience. My husband is a very patient man.

Well guess what heaven sent us. A BIG, HUGE, HONKIN' white truck with a burly guy driving it. He had hunting stickers all over the window, a very loud engine, and probably a nice shotgun in there with him somewhere.

I said to Rob, "You know what, honey? Why don't we be really nice and let this lovely white truck merge before us. We'll see if flashlight guy wants to play with him!"

So that's what we did, and flashlight guy behaved himself. He got off a few exits down and we said "Bye y'all! Good riddance!"

I was really ready to be home as soon as possible. I wanted my puppies and my kitty and my sweet little town and our swimming pool. But we had two more legs of this trip to go. The one on the next day held surprises of HUGE proportions for us both. It was one of those major milestone days in life. Completely unexpected. A gift.

Rest in Peace Sweet Betsy - Magic Mystery Roadtrip Revelations Part 5

Pathways

Tuesday was the day. Betsy's day. The day where family and friends gathered at the beautiful Methodist Church to celebrate my husband's sister's life and mourn her passing. Rest in Peace, sweet girl, loving mother, cherished wife, beloved Nana.

Her memorial service was scheduled for 3 in the afternoon. I wanted to be able to cook for her family because they'd been on the heart-wrenching hospital road with her for several years, and the last months were especially difficult. This woman had enough energy for 20 people when she was healthy and vibrant, yet she never lost her sparkle, even when she lost the use of her arms and legs and her body caved in on itself. Her spirit continued to shine.

I knew the last thought on the family's mind would be shopping for food, cooking food, or cleaning up after food. It's hard to nourish our own bodies when we're weeping, weeping, remembering, and holding our beloveds in our hearts. So I asked Rob if we could arrange for a platter of sandwiches and some comfort food salads to be delivered to their home. This is something that our childhood babysitter did for my family when my father passed, and it was such a blessing. No one was hungry but we knew we had to eat. The big platter of sandwiches sat in the middle of the dining room table and we could grab a few mouthfuls when we knew we had to eat something. It was a little bit of love.

So Tuesday morning Rob did some internet research and discovered a place called McAlister's Deli.

We drove over there and went to the counter, explained that we needed a special order made, and they had a young man who's main job there was taking care of catering. He sat down with us and took notes, helped us figure out what kind and how many sandwiches would be best. We chose four different kinds of filling, several sandwiches of each kind, each of which would be cut into little triangles, little finger food. I explained that this platter, if it was anything like ours, might last a few days and we didn't want anything to get soggy, so he wrote down "no tomatoes," all sauces and mayo on the side. And he helped us pick out a couple of big containers of potato salad and macaroni and cheese. He said he'd make it himself the next day (we wanted it delivered the day we left, when all the travelers would be going home and the family would be hunkering down). He said he'd call the house to make sure someone would be there to receive it.

Lord, I had to figure out on this sacred day how to let Ron, Betsy's husband, or Joel, her son, know that their phone would ring the next morning and it would be the deli guy. I planned to look for the most appropriate moment.

I was really impressed with my husband's steadfastness that day, because not only was it a very hard day for the family, but it had begun with a phone call on Rob's cell phone and it wasn't the deli guy. It was his sister Barbara's long-time boyfriend. They'd let us know she wouldn't be able to come from Wisconsin for the funeral because of work obligations, but that wasn't what he was calling about. Barbara had had a heart attack. She was in the hospital. They put in two stents, and she would be coming back for three more once she had recovered from the first operation. Lord, lord.

We didn't tell the family. They had so much grief and worry that they were climbing up from, and it wasn't the day to give them even more. They weren't close with Barbara, so we could wait for an appropriate time, but Rob said, "Hey! What did they put in the Berghage genes?!" I told him he'd already had his turn, with his heart attack in 2011, and the docs fixed it and he was strong and healthy, so not to worry. He said he thought Barbara would be fine, and that if they could fix the trouble with stents and medication that was a good sign.

So not only was he navigating the emotional roller coaster of Betsy's passing, he was also checking in on the phone throughout the day to monitor Barbara's condition. She came through her first operation with flying colors, was released from the hospital Friday, and her boyfriend was taking her up to their cabin to recover. Nature heals us. It would be good for her heart and soul to be there.

So after the phone call and sandwiches Rob and I went back to the Magic Mosaic Table for a 10-minute smoke break before we went upstairs to get dressed. It rained a little bit while we sat under the shelter of the tin roof, while the sun was still shining, and we figured there was probably a rainbow up there, but we didn't go out to look. It was about 87 degrees and hot and muggy and the rain made steam waft up from the ground all over the place. That's Florida.

We got dressed, I don't know how the men did it - putting on long pants, white shirts, ties, and jackets, but they all looked just gorgeous, and respectful. I wore the same dress I'd worn to my sweet Jessie's memorial service. It's a favorite, long, black with just a few soft blue flowers scattered along the sides. My patent leather sandals. I couldn't wear my hair down in that humidity, so I just pulled it back into a clip. And off we went to the church.

The family met in the little chapel while the other people attending went into the beautiful sanctuary. There were a lot of people. Betsy was well-loved. And in the little chapel Ron gave us an outline of how things had been planned out. He was going to speak, Joel was going to speak, and Rob was going to speak, to celebrate and share the oh, so special stories about this woman.

We sat with the family in the first two rows of the church. There were some flowers there, and of course they were gorgeous, and beautiful photographs of dear Betsy with her kids, her grandkids, her husband, her parents, her friends. She had a very full life.

The service was exquisite. Heartbreaking. Uplifting. This was the time I had been afraid I would pass out or just die, feeling the anguish of my daughter's death all over again, but I did not feel that. I felt the love just wafting throughout that place from the people gathered and from all the loving sessions that had taken place there over the years.

I wanted to bring the minister home with us and be able to attend his Sunday sermons every week. He was a man made of love. He just radiated it. Ron had chosen three hymns to be sung at various points in Betsy's service, and during the first one we all stood, some with hymnals open, and I couldn't sing. I had to close my eyes and listen to all those beautiful voices because that is one thing that I love and miss so much about church. I'd attended several churches over the years but they always lose me when they call me a sinner. I don't believe in the fire and brimstone of it, only the love. And this minister had such a gorgeous understanding of it.

Do you know what he did? He loves his work, and he does things people wouldn't ordinarily think to do to give his sermons meaning. For Betsy's service, he had researched the authors of those three hymns and he told the story of each one. When he began I felt confused and thought "Hey where are you going with this, it's Betsy's day!" But by the time he was finished my heart was feeling uplifted. Because what he found through his research was that each of the people who had written these hymns had beloved family members who had also gone through incapacitating illness. The words they wrote came from their hearts as a direct result of experiencing the same kind of pain, love, care, and loss that Ron and Joel and Cathy had experienced. Wow. And the words were very beautiful.

His Eye is on the Sparrow is one of these beautiful hymns. It is a song of faith. It is a song of life. Eternal life. Connection. Belonging.

When the minister spoke of continuing life, he looked directly at each family member, especially Cathy, Betsy's daughter, and his eyes just beamed love and certainty. He was reaching through their darkness, pulling them into the light. And, as I thought about my sweet Jess, he pulled me into the light too.

The remembrances were especially moving. Betsy was so personally involved with all of those she loved. Her husband, Ron's tribute to her after all the years of their marriage was glowing. He made us laugh and he made us cry. Joel, Betsy's son's tribute was also just gorgeous. He made us laugh and he made us cry. We could feel the love wafting all over and around us. I was so proud of them both for being able to stand up there and speak from their hearts.

My sweet husband also told a story about being Betsy's big brother and it was one that made us laugh, and I was pleased to see that Cathy even laughed, as she was having a real hard time. Here is what he said, which I share with his permission:

"My memories of Betsy growing up are somewhat limited - she was significantly younger, she was a girl. Not just any girl, but a very girly-girl. Her room was full of stuffed animals and she liked brightly colored pretty things. Being a boy growing up in the 1960s I couldn't really relate to these things. But she had another side, an independent spirit, a zest for life, and a will and determination to make the world a more beautiful place that she carried with her throughout her life. She also had an impish spirit that surfaced from time to time. One story, a classic in our family illustrates this better than any other I can think of. Our parents had gone out and left me, the older brother, in charge. I don't exactly remember the incident or exactly what the transgression was, [Rob remembered later that Betsy and Barbara were having a water-pistol battle in the house], but as related to me later as an adult by our mother, Betsy would not do what she was supposed to do, and was misbehaving so I picked her up and set her on top of the refrigerator in the kitchen so she couldn't get into any more mischief. Being a child of relatively small stature, she could not get herself down, and apparently it had the desired effect. I will miss this impish spirit, my sister was a caring, creative, lively, independent soul, and I am grateful to have known her and to count her among those whom I have loved and those who have loved me in this life."

I just love that story. Rob is a very good-natured person, creative when problem-solving, and this cracked me up the first time I heard it. I felt very proud of him too, for being able to share his love for Betsy.

After the services the family was ushered out the side door and back to an area that had been arranged for sharing food and drink, more stories, and love. I hadn't expected to eat! I wasn't sure I could, though the service had been so very special. We still had the interment to get through. But as I've discovered, Spirit plays with us even amidst our grief, and gives us gifts to uphold us.

I went over to the woman who was pouring tea for peeps. She had silver hair and a gentle smile, and she was wearing powder blue latex gloves, having done the food preparation in the kitchen adjoining the room we were in. "Would you like sweet tea, or unsweetened tea?" she asked me. "Unsweetened sounds wonderful," I said. Then I noticed that her sparkly diamond ring had popped right through her glove and was shining like a million bucks surrounded by all that blue latex. I said to her, "Your glove looks especially beautiful with all that sparkle shining through!" And she said, "Why yes, that ring has popped right through!" We chuckled, and I hesitated but then decided to take the leap and talk with her a bit more about this ring.

"I notice you're wearing your diamond on your index finger," I said.

"Yes," she wiggled her fingers, and said "it's the only finger that doesn't have those big old knuckles. My ring slides right on or off when I want it to, so I wear it there."

I showed her my fingers and said, "I'm almost out of fingers for rings and I have those big old knuckles too, so I don't much change mine. But I have a diamond ring that's very special. My grandmother gave it to my mother, who gave it to me. I gave it to my daughter, but when she died, I got it back. I never expected to get it back. She wore it constantly from the day I gave it to her and I've wanted to wear it but the only finger I can get it on is my index finger. I want you to know you've inspired me, and I will wear it there and enjoy it."

She twinkled her eyes at me and we shared soft giggles.

Magic Mystery Roadtrip Revelation Number 5: Spirit sends us lightness and encouragement through serendipitous exchanges when we least expect it. And that's how the eating part of the services went.

That's also the time I realized it was the perfect moment to let Joel know that his phone would ring the next morning and it would be the deli guy. That went fine.

We all shared some more special stories and it was good for the family to be surrounded by very close friends and other family members. It was an intimate group, and shortly after that we all headed out to the cemetery.

It was a really beautiful cemetery with headstones that were so lovingly chosen. Angels everywhere, flowers on the resting places, and well-tended, vibrant trees, flowers, and bushes throughout. We went under the canopy they'd set up and Betsy's ashes rested in her beautiful urn, awaiting blessings and respectful burial next to her son Jonathan, who had died about the same time my sweet Jess did. His grave was so full of love. Every time someone had visited they'd left mementos, including beautiful angels, flowers, stuffed animals, "boy" toys that were special to him, and it was a place that radiated love.

Ron had mentioned that some of Betsy's physical decline had accelerated after the death of her son, who was the same age as sweet Jess, only 26 years old. Ron also mentioned that Betsy had 12 doctors (Jess also had 12 doctors), and when she received treatment for one sickness, the medicine caused another sickness, and the medicine given for that sickness required additional medication to balance things out. Jess went through similar experience with her body. Autoimmune diseases are hard to cure and treatment allows us to manage them for a while. And when the body is tired, we find ourselves digging deep to find honor, respect, celebration, love, and the ability to let go of the physical part of our beloved.

The Spirit carries on. The love never stops. "Is, was, and always will be," is something we understand and it sits in our hearts surrounding our Celestial beloveds.

Our hearts are with the family as they climb back up. Our hearts are also with Betsy as she rejoins her Celestial family in joy.

Amazing Big Spirits, The Haves and Have Nots - Magic Mystery Roadtrip Revelations Part 4

Are these "The Haves" in Destin, Florida?

Are these more "Haves" in Destin, Florida?

No Access.

$$$$$ Everywhere!

Nope. Can't get onto the beach anywhere near here.

$ Pay to stay. $

Color-coded umbrellas according to where you're allowed to be on the beach.
There's a fence just on the other side of the hedge.
Peeps are not supposed to hop it.

Niceville, Florida, is very close to the Gulf of Mexico, near the beach, so I thought it would be great to have a small, private little ceremony for Rob's sister. We wanted to buy some white flowers, go for a walk on the beach, and scatter them in the water in tribute to her life.

So Rob drove us out to Destin, where there are miles and miles of beach. But what we discovered is that every mile is fenced and in some spots they even pay people to sit and guard the gated entrances so no one gets to the water who hasn't paid to be able to.

Hm.

I lived in California for near 20 years and we went all up and down the coast, which is plum gorgeous and nary a fence can be seen. We went on all the beaches at all times of day and night. We spent afternoons swimming and building sandcastles and nights around bonfires.

So I was astonished to see that miles and miles and miles of the coastland in this part of Florida are inaccessible to the public unless they've paid big bucks to stay in a beach house, or happen to be wealthy enough to own a condo down in Destin. When I looked out over the beaches I saw, for all those miles, wall-to-wall people vacationing, and traffic was bumper to bumper with no parking anywhere. There were a couple of public access beaches but they were also inundated with people, so my dream of a private, quiet little ceremony for Betsy got trampled. We didn't buy the flowers, we didn't park, we sweated it out through the traffic to get the heck out of there. It was really one of my worst nightmares, right up there with root canals and IRS audits. Not the kind of naturey place that makes my heart sing.

We looked at the rental houses, homes, condos, and hotels, as well as restaurants, and found that though they were beautiful on the outside, they were also decorated with piles of empty beer case packaging, pizza boxes, and trash cans, should their occupants choose to use them. They were clearly money-making enterprises, grand environments for the collection of many, many dollars.

As I looked at them, their gates and fences, and paid entrance/exit attendants, and watched people swipe their plastic key cards through various gates to get in and out my heart felt squeezed.

"How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?" said Chief Seattle, and this sits close to my heart. I was appalled at what we saw in Destin. I wanted to run, just like Rob did, from the nursing home.

And here's the thing. As I looked at these money-makers and people enjoying the vacations earned with their souls, I wondered, really, who are the "haves," and who are the "have-nots"? I will tell you about some people we met along the way, and I think very much that they are the haves, though they might not agree. They have big, huge hearts. They have family. They work to protect us, though we don't realize or acknowledge that while we're vacationing and piling up empty beer case packaging.

The first "HAVE" I met climbed out of his truck the day we arrived at our hotel in Florida. I was at the Magic Mosaic Table having a cigarette, and pretty soon several other big trucks pulled up and parked and several burly, sweaty, dirty men climbed out and walked over under the shade of the little tin roof sheltering the Magic Table to smoke. I was glad Rob was with me, cause I was scared to be out there alone with these men.

They were highway workers. Steel toed boots, blue jeans, neon glowy lime-green t-shirts, helmets still on, rough talking, swaggering highway workers. And we got to talking. Remember I'm the "new kid on the block" so very used to talking with strangers.

OMG. They were so very impressive. One of them especially, took a shine to us, and sat a while and let me ask questions.

After some small-talk about what we do and where we're all from, I looked at the first guy who had arrived and said "Okay, you might know this or you might not, but I'm going to ask and hope it won't be too forward of me to do that."

"Fire away," he said.

"We have a couple of huge cranes in our little home town and I've said to my husband as we drive by them fairly often, "Wow, that's a helluva climb up in the morning. Wonder what they do for bathroom breaks. I'm sure they don't want to climb down all those stories every time. I don't see any kind of elevator."

"Backup Gatorade bottle," said the highway worker. "And you better watch out for showers around lunchtime cause they empty it."

Well. Well. Now we know and you do too.

He went on to tell us some of the inside story on highway workers and what all they have to deal with for their jobs. The heat. Drivers who actually go out of their way to try to knock down barrels or cones. Being away from home for sometimes two months at a time. The large regional territories they cover. The education they need to work the big equipment (impressive credentials). The risks - sizable. The weather - mercurial. The money - very, very good.

His boss drove up and parked in the parking lot, all the guys call him "Princess." He's a young guy of small stature and large education, and they tease him mercilessly. He takes it very well. He doesn't smoke.

After a time, this burly highway construction worker showed me pictures of his family, one of whom is his granddaughter, who had heart surgery when she was just two months old. Plunged the family into the kind of fear and trust and chaos and prayer that we all experience eventually, and he was so proud of that little spit of a girl. "What do your grandkids call you?" I asked. "Pocca," he said with a huge twinkle in his eye. And he showed me pictures of her birthday party where they rented a huge castle/water slide. "I wasn't there for it," he said, "but I made it happen." God. Bless. You. Pocca. And all those who work with you. I wanted to wave and honk the horn to all the highway workers I saw on our travels after meeting him. He's a Big Spirit Person with a huge, loving heart. He understands and loves and respects FAMILY. He was cool beans. He's a HAVE.

So when you see a construction site, don't bitch. Shower the workers with love and light. They're brave souls making the roads better for us all and taking big risks to do it.

Where I had fear, it was erased bigtime at the Magic Mosaic Table.

Down in Florida they have a military school that teaches several programs, one of which is how to handle and diffuse bombs in areas of war or terrorist activity. Shit. Really. It offers "training for compliance, use, disposal, transport, and safety of exposives by licensed experts." And at the Magic Mosaic Table, we met three magnificent spirits-being-human attending classes there.

Two of them were from Romania. They'd been studying there for six months, were looking forward to going home to help settle things down and protect people from terrorism. When we sat down one night, they were playing chess and each had a beer (Corona, yum). They were concentrating very hard, and every now and then, in-between writing in my journal, I'd say "Hey, check out what's happening on the left side of that board, you can get him in check."

"I already have him in check," one said. And that started our conversation, which lasted a couple of hours. After a couple of games, we were so into talking and sharing information that they put the chess game back in the box and just gave us their full attention. There's nothing like the attention of a "foreigner" who speaks English very well, but has an interest and passion for learning about and understanding the U.S. We talked politics. They had no idea of the depth of the American people's general embarrassment and mistrust in Trump, having very different histories. The U.S., to them, was still a great example of what to strive for. We talked about healthcare, families and where the children are living, community, mothers, cooking, and their girlfriends and dreams for the future. I was most impressed with their sense of loyalty to their country and wanting to protect people from outside terrorism. They were absolutely darling wonderful.

I met another student of the explosives academy who was from Pakistan. He was young, engaged to be married at home, and also very interested in protecting his people and being part of the restoration of his country. "It is like a vacation to be here studying," he said. "I can go wherever I want in safety, food is everywhere, and people are happy." He wore a very large, beautiful cream-colored agate stone on his finger. I asked about the ring. "It is to help ground my energies," he said. "We are very used to using the gems of the earth for various purposes." He went on to explain some of the personal ceremonies he was taught that help him to listen to Spirit and to direct his activities on earth. He was muslim. We talked about that too. And, as with all religions, there are crazy fanatics as well as really beautiful, good people who believe in creating beauty and sustaining life, for everyone. He was a beautiful person. He had beautiful green eyes, dark skin, black hair, perfectly white teeth, and a huge and loving heart. He was a HAVE. May he always be protected on his journeys in this life.

At the Magic Mosaic Table I met Betty. Betty was 77 years old. Black as night. Skinny. And very Southern. She loved to settle into a story. She told us of her family who lived a bit up north and her two daughters that work at the airport. One of them went to college and got some kind of degree that qualifies her to stand on the tarmac and direct airplanes into their parking spots along with other duties as required. She makes good money. Her other daughter also has a great job. "But there are six people living in that house, and that's just plain too many," she said. So she was in Florida to find a place to live, after the passing of her sweet husband, who was military. Betty loved the airplanes and when one went by overhead she stuck her cigarette in her mouth and put her hands together, collecting air, and woooooshed them up, over and over again. Sixteen times. "There. I gave them sixteen," she said. Lord, it was sweet, she was sending blessings to hold those planes up. Betty is a HAVE. She has a huge and loving heart that extends well beyond her own personal zone.

We saw Betty out there a few times and talked real estate as she was looking for a home close to where her husband had worked for a long time. Please send her the very best home ever, angels, where she'll be happy for as long as she lives.

And we met a family from Bosnia. Big, strong, truck driving husband and lovely, plump, super healthy and beautiful woman who'd come to America as a refugee many years ago. We talked politics and they were safe. She has her citizenship. She has family still in Bosnia. She lives in Iowa, and to hear her voice sigh out the name of that state you know it isn't the place of her heart. They have two daughters and were shepherding the daughters through the vacation as parents do. Sweet people. Reminded me of the movie and book Bridges of Madison County. You're safe, sweet woman, as safe as any of us can be. She's a HAVE because you can see her love for her family and loyalty to her husband even though Iowa isn't quite the place of her heart.

And we met very special women who waited on us at Waffle House. Yes, there were tattoos. Actually most of the wait people in the South had tattoos and wherever there's a tattoo, there's a story. So I asked about them. The first one had tattoos covering her whole right arm. Shoulder to almost wrist. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked. And I said "Yes, tell me the story of your tattoos. There must be some powerful stories there."

"Oh yes, there are," she said. "This one is for my mother, who passed, and this one is for my father who passed. This one is for my brother who passed, and this one (roses) is for life and strength. This little bit by my wrist that hasn't been done yet is for my baby, I'm four months pregnant. And this one is for my first husband, who killed himself. He was the love of my life. I have a daughter from him. He didn't make it because he was in Afghanistan and had to shoot a little boy who was about seven years old who pulled a gun on him. He had nightmares and just never could get over it. So he took some medicine that he knew he was allergic to and stopped breathing. We couldn't save him. He was the love of my life." Lord, lord. This girl is a HAVE because with all the heartbreak in her life she has never given up and is still working at loving and nurturing her beloveds.

So we have this new little baby coming for her with her new husband and here she is working her butt off at Waffle house four months pregnant and carrying the weight of grief. "You never get over it," she says. And I know what that means. But she's living. She's living with all of her might. Bless the new baby and the relationships in that family. She got a big tip from us xo.

And we met a hotel owner from Mumbai. This wasn't at the Magic Mosaic Table, but it was part of our journey. He had dark skin, beautiful white teeth, and the beautiful sing-song voice of an East-Indian. He was very friendly when we arrived and stood in the lobby with me and my luggage on the brass cart while my husband parked the car. I asked him where he was from and his eyes got a little guarded as he answered. I told him we had close friends from India and Lebanon and asked if he had family still there. He said yes and told us of his travels. Most of the employees in his hotel were family members, brothers, sisters, all bustling about taking care of us travelers. After we talked for a while his eyes twinkled and the guard went down. I am most grateful for owners who care, who keep things clean and stocked and who are friendly and accessible as we travel the long miles of the road. Blessings to this hotel owner and his family, some of whom he's still working on getting to the U.S. Good luck with the current admin on that. It might be a few years 'til we can get them in, but I welcome them with an open heart. Why is it that people from other countries so often appreciate the wealth and freedoms of the U.S. that we completely take for granted? He's a HAVE because he devotes himself to the comfort and well-being of not only his family, but strangers that come to stay at his hotel, hungry, and plum worn out.

The other waitress that we had that I fell in love with was somewhere down South busting her butt to make people comfortable on their journeys and she was the epitome of the hospitality that the South is known for. She took great care of us and we made friends. She showed us photos of her dogs. She and her boyfriend live on several acres and they have huskies. She had five of them, four black and cream colored ones, and one red and cream. She thinks the red and cream one was stolen because he's been missing for a while. Let's hope he was stolen and has a good home and didn't become bear dinner. She charmed the socks off of us and got a real good tip too. She's a HAVE because she loves animals and keeps a trusting nature even though one of hers is missing.

One more sweet person that I met I will tell about in my next-to last post. She was very inspirational and also very impressive. A big spirit.

You see, all of these people have stories. Beautiful, loving, caring, life-sustaining, big spirit stories.

What I learned from them was a lot about my own "station" in life. I am part of the top two percent in intelligence. I've been blessed with a career in higher education that has been very meaningful, helping others to attain their dreams. This is very special and a great honor. I am finally at the point in life where I can spend time doing what I love to do, which is painting, beading, and writing. I'm blessed.

Revelation Number 4 - The "haves" are not who we might think they are. They are the people all across America, with huge, strong, loving spirits, life sustaining activities that support those around them. They are not "dollar collectors." They are just beautiful. I love them all. If I could shower blessings and prosperity on anyone it would be these people, the slice of Americana that I would not otherwise have encountered, that lit a lightbulb for me. Keep going it says. We are working for our futures and the futures of those we love, even the futures of those we might never meet. We are love. We rise above despair, we take risks, we leave our homes and families and go back with knowledge to support the whole.

We are the "WE". Not the "I".

God, I'm so impressed with every one of them. Thank you, my beautiful Creative Source and Universe and Angels, for the beautiful interaction with peeps who are really Earth Angels in disguise. I'm all for the "meek inheriting the earth," and I think we got a good glimpse of that. Rock on peeps, you have wings you may not even know about. I see them. May they lift you up eternally.

Sky Storms and Heart Storms - Magic Mystery Roadtrip Revelations Part 3

Heading into the storm

The third leg of our trip was so hard and the weather seemed to know it. It reflected our roiling hearts as we got closer to Florida, the family, and the funeral for Rob's sister Betsy.

But our hotel in Florida was a pure example of some of the magic of this trip that I had so dreaded. I'm a smoker, and Rob was kind enough to get smoking rooms when possible, but for the hardest part of the trip, the three nights we'd spend in Niceville attending the funeral, connecting with deeply grieving family members, we had a non-smoking room, which came with a gift from Spirit, The Magic Mosaic Table.

Heaviness inside our hearts, heaviness outside.

We drove and drove, with stormclouds all around us, wondering when the deluge would happen and if we'd find ourselves stricken or somehow protected.

Oh the clouds were beautiful, but so scary too.

The magic happened when we checked in to our hotel and realized that within walking distance to the right was a Waffle House for quick breakfasts, and a Hurricane Grill to the left, also within easy walking distance. And a little mosaic tiled picnic table outside underneath a protective tin roof. So Rob didn't have to drive for us to eat, I had a sort of safe haven to go for a smoke, and we had time to do some things we wanted to get done.

The first was to visit his Dad at the Nursing Home where he lives. His Dad is old as the hills and unfortunately doesn't have his mind about him anymore. He can talk but doesn't remember anything from one minute to the next. He rides in his wheelchair, and he likes to "walk it" himself. This means they don't put the pedals down, so he can use his feet to walk his chair all over the place. He likes to do that.

For a little while you'll have to use your imagination because I didn't take photos while we were at the Nursing Home cause we had too much to pay attention to. The first thing was for Rob to meet Cara in person, the lovely woman who manages the home. They'd talked on the phone, but since we live in Pennsylvania they'd never met in person. Cara was dressed in a brightly patterned summer dress, comfy sandals, and sparkly blue nail polish on toes and fingers. Her personality was just as bright. I think she picked out her outfits on purpose to be a ray of sunshine for all the elders.

We talked with her to make sure they knew to contact Rob over the next several days, and maybe weeks if he could help with any questions or decisions, since Betsy's husband Ron had already so very much to deal with emotionally. He and Betsy had been keeping a close eye on Rob's father Bob, and Ron and Betsy's children, Cathy and Joel, had visited him in the nursing home. But we wanted to make sure they'd have a stretch of time without too many outside obligations, a time for peace, for grieving, for loving each other, and for climbing back up.

So Cara took us to see Bob, who was having his lunch in the lunchroom. The Nursing Home was lovely. Homey, comfortable, nicely decorated, clean as a whistle, and fully staffed. Nursing and cleaning staff people were everywhere, taking care of all kinds of things, feeding the elders, sorting out medicines, vacuuming, and just generally being useful and working hard.

Cara walked down the hallways, leading us to Bob, and all along the way she'd pat someone's shoulder here, or tease someone there as she passed. Many of the residents liked to sit in the hallways and though they were mostly past the age where they could talk or socialize much they liked being out where there were activities and things going on.

So when we got to Bob at his lunch table, he was just finishing up, but still had his little tub of ice cream left. Cara asked him if he wanted to finish it and he said "Oh no, I don't think so." She introduced us and Bob didn't recognize his son. (Check one on the hard scale for Rob.) And he didn't remember me either. Rob had expected this since he'd been in touch by phone for years, and was aware of the decline in his Dad's mental faculties, but it was still uncomfortable and hard to understand emotionally.

There was a beautiful courtyard outside the lunchroom, surrounded on all sides by the big picture windows and stucco walls of the Nursing Home. It was lovely. So I asked Bob if he'd like to go outside. "I guess so," he said. So I got behind his wheelchair to help push as he walked himself out to sit in the shade by one of the picnic tables outside.

Rob and Bob in the courtyard

Rob and I had already talked about what was okay to talk about with Bob - since he didn't remember anyone and hadn't much been able to for many months, we knew not to mention the death of his daughter. It would only confuse and upset him. So as we sat at the picnic table with him we talked about the pretty flowers, the sky, the clouds, a plane going by overhead, and the breeze.

At one point Bob bunched up his shoulders under his ears, squinched up his face and smiled the most beautific smile I'd ever seen. He took a big deep breath and let it out real slow, and said, "Oh it feels good to be outside. The breeze feels so good and it's warm!" It was a very hot 87 degrees with drenching humidity, but like true elders often prefer, Bob was comfortably dressed in long, warm sweatpants, with a warm, soft jacket over his shirt.

After we'd had the same conversation for about 15 minutes, repeating ourselves because he didn't remember, I asked him if he'd like to take a "walk" around the courtyard. "Oh, I guess so," he said. So I got behind and pushed him gently while he walked his chair along the pathways. We stopped to look at the little garden planted in raised beds so that the flowers were eye-height as the people who lived at the home rolled by in their wheelchairs. We talked about the colors. We rolled past three different fountains, a cluster of hummingbird feeders, rose bushes, beds of all different kinds of colorful flowers and plants, and lots of gorgeous palm trees.

After we'd gone clear around the courtyard and across some of the diagonal pathways too, we went back to sit by the picnic table. We had a little trouble thinking of new things to say. So we told Bob it was time for us to go, and I asked him if he was ready to go back inside. "Oh, no, I don't think so," he said. And he melted my heart by doing his shoulder bunching, face squinching smile thing while declaring "Oh the breeze feels so good and it's good to be outside!" So I asked him if he'd like to go around the courtyard, feeling very Groundhog Day-ish. He said "Why yes, I think so."

But I was getting "the look" from my husband, who was clearly ready to leave, which I didn't quite understand. I motioned for Rob to help push his father around the courtyard so they'd have a bit of somewhat closer interaction. We went by the flowerbeds, hummingbird feeders, fountains, and palms again, and it was as if he'd never seen them before, Bob was so delighted.

Then it really was time to go, so we took him inside and took him to his room and said "We love you!" which probably confused him a bit cause he didn't say it back. And we headed out the door. But he followed us. That was a little heartbreaking. Partway down one of the long, carpeted hallways I saw one of the nurses working out in the hallway, getting medicines ready to distribute, and I whispered to her, "Could you make sure Bob doesn't follow us all the way out?" And she did.

She went to stand right in front of his chair so he couldn't see us, and put her little hand on her hip and talked cheerfully with him until we were around the corner and out of sight.

We got into the car and headed back to the hotel, mission one in Florida accomplished - we'd successfully connected in-person with the Nursing Home staff and with Bob. They had all the info they needed and we felt we could relieve a bit of the burden Ron had been taking care of.

And then something happened and Rob and I had a FIGHT. A serious one.

I was chattering away about my grandmother's time in her nursing home in West Virginia and how they were different and in some ways the same. Helping my Mom get Gammy situated there when her four caregivers were no longer able to provide all she needed at home was the scariest thing I'd ever experienced. Gammy's nursing home was also well-staffed and clean as a whistle, and the elders also liked to congregate in the hallways. But some of them were moaning. Some were banging dolls around, some were sleeping peacefully, and some were laughing. It scared me silly. I vowed never to live that long. I'd always wanted to be 90 but after seeing that, I decided nope. I don't know if Bob's nursing home inhabitants were more heavily medicated or whether it was just because it was my first time and it was my Gammy going in there, but I found it terrifying.

So as I was chattering along to Rob I made the unintentional mistake of saying out loud, "I don't know why you were so ready to go after the first round of the courtyard. What was with that look? If we can give him a few moments of pleasure, even if he doesn't remember them, what could be bad about that?"

It really hit Rob the wrong way. And we had to work and work to get back to understanding. He couldn't articulate what he was feeling, only that he hated it and felt responsible but there wasn't a damn thing he could do. He couldn't make his Dad, his Dad again.

I said "It's not so hard, I just understand that he's like a two year old. A child. So we have conversations like you would with a very young child, and we entertain him like we would a child."

This didn't help. Rob clammed up. When it was time for bed we were still trying to pick at it and work things out but nothing I said seemed to help. So I said "Let's go outside for a while," and I poured us a glass of wine and grabbed my cigs and a notebook. Down to the mosaic tiled table we went.

The Magic Mozaic Table, an oasis in a sea of storms.

As we sat down I said to him, "Let's do the exercise we learned from Brooke Castillo about intentional thinking." It's a great exercise for when you're stuck because of circumstances beyond your control and you need to break out of hurtful feelings. Rob and I have done it a number of times with really painful emotions and thoughts as we climb back from the anguish of my daughter's death.

The formula is: Circumstance/Thought/Feeling/Action/Result/New Thought/New Feeling/New Result (intentional thinking creates the new thought and new feeling, whereas unintentional thinking can keep us stuck in painful emotions). Our conversation went like this -

Me: What was the circumstance that threw you into defense mode?

Rob: (After a lot of wrangling, thinking, and some back and forth discussion.) You attacked and criticized me. You doubted my integrity.

Me: Okay. That was never my intention, but we'll go with that. Jen attacked Rob's integrity and criticized him. (This wasn't easy for me to "own" or write down, but it's important for the exercise to target Rob's perspective, not mine.) What was your thought that resulted from that circumstance?

Rob: Jen doesn't understand me or support me.

Me: Okay. I love you very much and want nothing other than to be supportive of you, and for you to feel understood, but if you believe that I don't understand or support you, let's see if we can figure that out. What's the feeling that results from your thought that I don't understand you or support you?

Rob: I feel inadequate, like I'm not measuring up.

Me: I hear you, but that's coming from you, not me. I respect and admire you very much. I was just trying to explain how I've learned to handle dealing with people who don't have their minds anymore. I didn't mean to criticize you. What action resulted from your thoughts and feelings?

Rob: I told you you're horrible and we had a fight.

Me: Yes, and we're both feeling miserable. Can we come up with a new thought from your perspective that doesn't place blame?

Rob: (After a lot more wrangling and thought....) Jen has the perspective that Dad's a two year old stranger.

Me: Yes, that is exactly right. Does that help you to feel better? That I'm not attacking or criticizing you?

Rob: Yes. I feel better about that. I'm glad we're not fighting anymore.

Wow, I was so relieved that the intentional thinking exercise helped to get us out of the "blame zone." So we were able to go upstairs and go to bed. But that wasn't the end of it. Rob was still feeling like he wanted to run like hell away from that nursing home. And he used to work in one when he was young and considering becoming a doctor. He was really good at treating the elders with patience and good cheer, like two year olds.

He was sitting in the chair by the window of our hotel room as I was just waking up. "Morning," I said. "Morning," he said.

"I think I figured something out about yesterday. I can't do it," he said. "I can't see my Dad as a stranger or as a two year old. Dad's Dad. But he isn't."

"You can't make that leap," I said. "Well that's understandable. He is your Dad. It's easier for me because he's not my Dad. I don't have all those years of growing up and memories and love and attachment. It's perfectly natural for you to have a hard time with that. Now I understand why you want to run like hell from the nursing home. It's okay. If you were down here and could visit him more often it wouldn't be so much of a shock. You'd work your way through it. But being so far away you just don't have much of the opportunity to do that."

So though he feels a very strong sense of responsibility, he also feels a huge sense of vulnerability. And I'm very grateful for tools like Brooke Castillo teaches us to get us to understanding so we can love each other without the barriers that can crop up insidiously, without intention.

Magic Mystery Roadtrip Revelation Number 3: We can do hard things, especially when we are loved and loving, and there are TOOLS for this. For this kind of roadtrip especially, hard things came up, and I am grateful for the love we nurture between us.

Dinner that night, and all the nights in Niceville, was, appropriately at the Hurricane Grill. It was just what we needed. A bit of beachy lightness and really good food.

The tables were made of refurbished surfboards
but we didn't climb up and try to ride them.

The decor was beachy and lighthearted.

Apologies for the lack of photos. Pretend this chapter was more like a book. Next post is about the incredible people we met along the way and some we didn't meet but we all know the type, scary. Wow. Tattoos are a great conversation opener for their stories.

It's a Peanut Thing - Magical Mystery Roadtrip Revelations Part 2

On the road again....

The next leg of our 2200 mile trip was to reach Chattanooga, Tennessee. We drove and we drove and we drove.

Awesome summer skies

We had perfect summer weather. A few clouds to help shade us from the sun, and roads that were wide open with little traffic. So we talked. And here's the thing. When you're stuck in the car for days and days you get a little punchy sometimes and the conversation can get fairly randy. I considered it my job as "Helpy Helperton," Rob's personal driving assistant, to keep him awake and alert. There were even some signs along those long, straight roads warning us to "Keep Alert! Drive Alive!"

So as I looked at the clouds I began to see shapes in them. Elephants, dogs, dragons, angels. And somtimes tall towers with little puffs at the bottom that looked like penises. Yep, I did. Here's one, use your imagination. We stayed awake and alert for quite a while looking for penis clouds. I know, I know, I'm sorry, I sincerely apologize, but we were tired and I was getting punchy from so many hours in the car.

Do you see it?

Oh I saw some hearts too.

Hi Jess!

I had to keep putting my hand over my heart to remind myself that Jess was with us, she is everywhere, not stuck back home in my studio. It worked pretty well for keeping me stable.

And here's the thing. Along the road there are a lot of billboards of all kinds. They are very handy when you run out of penis clouds to keep the driver awake with. This wasn't a "romantic vacation," it was hard work, cause we were heading to a very important family funeral, so even though we didn't have all that spooning you do when you're truly "on vacation," we could joke about it.

Billboards

So Rob and I had this very interesting conversation that began when we started to see how different the billboards are as you get farther south. I wish I'd been able to take a photo of each one, but they just whizzed by at 70 miles per hour.

Me: Oh look Rob! We can get a wonderful pair of Western boots from the largest warehouse in the world! Do you need some Western boots?

Rob: Sure!

(We didn't stop at the warehouse.)

Me, several miles later: Oh look Rob! We can buy some knives at the largest knife warehouse in the world! Do you want some new knives?

Rob: Sure!

Me, even more miles later: Oh look Rob! We can get a whole bunch of fireworks at the largest warehouse in the world! Do you want some fireworks?

Rob: Sure!

Me, later: Woah, Rob. We can rent machine guns and go shooting. Do you want to rent a machine gun and go shooting in our new boots with our new knives and then light off a bunch of fireworks?

Rob: Now why would we need fireworks if we have machine guns?

Me, even later: Oh my gosh, Rob. We can go to a moonshine tasting event! Do you want to get tickets and drink moonshine in our new boots with our new knives and shoot and light fireworks?

Rob: Sure!

Picture that for a minute. It kept us awake and alert for many billboards over the miles.

It was a very pleasant driving day, but we were really hungry by the time we reached Chattanooga. Right near our hotel was a sort of a steakhouse restaurant, so we pulled in for some supper before checking in.

The first thing I noticed was that something was crunching underneath my flip flops. Yes, with each step I took, something was on the floor.

"Come on in, y'all," said our seating hostess. And we followed her to our table, crunching all the way. I looked down and saw, wait for it, YES! PEANUT SHELLS! PEANUT SHELLS EVERYWHERE, COVERING EVERY SQUARE INCH OF THE POLISHED CONCRETE FLOOR! (Why, I never! Never in my life have I seen such a thing. What IS this peanut thing?)

THIS is the place to be!

Logan's Roadhouse! THAT'S what it is! They do peanuts like nobody's business! On every single table, there's a bucket of salted, cooked, unshelled peanuts just waiting for you to come and eat them.

It was packed with people. Families, kids, even someone had their dog under the table. The music was just right, and we found the rules easy to follow:

We could follow these rules, for sure!

I think I have a glint in my eye. I am about to be naughty.

Can she do it?

Yes she can!

I am just not sure what my mother would make of this.

And here's the thing: Magical Mystery Roadtrip Revelation Number 2: It's good to be a little naughty once in a while. Especially when peeps give you permission.

 "Who takes care of the floor?" I asked our darling little waitress. "We all do," she said. "After we close we all get out the sweepers and sweep up all the shells." "What happens to them?" I asked. That's a whole lotta peanut shells every day. "Oh they just go into the trash," she said.

Okay, now I know about the peanut thing. And I LIKE it. I think it's FUN! I also felt so much gratitude that somebody somewhere understands that sometimes life's too hard and we need a break. Laughter makes a really good break.

"We'll keep your seat warm and your longneck cold!"

A mix of locals and travelers.

What a wonderful respite from the driving. Ah, we could relax for a while. And the food!

I'm pretty sure they don't brag about any pimento cheese platters up north. Pimento cheese is a favorite down south - my mother loves it so much I learned to make it. Yum!

So Rob and I chilled out with good food.

Choices, choices!

And a glass of wine.

Cheers!

Gorgeous crepe myrtle outside the roadhouse restaurant

I love to watch the plants as we drive farther and farther south. I begin to see some I remember from when I was a kid that we can't grow up north. They smell so good and they're so pretty!

Nice big room with lots of space.

The comfort of TV, fridge, microwave, and Robert Dale.

We tucked ourselves into bed, knowing that we were now facing the hardest, most somber part of our journey. And the weather the next day reflected that in spades. Tune in to the next post for weather information.