Ma Hoyt Drives Solo

"The day dawned cool and clear......" no, no, no, sorry about that.

Sharon and I left home shortly after 8:30 am. She had packed the little car while I had taken a farewell walk around the mile. The hubby and kids all looked appropriately forlorn. "Hug your sister!" I exhorted. " You won't see her until Thanksgiving!" We departed, only to return moments later to grab the two plants accidentally left on kitchen table. (she may have been purposely trying to leave them, but there was no way I was going to let her green flowerpots clash with my newborn French Country Kitchen.

We had quite the convivial time of it, talking and laughing together so that the first 2 or 3 hours when very quickly. The conversation soon digressed into sorting out all the phobias and idiosyncrasies of the rest of the household. Personally, I found it very helpful.

I took the wheel in the beginning, then Sharon drove over the Mississippi and through much of Illinois, the latter part of which was highlighted by driving over the Mississippi. Somewhere in there we switched again and the speedometer started going whacky. Had to gauge my speed by how fast people were passing me. If they were blowing by me so quickly I couldn't read the license plate, I picked up the pace. Also helpful: the steering wheel starts to shake a bit around 70mph. (speaking of license plates, we saw all extremes: Alaska and Florida, California and Maine. And that was just in Iowa)

There is a twenty mile stretch below Chicago that I made mental note not to travel again. Took an hour to traverse 20 miles due to road construction.

Got there safe and sound, if a little later than planned. Dropped Sharon and her stuff off at Grace College and proceeded 45 minutes north to visit my folks. Arrived half an hour before the chosen restaurant closed so we scurried over there, where I showed amazing restraint by not pigging out. I was visiting with them back at the house when Sharon called and said her computer would not work, she had consulted with her Dad, and would I come back in the morning and retrieve it to take it back with me for him to fix? No problem, although this concerned my folks because, "Then you can't go back by the toll road!" (I don't know why, but this seemed important to them) Well, it all worked out and I had a nice visit with them and some other relations, one of which I had not seen for several years.

Drove back down to Grace in the morning and picked up Sharon's computer. It was now time for the moment of truth; my drive back alone. I kept the radio blaring as I cruised through the station assortment looking for some country. Country stations, though often depressing, are palatable for short durations because of the amusing titles or phrases. The best I could glean this time was, "You broke my heart, and now we're apart, you think you're so smart..." or something like that. (the all time best was one mentioned on Paul Harvey's show several years back, "I've got tears in my ears from lyin' on my back on my pillow, cryin' over you."

Stopped at a Walmart for diet Cherry Coke and dark Dove's. I think the heady wine of self sufficiency overcame me, for I decided to go through the self-checkout. I tried to act like a nonchalant veteran as I waited my turn in line. And hey, it went so smoothly I couldn't resist a look of awe at the young man behind me as well as, "Wow, that was neat!" He probably thought, "Poor lady, she doesn't get out much."

Everything was pretty routine, trip wise. There is a very nice religious station around Joliet, 91.9, that plays the classic kind of arrangements I especially enjoy. Lots of acappella stuff. The very best part of the drive back, though, was after I crossed "The Father of Waters," and realized that I would be able to hear "A Prairie Home Companion" in it's entirety. I NEVER get to do that. Ah, what bliss! The sun was heading towards the horizon, the little car humming along at who knows what speed, some very fine music regulars and a group called the "Klazmatics." PLUS, I was introduced to a poet named, Billy Collins, with a slightly bent and nonassuming manner that I found quite appealing. I tried to look up a specific poem about a mouse setting the house on fire, but couldn't find it. Here is another one equally engaging:

Flames

Smokey the Bear heads
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of wooden matches.

His ranger's hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.

His brown fur gleams
under the high sun
as his paws, the size
of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.

He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper,
the dumbbell hiker.

He is going to show them
how a professional does it.

--Billy Collins

(he does not write on pyrotechnic topics exclusively, and now I see I have messed up the font, but, oh well)

After that came "The Thistle and Shamrock," which is more excellent music and made me vow to learn how to talk like the hostess before I die. Well, that's the gist of it. Thankfully, all went relatively well. Mission accomplished and it is great to be back home.

It is also good to finally feel grown up.

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