700_pitstops_08We are heading out sometime soon, twinsie and I.  We are planning our road trip on  We have places to stop, most of which we’ve never been before, we will poke around consignment and antique shops in dusty towns and big cities.  We will eat good food, and sip lovely libations, and travel many many miles over five days with a “book on tape” and the best company in the world.

We are going to mozie along, stop a lot, and just soak it all in — the Americana of the south. We will stay in rustic places, and grand places, and get a massage, and we will hug loved ones, some we haven’t seen in years, and hold one sweet baby, and play with at least two pups.

When we finally get to our father’s home, we will be renting a place on the shore for a week, and we will ride the waves and hope our suits stay up or down, whichever piece of cloth the ocean waves choose to try to yank off of us.  We will walk every morning wherever we are, and we will slather lots of 30 SPF on exposed parts of our bodies, and we will bury our feet in the sand, and we will stand looking over the vast beautiful ocean next to people who “tawk funny” whose skin looks like beef jerky, and marvel at the beauty of our earth and be secretly glad for our SPF 30 and the attention we’ve paid to the largest organ of our bodies.

We will sit at the table every day and evening with our dad and our step mom, and we will eat wonderful food (some cooked by me), clink drinks, and remember old times, and listen to stories, and share stories, and  dad will hold each of our hands, and we will laugh, and most certainly we will cry, and when we leave we will sob, because leaving our 90-year-old dad, and our 92-year-old step mom is hard, because we don’t know if this earth will bear enough time for another visit, or if the next time we see our dad or sweet Hedy will be in heaven.

And even if it rains everyday, or snows in July, we will be glad to be there — it’s true, we all know it, we all wish we had it if we don’t anymore, and it’s worth every inch of every mile and every curve in the road, or miles of construction to get to him. It’s even worth the heart wrenching goodbye, the sobs that come from the very middle of our very grateful hearts, that clog our throats with huge lumps that only tears will wash away.

But, getting home into the arms of our husbands, with happy, uncontrollable whines and licks from frolicking ecstatic pups, and our own beds, and our own bedmates, and our favorite chairs and our favorite spaces, and our beautiful river, that is also one of the very best parts of trippin’ — coming home with stories, and treasures, and photos, and most importantly, that special someone to tell the stories to, and share the treasures and photos with.  Home, no matter where you are trippin’, is always the final, and most wonderful destination.



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