August 12, 2004


Wendy and I are the perfect traveling companions. Road trips are so much fun when we are together. It's synchronicity.

Sometimes we read to each other. Usually it's Wendy reading to me because I prefer to drive than ride. Which relates to a control issue I haven't got a handle on. I'm an uptight passenger. I flinch, cringe, stab my foot at the non-existent brake pedal, gasp, shout "watch out", warn the driver of yellow lights a mile ahead, grab the dashboard spasmodically... you get the idea. And yes, it's a good thing Wendy was around when The Boy was learning to drive. Because I'm certain it was as torturous for him to learn with me as a passenger as it was for me to be the passenger while he was learning. Wendy was much more patient with him.

Other times we listen to the radio, scanning for baseball or football games depending on the season. One thing we discovered on our trips to North Carolina to visit The Boy is that the only sport that can be found on the radio south of Richmond is NASCAR. Blech. No, wait. Make that a double blech with a side of eww-yuck.

And we also listen to music. And sing along. Wendy adores harmony. So I try, without great success, to stay on key. But she has yet to tell me to stop singing.

Our next road trip will be down to pick up The Boy from his summer job and bring him home for a brief hiatus---five whole days! Then we'll hop back in the car to transport him to college. His sophomore year. And I will not cry after dropping him off. Believe that? We'll sing instead. Or Wendy will read to me. Or maybe we'll listen to NASCAR news on talk radio. Oh yeah. Believe that!

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