Like when you go to a restroom, in a restaurant, and there is a sign telling you not to throw paper into the toilet and a basket is provided next to the bowl.  It’s times like this that I really hope and pray that the staff washes their hands before serving…cooking… preparing or handling anything that I am paying to put into my mouth.

Yesterday, aside from courting food poisoning, I wrapped up my visit with my grandmother by “detailing” her car.  I use the word loosely, but I did windex the entire inside to remove dirt, dust and as she put it… “all of the mud.”  And I chose to do this when it was 46 degrees outside and the wind had picked up.  I also vacuumed the inside with a vacuum that is probably older than me, and I would have been more successful if I had just held the hose to my mouth and sucked.  At one point, I was picking up the crumbs and putting them into the hose.  However, by the end of my efforts, the car looked marginally better.  And, for those of you who know me, this was penance for my lack of car washing, detailing or otherwise to my forgiving Xterra.

This morning, we entertained my grandmother’s neighbors – a farmer and his son- with the ridiculous sight of my car packed to the gills as I left for Pennsylvania.  How to explain it?  I really couldn’t… it’s just beyond words at this point.

My journey is getting shorter – but some of the sights still amuse… for example, just east of Evansville, IN, there is a house with a crazy-ass display of whirlygigs.  They are all on huge poles and they are fighter planes, helicopters and other military craft – a whole fleet poised and ready to attack Interstate 64.  Later on… somewhere in Ohio… they advertise “This exit – One mile of terror!”  And I ask you, “why?”  Seriously, does one really need a mile of terror?  I don’t even need 6 inches of terror much less a mile.  And what could a mile of terror consist of?  And would you really want to walk that mile?  I can’t imagine getting behind the wheel is wise if you are going to be driving through a mile of terror.  Is that safe?

Lastly, as I was driving through Ohio – I was thinking that Ohio is kind of like Missouri but with ugly license plates.  This was painfully obvious when I passed a barn whose entire roof was painted as the rebel flag and they featured a massive rustic wooden cross in their barnyard.  Really?  In this day and age?  We’re north of the Mason Dixon line – what gives?

Oh, and one more thing – a  moment of desire met and simple pleasure.  As I was leaving a personal mecca, otherwise known as Trader Joe’s, in Louisville, KY, I was thinking to myself… I have four more hours ahead and it would be really fun to listen to Maroon 5 about now.  Turn on the radio, and I kid you not, on pops Maroon 5 and I am groovin with moves like Jagger (if he were sitting and driving an SUV through holiday traffic) on my way outta Louisville.

As ever,

K. Quinn