OK, I learned something really important about myself: I HATE driving! Hmmmmm. This is somewhat tempered by the fact that I LOVE arriving somewhere. 200 miles in one day seems to be the limit for my butt and for my attention span, and can only be accomplished with multiple stops for play, stretching, snacking. The back roads are far superior in scenic wonders, whereas the interstates suck the energy out of me. However, the back roads usually meander over hills and dells, and are curvy, which really eats up the gas. I'm trying to conserve where I can, but also take the routes that bring the most pleasure.
I never know what the day will bring. At least once each day (usually more often), I am overcome with a sense of awe that I'm actually DOING this journey! How in the world can this be? it's like I made a decision one day and then the Universe said, "Oh, OK, Let me work it all out for you." I've been so blessed by all kinds of helpful people and lucky breaks. I've also been blessed with some mishaps to keep me grounded. More than once, I've thought, what the heck am I doing? Can I really handle this? What was my vision again?
One evening while parked outside Hans' house in Santa Monica, the police rapped at my door. (They sure have authoritative knuckles!) They said they were responding to a complaint about a vagrant parked in the neighborhood. They checked my I.D. and asked what my business was in the neighborhood. "just visiting my son and daughter-in-law" seemed innocent enough. They took a look around and very kindly apologized for the intrusion and told me I could stay another night, even though the city of Santa Monica has a strict ordinance against nefarious overnighters. I get a laugh out of thinking about myself as not only a vagabond, but a vagrant!
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