Today was bittersweet, knowing that this incredible joint-journeying had finally reached its natural conclusion. We decided to celebrate by visiting one of the gazillion Waffle House establishments that pepper the landscape. And we PIGGED OUT sufficiently to hold me for a good 24 hours (though it didn't!). It was an intolerably hot and muggy day, the Motherload was suffocating, and I was completely without motivation. I attempted a short bike ride in the morning heat blast and retreated after 2 miles, having mistakingly allowed Jubilee to romp down to the river for a quick swim in cool, but stinky, dead-fish water. I'm sorry about that. I rented a cheap, air-conditioned motel room for two worthy reasons: 1) watch World Cup Soccer with my son while beering and snacking, 2) mentally/spiritually cleanse and reposition myself, my dog, and my belongings for advancement in this next phase of my journey. We had a lovely time, hooting and screaming at the TV as our American players ultimately failed to keep their position. It's a surprise to me how completely absorbed I can become, clenching my fists, stomach, jaws, basically every part of myself that contains a muscle, hoping--praying even, that we'll score. Then when the game is over, I realize I don't even follow soccer as a sport, and actually don't care one hoot who wins or loses, or if the game is ever played again on the planet! Such is the nature of spectator sporting.
I took my beloved son to the airport right after the game, kissing and hugging him goodbye and, yes, crying all the way back to the motel. It was only a 5-minute drive, though, and when I returned, I busied myself with research and planning for the next day's travel, ordered a pizza and salad, showered my dog and myself, and turned in for the night in the splendor of cool air and a TV movie.
Hansi, if you're reading this: you are the light of my life.
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