Tuesday, 6 a.m.: We’re on the road! We’re going home! The kids loaded great, the truck is clean, my stuff is packed. We’re on the road! We’re going home!
And I realize we’re going the wrong way on the turnpike.
Tuesday, 2 p.m.: I’m an hour behind schedule. Want to know why I’m an hour behind schedule? Because EVERY truck stop I stop at has epic lines. Dude.
However, a nifty discovery: Siri understood “Find me a truck stop along I-95.” Neat! She was totally flummoxed by “Find me a healthy spot for lunch along I-95,” either because she didn’t understand, or because those don’t exist.
Tuesday, 7 p.m.: I’m overnighting in South Carolina, and I’m eating dinner in a restaurant called Fatz, where everything is fried or drenched in a delicious-looking sauce. Appropriate. And the hostesses and waiters all call me sweetie, sugar and darlin’. Welcome back to the South!
Wednesday, 8 a.m.: I’m stopped to fuel and check on the ponies, and Ella is shaking. She was shaking a little when I loaded her up, but that’s not abnormal; she can be a bit of a nervous hauler. But she’s eating and drinking, her gums look great, and she’s got a big smile on her face. What could be wrong?
I’m wondering how I can get her turned around so I can temp her and wondering if I should call my vet, when I realize it’s 45 degrees out, and every window and vent in the trailer is open. Horses, not zebras.
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Wednesday, 9 a.m.: Good Lord, could South of the Border be any more seedy-looking?
Wednesday, 10 a.m.: Ok, I’m SUPER bored. And because I’m in need of a new pair of schooling boots after the long-overdue retirement of my Petries, held together for the last four months by Gorilla Glue, I start calling all the usual tack-shop suspects. Did you know that NO ONE makes dress boots off-the-rack sans zippers anymore, except Petries? So another pair of Petries it is, I guess.
Wednesday, 1 p.m.: Home! Home home home! And it is GORGEOUS, sunny and warm. I do all my unpacking in a tank top and flip flops. Among the things I remove from the trailer is a gecko stowaway, who scuttles off down the driveway and into… the awaiting paws of Icky, one of the farm cats, who beams up at me as if to say, “You brought me a present!?! You’re the BEST!”
And as some sort of omen, it’s my first time home since I left in December that’s had nice weather!…
Wednesday, 7 p.m.: …oh look, it’s raining. Perhaps I spoke too soon.
