I had all kinds of funny, deep thoughtful things to write about. Now, I have hours stretched out ahead of me with nothing to do but write and I’m thinking of nothing.

I like our families, but I’m also feeling glad that we’re heading westward once again. It’s six o’clock and it’s just starting to get dark. The bottoms of my socked feet are pressed against the glass of the front windshield. The heater is blowing on the back of my calves. We’re driving through long stretches of green with farms and fields of half mowed down corn or barren fields. There are shorter stretches of truck stops and homestyle diners. Occasionally a flock of birds in a V shape fly by. I’m assuming they’re going south. We have three more hours of driving.

If I were driving we would stop every two hours for at least an hour. If I were driving it would also take us weeks to get back to Denver. The radio is talking about “a wall of rain”, “a soggy scene”, and how it’s much different in Denver because it’s snow. Maybe up to two feet in the mountains. I was toying around with the idea of flying to San Diego for a few days when we got back to Denver. That idea is becoming more attractive the more I think about trudging around in snow. Andy has to stay in town for a week or so before we shove off to New Mexico. Instead of following him around all week like a baby chick, I could visit Novabella, something I’ve been promising to do for a long, long time.