I’ve been two states / six hours of two lane black top away from this machine since Wednesday. Here is my report:
The stomach was mightier than the bird and there were three less pies in the kitchen than the norm–if I have my averages right. A run prior to the feast offered the scent of dinner to come wafting through most any wall, and for every score of abodes, a sign staked in an empty yard advertising a reduced price.
In the evening that followed, my wife and I shielded our faces against the wind, then the mist, then the sleet. We stared at a lot of sidewalk and skirted large puddles of not-yet-frozen water.
Our families and friends are well–at least, as well as either of us could expect. The principle novelties for this chap were bowling with my Uncle Carl, his pleasant, almost-elderly demeanor, and drawing castles, faces and fishes for any niece or nephew who was willing to watch me pass time with twenty Crayola-s.
Now that I’m home, these images are two states or six hours of two-lane black top away, tucked under other papers covered in other scribbles in a wooden bookcase in Howell, Michigan. The drawing I brought home with me is the one I killed Saturday night with, after my in-laws’ kids went to bed:
More art I don’t know what to do with.