A Fast Entry
From in the kitchen behind my back, Ali, her mother and my sister sit, all three engaged in early-morning holiday chatter and food preparations. My coffee cup and I may soon join them in the former, but first I want to contemplate nature’s more hushed scene.
About yesterday -- there is good news, and then there is some frightful and horrible news that I am compelled to relay immediately. Let me mention it quickly by saying how I hate and despise Chicago traffic with a fierce passion, and for sound reasons. Then maybe I can get beyond my frustration.
It seems as if three million reasons all decided to get on the road at the same time as I did. After first rolling my eyes at Alicia yesterday morning for her statement that what is normally a one hour and thirty-minute drive into the blustery city might take two because of the holiday, Joel and I decided to set out early for the bus terminal, keeping her warning in mind.
In short (for the gaggle behind me have turned up both volume and pace as I type, not to mention interrupting questions I am being assailed with which cause me to covet Walden’s little pond of solitude), we eventually found our bus-weary guests after a four-hour-plus ordeal. I may choose to rail on this topic later on, but for the present, allow me to mention the good news so I might depart the keyboard in haste and join the melee in the next room.
I am now the proud owner of a still-wrapped Whataburger that now sits (minus tomato slices to prevent sogginess -- why, thank you, Susan, you thoughtful child) in our refrigerator! Yes, success does feel wonderful.
Happy Thanksgiving, America.
(Alma has a great story to tell about a convict she met on her trip)