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RoadTrip_1

This one is written while whizzing down (up) the highway on the road to Cedar City Utah. We are going to The Utah Shakespeare Festival.*  Typing on the laptop atop my ghost bag is challenging as I-15 is a tad bumpy. Someone is doing the driving as you can guess. As he likes to drive (code: he doesn’t like my driving) this gives me plenty of time – five hours to be precise – to type out Spo-thoughts and reflections. 

It is hard to remember there is a population problem for the drive between Lost Vegas and the Utah border has nothing in sight for hours. Although Someone is driving 80mph it feels like we aren’t moving at all for there is no parallax to remind us we are moving. 

In said ghost bag is another handful of Gourmet magazines reserved for road trips. The goal: ripping out recipes for ‘someday’. It looks like I am getting to the end of them – finally. As I get easily car sick I can’t read in the car but I can play games on the iphone.  That’s good for while but my hummingbird brain doesn’t focus for long. To avoid the deplorable road trip pitfall of eating nasty chips out of boredom I am glad to have my laptop. I can tidy up the photos and the half-made lists I made on the last road trip to pass  the time. 

If all else fails I can stare out the passenger window and go into a dwam. My mind is seldom sitting still so it is both refreshing and uncomfortable to be ‘off’. I imagine it is what yoga or meditation is like. It does make the miles and hours whiz by as if in a dream – or a dwam. 

It’s been said the destination is not as important as the journey. Whoever said this hasn’t been on a five-hour road trip through the Mohave desert sans billboards sans exits sans everything.  Besides, at the end of this trip is theatre with contraband whisky. I am counting the miles. 

 

 

*They do a find job but there is no booze. It is definitely BYOB Bard. Some of us are going to need a little fortitude getting through “The Merchant of Venice”. Someone says it is probably illegal for me to sneak in one of those little bottles of whisky the type bought on airplane trips. I don’t think I am so much an alcoholic but a malapert. 

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