“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.”
Lin Yutang
Chris and I took a little road trip last weekend, because I was hired to write a series of travel blogs for a neighboring state.
All things considered, it was a lovely adventure. We were treated to the very best restaurants, hotel and museums. I am not a critic; my role is more like a cheerleader. I write about the beauty of the area from a visitor’s point of view. When my impressions are published it is with the hope that others will be enticed by my siren song. Great work if you can get it.
My first sentiment upon entering the area was how very happy I was to be in a big city. That was short-lived.
We hit town at the height of rush hour, exhausted from six hours on nerve-jangling highways. After an hour of driving in circles (I think they were circles), I began screeching at the voice on the navigation system. She gave confusing directions. It must have been her first trip there.
We did manage to arrive at every destination, only a bit late. Evidently, “Ginger” (Chris’ name for the GPS) had a problem understanding left and right. She expected me to turn when lights were red, and at “no left turn,” and once or twice into a wall. No matter how much I explained these things to her, she just kept repeating the same directions. Unflustered, she said, “recalculating,” when I failed to follow her commands.
Most of the trip was a great deal of fun. We saw fossils, and artifacts from ancient cultures. We sipped cocktails, while seated beneath a skeleton of dinosaur bones three stories tall.
Chris particularly enjoyed a “journey” into the cosmos, via the magic of IMAX. I loved the puppet museum and an indoor Farmers’ Market featuring exotic delicacies from around the world. Really!
Although we stayed in a lovely suite, I got a bit homesick. Our neighbor, Jyl, did a great job of pet-sitting. But, even so, I truly missed our four-legged children.
Traveling is not easy, especially at my age and level of expectation. I was glad to leave all that fun and head toward Columbus, and our low-pressure driving. (Maybe next time I will pack a pair of ruby slippers and just click the heels together.)
I’ve thought a lot about “Ginger” since we returned. How much less stressful life would be if we had something (someone?) that plugged into the cigarette lighter and gave advice on living.
She could issue tips such as, “No, not that grad school,” or, “Marry him?! You must be kidding!” I can almost hear her say, “Here are the classifieds. There is a perfect job for you listed.”
Of course, if the life coach-GPS were as accurate as “Ginger” was, we would all end up in another state driving in circles. I am quite grateful to be in my own bed, resting my head on my familiar pillow, with my “children” near.
(Happy Halloween to all my ghoul friends!)
Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina.
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