I would do it in a boat,
I would do it on a goat.
I would walk it at a trot,
I would swim it on the spot.
I’ve done it on a plane,
And I know it’s not the same.
I’ve done it twice –
take my advice!
Just like the song,
You won’t miss it ’til it’s gone.
For those of you following my Facebook posts, I just completed crossing the country in my Mini Cooper, with Olive, partly with Stephen, mostly alone. When I see the map and final accounting of miles here, I am humbled.
Unlike others who made the same trip this summer, I had ten days and not too much time to dawdle. But at 5 AM in Sheridan, Wyoming, I had the parks to myself, Olive had the pick of scampering rabbits, and the air was delicious. And standing in the middle of a roadside stop with thousands of acres of wheat pillowing the horizon, I could believe I had Nebraska all to myself. My visit with my brother and his family was long overdue, and the 33 degree evening temperature in Missoula, MT reminded me that one should always pack more than a pair of flip flops, even the first week of September.
I have committed to a nine-month workshop to complete my manuscript with Theo Nestor at the ever-diverse Hugo House in Seattle. I continue with my memoir workshop on Tuesday nights with Tara Hardy. I will sit in the Nest and my study-buddy will sigh with boredom. We will both wish we were waterproof soon.
But today, Seattle blooms glorious, with a tinge of crisp in the air, a waft of espresso from Greenwood, the lake shimmers and I think we see a big, grey cat stalking the birds. All is good.