In two day’s time I will
leaving on a journey that I have wanted to make for the last three years. On my
own, I’ll be driving to Indiana to spend time with one of my writer
friends.
It’s not as far a drive as you
might think, since the woman I’ll be visiting lives in the northern half of
Indiana. I’ve never driven there before, but I have a Garmin, and I sort of know
how to use it. And yes, I’m anal enough that I’ve printed off driving directions
from the Internet, just in case.
I’ve always enjoyed driving.
That was a good thing because I used to drive about 120 miles every day,
ferrying my husband to and from work, as he doesn’t have a driver’s licence.
This was something I did for a good couple of decades. In the beginning, it was
actually half of that, as I was going to work as well, so it was one trip to and
one trip home per day. But in the last several years that I chauffeured him
after I no longer worked outside the home, the daily task consisted of two
round-trips, which would have been two days worth of driving
previously.
Fortunately, my daughter took
over playing chauffeur to her dad a few years ago, because it wasn’t only
distance that was a factor. Two round-trips to the rural community where my
husband works took nearly three hours out of my day. More, actually, because I
would have to go back to bed after the very early morning run. I’d be getting
out of bed again around ten, and then having to leave to get him at around
three-thirty. That severely cut into my writing time. When my husband and
daughter both expressed the opinion that I should be putting more books out
there, I challenged them to take something off my already very full plate. I’m
very grateful they came up with the solution they did.
In return for the chauffeur
service, we pay for all of our daughter’s gas, almost all of her vehicle
repairs, and her daddy takes her on a vacation each year.
I haven’t undertaken a solo
trip away from home since I flew to Texas in 2013. I don’t have the travel bug
the way my husband does, and the lack of going places hasn’t bothered me except
that I really want to spend time with my friends who live in the U.S.
My husband and daughter will be
going someplace tropical in November, during which I will be home alone (or as
alone as one can be living with a neurotic dog and an unpredictable cat). Father
and daughter enjoy traveling together, and I really am happy to stay here and
write.
I’m excited about this trip.
I’m really looking forward to a couple of days of brain-storming story ideas,
and simply catching up. Those who spend their days creating worlds and stories
know how energizing it is to spend time with someone of like mind. Creative
minds coming together is a truly beautiful thing to experience. It is, to me,
the greatest natural high.
I’d begun to wonder if this
trip would ever happen. Originally, I thought I’d have that gallbladder surgery,
and then be good to go. But it didn’t happen according to the time table I
wanted. It was delayed a couple of years while the doctors made certain that all
of the symptoms I was having had to do with that particular organ, and were not
something else.
Finally, as you know, the
surgery took place last September. I’d always planned for either an early spring
or an early fall trip, because my friend is very busy, with a schedule filled
with professional commitments and deadlines. Now I’m actually counting down to
the day of departure.
I won’t be packing a whole lot
because I’ll only be gone a few days. I’ve never been a fussy dresser, and I
don’t tend to wear make-up unless it’s an extremely special occasion. I think I
was too lazy to ever develop that habit, and now at 62, I’m comfortable letting
everyone see my naked face. I was once asked by a female manager, at the
company where I worked for more than a decade, why I didn’t wear makeup? She
said she believed I could almost be pretty if I did. I immediately replied that
I was so beautiful in my natural state that were I to wear makeup, the rest of
the women who were my co-workers would feel woefully inadequate by comparison—so
out of kindness to them, I abstained.
Yes, I’ve always been a smart
ass and rarely at a loss for words when being insulted.
Fortunately for me, this visit
will be spent with true friends, in a private setting. My writing friend doesn’t
judge a person based on outside appearance, and neither do I. That shouldn’t
surprise anyone.
We’re writers. We’re far more
concerned about what lies beneath the surface than with whatever may
superficially cover it up.
Love,
Morgan
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