Tuesday, August 19, 2008
We headed south on Route 4 in Maine and passed trucks carrying logs, paper mill towns (rather smelly), hundred-year-old cemeteries right on the side of the road, gypsy moths set up in autumn trees on the side of the road, a new snowmobile museum , Dunkin Donuts (three in the span of a five-minute drive!), old barns barely standing, and a rusted boat motor for sale next to a stand selling cukes.
We headed south on Route 4 in Maine and passed trucks carrying logs, paper mill towns (rather smelly), hundred-year-old cemeteries right on the side of the road, gypsy moths set up in autumn trees on the side of the road, a new snowmobile museum , Dunkin Donuts (three in the span of a five-minute drive!), old barns barely standing, and a rusted boat motor for sale next to a stand selling cukes.
The kids’ patience is disintegrating, and we can’t blame them. Ours is too. Alex is singing along to the music of the car, “I’m going off the rails on this crazy train!” We all are…
But, the leaves are changing color, signs are advertising, “Going back to school sales” and soon, Alex and Eleni, normalcy will return to your lives. The rhythm of packing and unpacking, getting apple juices, bathroom stops, and taking turns with music choices will be replaced with the routine of school and sleep schedules. I wonder if they will miss the road trip then.
We’ve got the rest of our trip mapped out and I’m finding that I’m already missing the road trip: the random wanderings, the wondering where we will sleep and eat, the challenges of newness, and the excitement of historical discoveries. And yet, who doesn’t fantasize about the ease of being at home? And certainly, I will appreciate my surroundings more (especially a washer and dryer!). But truly, one of the great joys of this trip is realizing how grateful I am for my home, my job, my friends and family.
You can pick up any national or local paper and read about the economic problems across the United States. From the falling housing market to the rising gas prices, people are buckling down. I don’t think we’ve witnessed what my Grandparents surely saw during the 1930s depression, but there are images that remain in my mind: a cup on the counter at a shop in Maine labeled “please help with fuel costs,” the ease of getting hotel rooms without booking ahead (except for when there was a Plumber and Pipe fitter convention in Detroit), very few American travelers and more foreign tourists smugly visiting this country claiming that they do not understand why Americans are bothered by the gas prices, the man outside the grocery store in asking us if we needed yard work done, empty stores with forgotten “Sale - Going out of Business” signs on them, abandoned condos in Las Vegas, homeless people in cities in Tennessee and California, and people in Mississippi selling what looked like all they had outside their homes in make shift yard sales.
And yet, we’ve seen the other extreme, too.
But I digress…
It's 95 South and we're on our way!
But, the leaves are changing color, signs are advertising, “Going back to school sales” and soon, Alex and Eleni, normalcy will return to your lives. The rhythm of packing and unpacking, getting apple juices, bathroom stops, and taking turns with music choices will be replaced with the routine of school and sleep schedules. I wonder if they will miss the road trip then.
We’ve got the rest of our trip mapped out and I’m finding that I’m already missing the road trip: the random wanderings, the wondering where we will sleep and eat, the challenges of newness, and the excitement of historical discoveries. And yet, who doesn’t fantasize about the ease of being at home? And certainly, I will appreciate my surroundings more (especially a washer and dryer!). But truly, one of the great joys of this trip is realizing how grateful I am for my home, my job, my friends and family.
You can pick up any national or local paper and read about the economic problems across the United States. From the falling housing market to the rising gas prices, people are buckling down. I don’t think we’ve witnessed what my Grandparents surely saw during the 1930s depression, but there are images that remain in my mind: a cup on the counter at a shop in Maine labeled “please help with fuel costs,” the ease of getting hotel rooms without booking ahead (except for when there was a Plumber and Pipe fitter convention in Detroit), very few American travelers and more foreign tourists smugly visiting this country claiming that they do not understand why Americans are bothered by the gas prices, the man outside the grocery store in asking us if we needed yard work done, empty stores with forgotten “Sale - Going out of Business” signs on them, abandoned condos in Las Vegas, homeless people in cities in Tennessee and California, and people in Mississippi selling what looked like all they had outside their homes in make shift yard sales.
And yet, we’ve seen the other extreme, too.
But I digress…
It's 95 South and we're on our way!Tonight we visited my friends in Amherst, New Hampshire. Usually, we meet them at their camp in Ashburnham, Massachusetts, but we changed our plans based on the rain. It’s unfortunate as my annual pilgrimage to their camp near the lake is deeply seeded in my soul, but seeing this family anywhere is rewarding. My father’s family had a camp in Ashburnham long ago and they were neighbors with the Maguire family. When I visited my father’s parents in Massachusetts each year, I spent time with my friend Terry Maguire, who was just twelve days older than me. Since the age of seven, we’ve been life-long pen pals, and though we still rarely see each other (this time, she’s teaching in Zimbabwe!), my connections with New England remain tightly tangled up with her and her family.
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