I sat in the driveway looking up at my Mom standing on the front porch. Leaning against the backseat door of the driver’s side of my parents’ car, I quickly took off my shoes and shook them furiously. I had to get all the sand out. Dad had said; “Let’s go for a ride.” And my father, my younger brother and I ended up at Lakeview Park, making sand castles. Mom didn’t want us to track sand through the house, so we went through a vigorous shaking and brushing off routine for our passport in.
Years before that, I was along on a ride with my mother, really late one night taking the back roads home from Elyria to Lorain. It had been peaceful that night in the car, and really dark. Because of the still of the night, I was suddenly filled with a curious spirit, and I jumped up and asked my Mom…
“How do you spell God?”
“Capital G-O-D”, she kindly replied, before telling me to get back in my seat.
“Why capital G?” I asked. I was maybe five at the time.
“Because he is The Lord, and that’s how we honor him,” she said.
“Oh.” And I think my young mind understood. And with that explanation, I fell fast asleep in the backseat.
PBS is airing a documentary about our nation’s National Parks. In episode one of the six part series, I learned about a naturalist and explorer named John Muir. In 1867, Muir quit his job as an industrial engineer in Indianapolis and decided to walk from Indiana to Florida before catching a ship to fulfill his life’s destiny out West. This amazing guy walked over 1,000 miles through the wilderness as an explorer of God’s greatest creations. What intrigues me about Mr. Muir’s journey is that the beginning of his life’s adventures began on foot. Whereas most of my exciting moments on this journey of my life began with a hop in the car.
I’m so glad the Cash for Clunkers program is considered a success, and I hope the program continues to stimulate our domestic automobile industry. I just can’t imagine my life without a car. For me, it’s become a part of my American experience. Late one Fourth of July, on the way home from Grandma’s house, my father pulled off to the side of the road. The three of us kids were in the back seat, and we had no idea why Dad was stopping. We were out in the middle of nowhere it seemed. My Dad invited us to step outside to sit on the hood of the car and look up at the stars. The stars were pretty, but we had no idea what we were looking for. And as our eyes gazed up at the night sky, the sky lit up with explosions of red, blue, and green. We had stopped for fireworks on our way home, and boy what a treat.
From my first college road trip with friends to Cedar Point to endless drives on New Circle Road around Lexington to ease my heartbreak, my domestic automobiles have always been there for me. Before I graduated from the University of Kentucky, I spent my first two years of collage at the University of Louisville. I would hop on the road in a heartbeat to visit with family and friends back home in Lexington. My Dodge Aries was my vehicle that got me home my sophomore year after a bad winter storm basically shut down I-64 and most of central Kentucky. A drive that normally takes a little over an hour turned into basically what looked like a more than four hour suicide mission, as I just had to get home to see my then boyfriend, but I made it.
Many years later in my red Plymouth Neon with three of my sisters, along with my Mom and Granny and uncle and kids following in the minivan behind, we decided to stop at every Welcome Center as we crossed state lines from Chattanooga to Houston on our way down to the Jenkins Family Reunion. That was fun. I love Welcome Centers because they introduce you to the culture and traditions of the region that you are about to enter. I also love bridges. And I love to cross them. The bridge seemed endless one family vacation to South Padre Island and the many many bridges a few summers ago enticing, with sisters in tow on our way to Key West. Most of the time I am the main driver on these endless adventures. Four years ago, I tried to convince one of my sisters to share in the driving experience from Kentucky down to South Florida, but she was too terrified of the highway to handle the vehicle for more than ten minutes without cursing me out and having a major breakdown.
I’ve been to so many places, and have enjoyed so many trips via car. Most times now I hit the road alone in my Ford Focus. Lately it’s been to check out a Jason Mraz concert. I’ve been to three so far this year and I would like to squeeze in a fourth. I would be on the road in a heartbeat if he would come back to the eastern part of the United States. My long held dream though is to drive from the East Coast to the West Coast while visiting all of our National Monuments and Parks. Oh and I would have to hit the night clubs too, to dance across America every stop of the way. I’ve hit clubs so far in Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Orlando, Atlanta, Chattanooga, Lexington, Louisville, Frankfort, Richmond, Cincinnati, Dayton, Cleveland, Indianapolis, South Bend, Chicago, Houston, Phoenix, Albuquerque, Baltimore and Washington, D.C. I didn’t go clubbin in New York, but I sure did have a good time. And I was too young to party in Los Angeles, but I enjoyed the visit with my Aunt Janis. I did hit the clubs in Acapulco, after flying in and catching a week long ride with a taxi cab driver named Victor. Met Victor the first night of our stay at The Mayan Palace, and he hung around for a week of sightseeing and good times. Thanks Victor, thank you so much for the ride! And thank you life for the many highs.
Years before that, I was along on a ride with my mother, really late one night taking the back roads home from Elyria to Lorain. It had been peaceful that night in the car, and really dark. Because of the still of the night, I was suddenly filled with a curious spirit, and I jumped up and asked my Mom…
“How do you spell God?”
“Capital G-O-D”, she kindly replied, before telling me to get back in my seat.
“Why capital G?” I asked. I was maybe five at the time.
“Because he is The Lord, and that’s how we honor him,” she said.
“Oh.” And I think my young mind understood. And with that explanation, I fell fast asleep in the backseat.
PBS is airing a documentary about our nation’s National Parks. In episode one of the six part series, I learned about a naturalist and explorer named John Muir. In 1867, Muir quit his job as an industrial engineer in Indianapolis and decided to walk from Indiana to Florida before catching a ship to fulfill his life’s destiny out West. This amazing guy walked over 1,000 miles through the wilderness as an explorer of God’s greatest creations. What intrigues me about Mr. Muir’s journey is that the beginning of his life’s adventures began on foot. Whereas most of my exciting moments on this journey of my life began with a hop in the car.
I’m so glad the Cash for Clunkers program is considered a success, and I hope the program continues to stimulate our domestic automobile industry. I just can’t imagine my life without a car. For me, it’s become a part of my American experience. Late one Fourth of July, on the way home from Grandma’s house, my father pulled off to the side of the road. The three of us kids were in the back seat, and we had no idea why Dad was stopping. We were out in the middle of nowhere it seemed. My Dad invited us to step outside to sit on the hood of the car and look up at the stars. The stars were pretty, but we had no idea what we were looking for. And as our eyes gazed up at the night sky, the sky lit up with explosions of red, blue, and green. We had stopped for fireworks on our way home, and boy what a treat.
From my first college road trip with friends to Cedar Point to endless drives on New Circle Road around Lexington to ease my heartbreak, my domestic automobiles have always been there for me. Before I graduated from the University of Kentucky, I spent my first two years of collage at the University of Louisville. I would hop on the road in a heartbeat to visit with family and friends back home in Lexington. My Dodge Aries was my vehicle that got me home my sophomore year after a bad winter storm basically shut down I-64 and most of central Kentucky. A drive that normally takes a little over an hour turned into basically what looked like a more than four hour suicide mission, as I just had to get home to see my then boyfriend, but I made it.
Many years later in my red Plymouth Neon with three of my sisters, along with my Mom and Granny and uncle and kids following in the minivan behind, we decided to stop at every Welcome Center as we crossed state lines from Chattanooga to Houston on our way down to the Jenkins Family Reunion. That was fun. I love Welcome Centers because they introduce you to the culture and traditions of the region that you are about to enter. I also love bridges. And I love to cross them. The bridge seemed endless one family vacation to South Padre Island and the many many bridges a few summers ago enticing, with sisters in tow on our way to Key West. Most of the time I am the main driver on these endless adventures. Four years ago, I tried to convince one of my sisters to share in the driving experience from Kentucky down to South Florida, but she was too terrified of the highway to handle the vehicle for more than ten minutes without cursing me out and having a major breakdown.
I’ve been to so many places, and have enjoyed so many trips via car. Most times now I hit the road alone in my Ford Focus. Lately it’s been to check out a Jason Mraz concert. I’ve been to three so far this year and I would like to squeeze in a fourth. I would be on the road in a heartbeat if he would come back to the eastern part of the United States. My long held dream though is to drive from the East Coast to the West Coast while visiting all of our National Monuments and Parks. Oh and I would have to hit the night clubs too, to dance across America every stop of the way. I’ve hit clubs so far in Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Orlando, Atlanta, Chattanooga, Lexington, Louisville, Frankfort, Richmond, Cincinnati, Dayton, Cleveland, Indianapolis, South Bend, Chicago, Houston, Phoenix, Albuquerque, Baltimore and Washington, D.C. I didn’t go clubbin in New York, but I sure did have a good time. And I was too young to party in Los Angeles, but I enjoyed the visit with my Aunt Janis. I did hit the clubs in Acapulco, after flying in and catching a week long ride with a taxi cab driver named Victor. Met Victor the first night of our stay at The Mayan Palace, and he hung around for a week of sightseeing and good times. Thanks Victor, thank you so much for the ride! And thank you life for the many highs.
Girl, I can not believe you drove in that ice storm! Craziness!
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