Misquotes, mosquitoes, what's the difference! They both start with m, have an s q u in the same place, they end in t o s — o t s. It's almost the same word, right!
I can hear Momma laugh. "Yeah, but they don't mean the same thing."
And she's right about that. They don't. I've been working so hard trying to catch up on my story making, turning out four stories in the last two weeks, this one being a fifth, that unfortunately, stuff like that is going to happen. I'd be interested in knowing how many of you read it as I intended it. I for one, read mosquitoes EVERY. SINGLE. TIME! I fixed it in the blog but not before some of you read it.
I loved the road trip to Minnesota. I loved seeing the farms and barns, cows and horses, donkeys and chickens. The standing up barns, the falling down barns, tractors, and fields. I loved the junkyards, junky houses, and junk piles. I took pictures of signs and road construction, construction workers and police officers. Wind generators standing tall in the fields and blades with no wind generators. I took pictures of the Amish in their buggies. Small town buildings and big city skyscrapers. And all of these things I've taken pictures of many times before. Since I've told you what my pictures contain, I don't have to show them to you now and save myself countless pages of paper and you, the time it takes to go through two days and more than 1,000 miles worth of Midwest landscape. Right?
"Not on your life," my Miss Rosie says.
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We pulled into a rest area with no facilities. What do you think he's doing?
Look at all the concrete trucks!
These guys have a cutout behind them of an actor pointing a gun. See it?
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Old silos....
....and new.
"What is?"
"A blue barn. That's just not right. Don't they know barns are supposed to be red — or white. They can be white too."
"Well I guess they can paint their barn any color they want to," Mike informed me.
"I'm sure they had the detour marked," you say.
It was getting dark and traffic was horrible, is my excuse. But just like many other people, we were trusting our GPS and not paying attention to what our next turn was to be, Therefore, by the time we realized our exit was under construction and closed, it was too late. We found ourselves on narrow, tree-lined, cars-parked-on-both-sides, residential streets in our big ol' RV and no clue where we were. I had to call Phyllis for directions. It took a little while for Phyllis to figure out where we were and which direction we were traveling and I have to admit, I didn't make it easy for her.
"Turn at the next corner," she'd say and give me the street name.
"Can't. We're already past it."
"Take the next one."
"Can't. It's too narrow and the trees are too low."
"Turn around."
"There's no place to turn around!" See what I mean about not making it easy for her.
"Why didn't Mike stop?" you wonder.
That's easy to answer. There wasn't any place to stop and there was always traffic pushing us along.
Eventually, between my beautiful, patient sister, and our GPS, we got to her house.
"Why didn't you just let the GPS re-route you?" you wonder.
When we first got off the highway, we were sure it was just going to have us make a U-turn and get right back on the highway.
"Maybe not," Jim, Phyllis boyfriend, tells me. "It might have brought you a different way."
Our old GPS would have continued to try to make us do u-turns until it wasn't feasible anymore, so that's what we thought was going on here. Eventually, we got far enough away that a U-turn wasn't the best way to go and the GPS directions jived with Phyllis's. At that point we relaxed a little, finished the drive and pulled in tired and cranky. We parked on the street behind Phyllis' house.
Okay, my loves. I've got too many pictures for one letter blog so until next time, let's call this one done.
