The one hour trip that took me three hours

Normally it takes me about an hour to get from the wicked city down to our little house in the woods if traffic is flowing and all that. This weekend I decided to go down and was happily surprised to see that traffic was flowing at an unheard of pace for 4:30 in the afternoon. I was all braced for sitting in rush hour in the downtown bottleneck but I glided right through. Hooray!

As I got a little bit out of the city I came upon a guy driving a purple Challenger which as you may or may not know, is the cousin to my bright ORANGE (only 1,650 made in the ENTIRE United States people!!!!) beloved Charger. I think his Challenger was only sporting a V6 as opposed to my HEMI V8 but being car cousins and all; we were destined to challenge each other just a bit (no pun intended).

To appreciate this you have to understand that for the most part, I drive like a grandma. Sorry to all of the grandmothers out there, I don’t mean to offend. Actually, I probably drive slower than most grandmas do. Even my own beloved MOTHER teases me about the snail’s pace of my driving. I know, you’re probably asking yourself why I would want a car that has a HEMI V-freakin’-8 in it. That’s simple…it’s bright orange, it has special orange stitching in the upholstery, and because it’s numbered – there were only 1,650 of them made in the whole entire United States (because it’s the Daytona version – there’s even an official number plate on the dash) and because it growls. Mr. Wonderful appreciates all of the engine stuff. And I do too. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great when I want to get on the highway or pass a car and I give it a little bit of gas, and look at the speedometer after I’m done and notice I’m going 95. Then I have a heart attack because I’m scared at going so fast and have to pull over and suck my thumb and cry.

Sorry I got off of the story a bit but I just love my car so much. So there I was, going down the interstate doing about 70 as I buzzed past the dude in the purple Challenger. I stared straight ahead as I buzzed him but my eyes were cut as far as I could cut them to see if he was looking. And of course, he was. How could he NOT? Hot girl, hot car, I mean he’d have to be dead not to notice. And what red blooded man can resist the challenge of a little road game against a muscle car? He sure couldn’t. We spent about 15 minutes taking turns being in the lead but I got hit with a thirst that was so bad, I couldn’t ignore it so I barely pushed on the accelerator, shot up to 90 and left him in the dust as I exited the interstate (and so I would avoid getting a ticket).

I managed to get into the gas station, get my beverage and make it back onto the highway in record time and you can bet yer britches that I was going as fast as I dared go, in the hopes of picking up the game of “smoke the older guy in the V6 Challenger”. I never did see him for the rest of my trip but it’s just as well. Those bursts of speed above 70 mph were about to make me pee my pants!

I finally made it to my exit and was tooling along the farm to marked road when I noticed how beautiful and green everything was. The trees were budded out and the bluebonnets were going crazy. I pulled out my super cool new super awesome digital camera I got for Christmas from Mr. Wonderful and started getting inspired. As I was zipping along I spied an old cemetery so I skid/turned into a church parking lot to turn around. I got a strange look from the caretaker who was mowing the lawn but I just waved really big at him and flashed him a wicked smile.

I followed a dirt road trying to get to that cemetery but it kept winding away from it. Finally I came upon a dude in a car and I flagged him down so I could ask him how to get there. He happened to be a black man and his question to me was ‘do you want the white cemetery or the black cemetery’? Now, I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t really see any difference between colors of people. And I certainly didn’t think about there being a difference  between where white people are buried and where black people are buried! I think I actually answered him by saying ‘what’s the difference’? I meant, who cares but I don’t think he took it that way because he gave me a really strange look.

I explained to him that I like photographing old tombstones and it didn’t matter to me what color the people who were buried, I just wanted to see tombstones so he directed me to the cemetery he and his dad cared for. Some of the markers were just rocks. Some were fancy. One was just a stick.

 It was amazing and I’m glad I went to the black cemetery. I didn’t even try to find the white people one I had originally seen.

I got back onto the farm to market road and was tooling along when I spotted some wildflowers that were just calling out to be photographed so I stopped right there in the middle of the road and went to snapping. Then I started up again and went a mile or so before I saw some cows among the flowers and I had to stop again. Then I saw some trees silhouetted against the setting sun and had to stop, then I saw more cows and more flowers and well, you get the drift.

I managed to turn that one hour trip into three hours and I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long time. My mind was overflowing with creative ideas and stories. So much so that I couldn’t write them down fast enough so that I could remember to write about them later! Eventually, I calmed down enough to help Manchild grill a fantastic dinner and I started my usual bonfire. At one point the flames were going pretty good and I wanted to get a picture of them, then I got the bright idea to get my camera and take our picture so yall could see the scale of the flames but I had to run to the car to get the tripod then I had to figure out how to make the timer on the camera work, and by that time the flames had died down considerably. I was so pissed because I’m always bragging about the bonfires I have down here and you can’t tell.

The next time I write about one of them I’m going to try and plan ahead and set up the tripod and figure out the camera timer THEN stoke the flames and pose for you. But then again, when I’m struck with a fit of creativity, it just happens. It’s spontaneous. Like being hit with lightning. And because I’m so horribly ADD, ROTFLMAO, ADHD, PMS, COPD, PTSD, OMG, RSVP, IBS, BYOB, GTG, STAT, PQRTDTPFG I’m never prepared. But I promise to try because you guys have got to see it.