I'm home. I've just survived a roadtrip. Georgia and I. She could care less that we survived it, doesn't even know that we might not have. Since she gets car sick, she spent the last 6 1/2 hours laying face down on the back seat panting and drooling on the "still smells like new car" upholstery. My two attempts to take out a brand new mustang (one red and one blue by the way) that landed her on the floorboard, we're just hiccups on her journey. Since she didn't SEE the two semi trucks toting GASOLINE stopped in the middle of the interstate, she didn't have that instantaneous flash of fear I did, as we almost drove over the little Ford Mustang in front of us. Neither did she see the 21 car collision, that by the way, I didn't see either, which is why I almost parked us in the trunk of the 2nd Mustang. But being a dog and all, she kinda felt my fear so for the 10 miles or so after each incident, she did what any best friend would do....She growled.
And then of course, there was the rain. The instantaneous flash flood that said "Hey, idiot, you've just entered Florida, the hurricane state" and sent all four wheels hydroplaning. That, by the way, feels somewhat like riding the Zipper at 17. Your stomach is suddenly swirling with a zillion butterflies, your otherwise perfectly manicured hands, are sweaty and clammy, and your'e gripping the steering wheel for sweet life. The semi truck next to you is a psychedelic blur. So I did exactly what I did on the Zipper. I closed my eyes! Gotta love the florida rain. It stopped.
And the sun came out. The blinding beautiful Florida Sun. I've been staring straight into her face for several lifetimes. That's why I have "frown lines". Yep, My mother always told me to wear sunglasses, a big hat and sunscreen. I didn't. I basked, baked, rolled in the sun. Face up. Frying. Summer blonde. The only difference now, is that I'm blind on a good day. Have to wear Readers to see anything. So driving into the deep south, on top of asphalt mirrored by blazing puddles from a summer hailstorm, with a banging hangover...is like looking into ...hell!
And speaking of hell, try traveling with Georgia. Oh, she travels well, I mean with her carsickness and all. She just doesn't STOP well. You see, she has "seperation anxiety". Which is akin to having a lover with stalking syndrome. From INSIDE the wayside station ladies room, where the toilets flush and the sinks run and the blowers puff on their own and it sounds like you are at an atomic energy plant, I could hear my precious Georgia May wailing, howling...pitifully yelping at the saliva smeared windows. Endlessly. I have never tinkled so fast in my life. Except in the woods.
But we're home. And we had a great time. And Paiger and I met just where we said we would. In Georgia. And we danced to David Bowie and Guns and Roses on the wrap around porch. And we laughed. And did what we always do, we cried. Because we can.
Because we're sisters.
Peace, love, and corner stores.....