Dress Rehearsal


Every day for the past two weeks I’ve intended to sit down and update the blog. And every day for the past two weeks I’ve failed to do so. I think that’s because despite quitting my job, despite amassing two months worth of supplies in my dining room, despite countless gifts and messages of support from incredibly wonderful friends, despite everything, it just hasn’t seemed real. Well today it stopped being polite and started getting real.

Today I packed up the car, waved goodbye to my house, picked up my Step Dad to serve as chauffer, and drove four hours to a hotel in New Jersey just down the street from where I’ll pick up the campervan in the morning. Today I also neglected to double check the dog-friendly hotel recommendation the friendly van rental dude had provided and learned at the last minute they don’t, in fact, allow dogs. So there was a scramble to find alternative lodging at twice the price. Today I also didn’t do any of the driving, but still found myself bored and antsy after several hours of staring at the same scenery. Today I also struggled to take Annie out in the freezing wind for her evening constitutional. And, most challenging of all, today I also encountered . .. the general public.

After getting a little bit of a late start, Doug (my Step Dad) and I decided to push back lunch a few hours so we could get some miles under our belts. Consequently, we found ourselves pulling in to a Maryland Cracker Barrel at 3:45PM . . . and encountering a nearly full parking lot. At three forty five pm. Inside, the hallucinogenic gift shop teemed with elderly farm folk hobnobbing with restaurant employees resembling escapees from a Willy Wonka acid flashback as they passed out trays of individual jelly beans in teeny tiny paper cups. As I struggled to part the sea of red state riff-raff and find the dining room, a wizened old woman materialized by my side and spoke: “Is that your husband?,” she enquired, pointing after my quickly departing step father. Horrified, but attempting to mask it, I corrected her. It only got weirder.

“Does he drizzle a lot?”     “Pardon?”    “My husband drizzles all the time, that’s what he calls it . . . drizzling.”

She gestured toward the restroom and cackled.


I may have only been practicing the other aspects of my trip, but today I got thrown head first into crazy.

Tomorrow . . . IT BEGINS!

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