|The journey begins...|
|The Stop sign to anywhere.|
Although most of our trips aren't nearly that long, there have been trips (nearly all according to some sources) when serious threats of bodily harm have disturbed my Zen-driving state from just about every angle of the car. I'll suddenly realize that I've heard 'So, what do you want for supper?' a number of times from the back seat, and I'll suddenly feel the bruises in my arm from being poked from the passenger seat for the last hour or so. Raine thinks I should be able to translate 'I'm starting to get a little hungry' into 'I'm about to go all Donner Party/Uruguayan Rugby Team (Alive) on your big ass unless you find me something tastier and possibly even served buffet style in the next 30 seconds.' That just wasn't in the Yinzer phrasebook I got when I moved here. I'm not kidding, I got a T-shirt with all the phrases on it, and a link to a Yinzer-dialect site ( gave the T-shirt to my son Tim, who lives in Kansas... not going to do him much good there)
Dude is just as subtle (I'm amazed I can use that word to describe him) about his gastronomic needs. The occasional, simple, 'The Wendy's store is open, remember?' or 'He needs to get the cheesburgers' is normally about as insistent as he gets. I try not to take it personally when they act like I've taken them off of 30 days bread and water when I finally turn into the parking lot for our next (possibly their last) meal.
|Guardian Window Angel|