I find myself once again not able to pay this blog and others the time they deserve. I hope to get back into this again on a more regular basis in the near future. The bike shop has taken a new twist and needs more of my time. Make that, it needs all of my time.
You Can't Get There From Here
I can tell they are frustrated. Their reaction is always the same. Dad behind the wheel looking flustered. Mom sitting next to him stiff, arms crossed and with a satisfied look on her face,
" See, I told you to stop and ask for directions miles ago. But no. Big Man with the plan has to find his own way."
I will stop rocking on the porch and slowly make my way down next to their Beemer, Jag or latest Lexus to come down the pike. I will listen attentively to how they will lose that hotel room by the sea if they do not get to Kennebunkport before five.
I will always smile. Always. Smiling puts them at ease. I will then say the same thing I always say.
"You can't get there from here. As a matter of fact folks, you will not get there from here. Here is the end of the line."
Astonished looks. Anger crosses Dad’s mug. Mom usually goes quiet. She senses I am not just another yokel on the side of the road. When I pull my scythe out and pull up my hood it finally dawns on them.
They will not get there from here. But always, they want to be anywhere but here.