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Yesterday evening my DH and I went for a drive. I was feeling restless, so I drove. He allowed me to go wherever I wanted without any objections or suggestions. I headed west into the small communities stretched out south from the nearby lake. I drove through back roads and around farms while the valley was squeezed between the hills to the west and mountains to the east. The sun slowly descended—casting a twilight glow over the whole vista—and I relaxed.

Then we got on the freeway and increased the speed as we headed further south to the exit to Goshen. Where is Goshen? Besides the one in the middle east? West of Genola but not as far as Eureka. (We momentarily headed toward Eureka but decided the local plant was not Global Dynamics and turned back to Goshen.)

Not what we were looking for.

Having passed through Goshen without finding what we came seeking, I turned right on a side street that took us deeper into town. Or maybe it was an alley. My DH asked, “Why this street? Were you just ‘feeling’ it?”

I ignored his comment while the road disintegrated to potholes and gravel and ended at a tractor. Paved streets became rare, and passing a vehicle was precarious. We never did find what we came looking for—I’ll post if we get back someday and find it, but I kept trying while the sun continued to set. One detour led us in a loop around the cemetery. I drove slow while my DH took some pictures for me. It was such a peaceful oasis, until. . .

A LARGE, burley man came toward us carrying the BIGGEST wrench I have ever seen. It was the size of my leg! I’ve never seen one that humungous at Home Depot. It glinted silver in the fading light as he walked right up to my window. He raised a hand and I wasn’t sure if he were signalling “Hi” or “stop while I turn your evening into a horror story.” I hesitantly returned his salute, but kept my window up and moved past him—close enough he could have smashed my window.

I decided it was the wrong time of day to be driving through strange cemeteries.

So after a jaunt up a pass between local hills, and a brief stop to scramble up one of them, we switched drivers and headed home. One of the best parts of the drive had been the conversations. This one is typical:

“Do you want me to pull up the GPS to get us back to the freeway?” I asked.
“No, I think I can find it—just into town and then east on the highway.”
“I know, but I took a few odd alleys coming out of town.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, they’re more interesting than main thoroughfares.”
“You just keep telling yourself that.”

When we arrived home, the moon was full. Not that that accounts for anything.