After dumping half my carload of crap into a busy intersection 20 minutes into the trip, blocking traffic to pick up library books, tying, tying again,and re-tying stuff down onto the top of the car, and digging for change at 2 in the morning at the toll booth on the Richmomd Bridge…

I’m finally at the mystical place all children hate to love, the parents’ house. Up here, it’s a pseudo-farm where seasons change, fruit is always dangling from trees, and there’s some kind of dinner that I didn’t have to cook. It’s perfect for writing songs, and I already have one under my belt. Some of them come out incredible, others I will try to sell to Kelly Clarkson.

This post is dedicated to the man who helped pick up some of my books and didn’t judge, and also the toll booth woman who took my word for it that there was 4 dollars there. It’s the little things.

Onward tomorrow, to the desert, cheaper gas, and  Mormons.

This magnificent creature, spotted pecking about.