I have a little Bible app and every morning, I write down the daily passage and reflect on it in a little notebook I have. It’s usually a page or two. This morning’s was Galatians 6:9 — “So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up.”
Well, to begin with, that’s a good one to get on a Monday morning. It particularly spoke to me today. I am very tired and feel like my faith has waned a little bit. So the little boost of encouragement is very much appreciated.
Good timing free Bible app. Good timing.
Then I dove deeper into the scripture and thought, “what is ‘good’?” The Devil is in the lack of details here. So that’s my mission today – Figuring out what ‘good’ means to me and cutting out the rest of the things I spend my time on that isn’t so ‘good.” I am no theologian but I bet that would help me be less tired. Find the good in your life and chase it with reckless abandon. It’s separating the wheat from the chaff. Focus equals power.
Of course, the passage ends with how we reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up. I’d imagine that the pursuit of good itself is a harvest of blessing in itself. But that is a good place to end this and to start the week:
The day I started hating the sound of rain was October 15, 1994. That’s the day that remnants of a Pacific hurricane parked itself over the Houston, Texas metro area. The sky opened up and dumped 25 inches on Conroe, Texas in less than a day. At one point, it rained five inches in one hour. We woke up that morning and could see water behind our house. There was a huge flood plain between us and the interstate. It looked like a lake. I walked out to take a look. Heavy rain pelted me as I walked to the covered bridge over the Stewart’s Creek. It was underwater.
Dammit. My stomach sank. The only road out was flooded.
My neighbors and I stood there watching fire ant balls flow past. We definitely didn’t want any part of that. Then we noticed that the creek was starting to flow backwards — not good. We lived near where Stewart’s Creek flowed into the San Jacinto River — which had gone from 3 feet to 33 feet in less than six hours. (101 cu. ft. of flow to 115,000 cu. ft. — a record that was just barely beat by Hurricane Harvey a couple of years ago). Water kept rising and crept up the bluff behind our home; officials said if we wanted to bring our pets we had to get out now. No pets on boat rescues. There was even talk of the dam failing.
We got out.
Amy and I put our furniture up on blocks and evacuated our new house. We had our dog and cat in their carriers and just the clothes on our back. Five inches of rain fell in the time it took for us to get to the bus on the other side of the neighborhood. The rain was falling so hard that it hurt — I’ve never seen rain that hard and I pray I never see it again. I remember one evacuee saying she had half a glass of water and just threw in across her couch. “It’s not like it mattered.” Another had a Lab with an invisible fence collar. “Guess we don’t need this anymore.” Dark humor filled the bus as we made our way to a church. After a phone call, my boss Chris Eddings took us in. And thankfully, when the river crested, our house didn’t get any water in it — it was close though. Many of my neighbors, however, weren’t so lucky. Over a third of our neighborhood (Mosswoods Heights) was flooded. River Plantation (right next to us) was devastated. Another person who wasn’t lucky was the man who tried to swim across the flood waters to rescue his trapped wife.
They found his body behind my house.
I killed snakes in the yard for weeks. The smells and the mosquitoes were overwhelming. Neighbors gutted their homes to the studs and started over. Staunch conservatives welcomed low-interest government loans. Neighbors helped neighbors. Recovery happened slowly.
Today, I still hate the sound of rain. And if you saw my house today, you’d laugh. I now live on a big hill — ABOVE the dam. This afternoon, I saw the Pearl’s rising floodwater. And I have to admit, when I looked at its brown swirling water, I had a flashback. Watching water rise is a slow motion Hell.
I’ll just say this — My heart is with anyone affected by the Pearl’s wrath. Floods suck.
Sometimes you can work your ass off and its not enough.
I know, it’s frustrating right? You crawl home and don’t even have the energy to clean the kitchen. Even the dog wonders if she is going to get dinner. The kids had better enjoy their Cheerios. Because there ain’t no cheer in you. A fog of fear and doubt has settled down on your covering you like a wet, thick blanket. People who are dog paddling like Hell don’t try to learn new swimming strokes — they are just trying to survive.
Survival is awesome. I’m all about team survival. So don’t get me wrong here when I say this: You have to find something deep in you to push past just surviving. Take an inventory of all the good things in your life — all the things (and people) who are worth pushing through pain for. Picture a better life — for you and for those around you. Ask yourself, “What will it take to get there?”
One of the things I was really afraid of as a kid (next to alien abductions, Soviet missile strikes and killer bees), was change. I was terrified I’d lose my parents, etc. I created the mother of all comfort zones around me and began to fight to protect it. I still do that do this day — most of us do, to be honest. But your comfort zone can be a more dangerous place than a blasting zone. Because when you are comfortable, you don’t do the work you need to do.
So let me go back to you working your ass off. You know the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results — right? Right. As you might have noticed, 2020 has kicked off with lots of really scary news stories. COVID-19 — the Coronavirus whose new name now sounds like a cough medicine — seems pretty spooky. But worrying about it is a huge waste of energy. Washing your hands and not touching your face is a good place to start. And guess what, that will help protect you from the flu, too.
My point is this. If you want things to change for the better, you have to push past fear. And that requires you to face it head on by DOING THINGS that scare you. You have to let go of resentments and try to work together as a team. You have to look around and find little things you can make better. You have to make bold steps to reach out to others make their lives better.
Your life will get better. Your efforts will start paying off. Your faith will be rewarded. But you’re probably will be asking, “What happens if I fail?” Pick yourself back up and learn from it. As soon as you reframe your situation, you’ll notice that you still managed to change the playing field. There will be opportunities amongst the rubble.
We have to face the bad stuff now. Because when things get really bad, we won’t have time to prepare for them. Now is the time to train. Develop your callouses. Make your mind, body and faith strong.
Make a list of the things in your life you’d like to change. Start with the easiest and work your way up the list.
I went to the bank a couple of days ago. The teller knew me right away and began to speak. She introduced herself as the sister of a former coworker of mine from the old days at The Clarion-Ledger. So, I asked her about her sister and she told me that they were living together. Her sister had been laid off from the job she had gotten after the CL. Then I asked her why she was living with her sister. “My husband died of melanoma last year.” She then told me his story. He fought like a true hero — but melanoma doesn’t usually fight by the rules. I sat there listening to his story and felt a chill realizing how closely it tracked my own worst fears. At that moment, I realized how damn lucky I am to be alive.
Then yesterday, Eric Stringfellow died. Eric and I worked in the same department for a long time at The Clarion-Ledger. He recently had been diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer that took him very quickly. Once again, I felt a knot in my stomach. One, I am very sad for Eric and all who loved him. I got to see him in December and we had one of the best conversations we’ve had in years. He seemed like his life was in a good place and I was honestly very happy for him. Now he’s gone. I am grateful for that chance encounter. But two, I thought about what I’ve done with the 6,869 bonus days I’ve received since my own cancer diagnoses.
(Spoiler alert: I could do better)
As I stood in the bank, I thought, “How many deposits have I made in my life bank account vs. how many withdrawals? What will be my purpose? What will be my why?”
I started this morning by taking Pip for a walk. She was happy with it and figure if I can make my dog happy (considering how much joy she brings me), that is a good start to all of this.
I had a conversation with Fear this morning. Fear is not a good listener — it tries to dominate every conversation. Actually it’s extremely rude.
As we sat in the dark, it spewed its syrupy bile upon my doubting soul. You see, Fear’s main goal is to strip you of your power. It tries to beat you down and make you weak. When you’re weak, that’s when you give up.
Now, I am no stranger to fear. I am in constant fight-for-flight mode, so I pretty much think that there is a monster around every corner. I’ve learned, though, that the monster is nothing more than a shadow created by Fear. I’m learning to live in the present and tell Fear to buzz off. Where does Fear come from? Someone much smarter than me once told me that Fear is the Devil. After a few conversations with Fear, I don’t disagree with that. I do know that Fear is about power. When people try to make you afraid (politicians have figured this one out all too well), they are trying to steal your power and manipulate you. Your amygdala will cause you to act quicker than your frontal cortex (the part of the brain where rational thought occurs). Scare the crud out of someone and they will react and go vote, right?
Fear is a sugar rush. The short-term high leads to long-term damage. How do you combat it? Become a warrior. Become strong and step up and reject the effort of anyone trying to scare you. Become a warrior for good. Fear and the people who weaponize it are bullies and you know how to handle bullies. They want you to step back and do nothing so you take action. You punch them in the nose — at least figuratively. Work, Planning and Love are to Fear as salt is to a slug. Those are what courage is made of.
Oh by the way, Fear said hello. It bragged that it is winning in 2020. I told it that as long as there are strong people who stand up to it, it will never win. That it is weak. And Love, which is much stronger, will win the day.
I wake up before the alarm clock every single morning. Even on weekends, when I don’t set an alarm, I still wake up early. Most of the time it is either Mother Nature or Pip who wakes me up but the other morning it was something a little more out of the ordinary. It was a voice. And it woke me up literally and figuratively.
Now before you think I need a one-way bus ticket to a padded cell, I don’t hear voices in my head. This was right after a dream and right when I was in the zone between sleep and being awake. I was having a dream where I was listing off names of people who were keeping me back from my goals. Yeah, I know, a pretty whiney dream, right?I’d much prefer to dream about 1980’s Paula Porizkova. But right as I was starting to wake up, I heard a voice that said this, “You are holding you back.”
My eyes shot open.
It wasn’t a condescending or scolding voice. I wasn’t the voice of anyone I knew or really even my own voice. It was a loving, kind and compassionate voice –one that was giving me a big, fat dose of constructive criticism.
My life is my responsibility. The life I am living is a sum of the decisions I have made in the past. I can influence the future by the decisions I make today. I’ve felt like I’ve been driving with the parking brake on for a few years now — hell, all my life. Thanks to a lot of work and some introspection (and a few revelations), I now know why (a story for another day). It’s up to me to change that. That can only be done through hard work and taking action. But knowing that no one is holding me back but me is liberating. It’s putting a key in a lock and unlocking the ball and chain. I can do something about me.
We live in a time where it is popular to point fingers at other people for our problems.
People gain power by making us fear others and lay our blame at their feet. I am choosing to buck that trend. If it is to be, it is up to me.
I am grateful for my previous 19,026 days on this Earth and how they shaped me into who I am. Now it’s time to enjoy the remaining ones I have left.
I’m not going to give you my secret seven-step plan. I won’t bore you with that. I’m just going to be grateful, put my energy into the moment to stop anxiety and fear and love with my actions, not my words.
Now it’s time to get busy.
P.S. I am pretty sure that voice was me telling myself what I already knew. 😊
I texted my longtime-friend Joey (who I have known since 5-year-old kindergarten). We played football together at Marietta, Georgia’s Sprayberry High School in the mid 1980’s. He was a linebacker and a team leader. I was a defensive end and a decent athlete. As we were texting, I mentioned to him that I had spoken to a group of high school athletic directors about how being a football player had helped me become an editorial cartoonist. I then said, “I also brought up today the fact that an inordinate number of our teammates are now very successful. He agreed and said he had recently had a similar conversation. For example, a few of the job titles our friends have: CEO of a software company he also founded (his second one), mayor of a growing Georgia city, a landscape architect and successful business owner in the Charlotte, NC area, drummer of the Georgia Satellites — and one modestly successful cartoonist. I said that many of the things that we learned out on the football field are qualities that have helped me in my career. I promised Joey I’d share some of the things I brought up in the speech.
Here they are.
• We learned that a playing field, court, track or any other place you compete is a laboratory for life. When you fail on the field, you don’t lose your house (or worse.) It’s not the end of the world. But it teaches you resilience and allows you to develop the tools to win — both on the field and in life.
• We learned that there is no I in team. (Although there is a ME in team – but I digress.) When you go through Hell (two-a-days), you bond. Our senior team consisted of pretty good friends by the time the 1985 season came around. Yes, we had some individual talent but because we weren’t prima donnas, we played above our collective talent. Thinking about it today, we were more WE than ME.
• We learned how to think when we were tired. Our defensive coordinator had a particularly sinister form of conditioning that taught me more about making sure I think when I am tired than anything I’ve ever done in my life. We started with five jumping jacks. We had to finished them in unison. If someone screwed up, the coach added one more jumping jack. And in between them, we ran 50-yard sprints. If we got it right, we went down a number. You learned quickly how to be precise when you felt like lying down and quitting. Believe me, that comes in handy during the fourth quarter. Or when you have a project due tomorrow and it is already almost midnight. It also helped at mile 20 of a marathon I ran.
• We learned that even when we think we’ve given our all, we still have more in our tank. Retired Navy SEAL and motivational fitness guru David Goggins puts this well when he says that we all have 40% more in our tank when our brain says, “STOP!” The trick is to train your brain to get out of the way. Once it does, you know how to push past your fatigue. That’s why you train for so many miles before a marathon. You have to develop muscle memory that keeps you pushing forward.
• We learned that attitude is the x-factor. Our friend Keith wasn’t particularly big, but he was a heck of an offensive lineman. What made him good was what was going on between his ears. He had a great attitude — almost Rudy-like. Just think if we could approach our daily lives with that kind of energy and effort. The world would change in a day for the better.
• We learned that there are four quarters and you play all four of them. Our coaches wouldn’t let us quit. And if we did, practice wasn’t going to be a bucket of chuckles the next Monday. Today, it’s good to know that as long as you are in the game, you still have a chance. It’s a solid philosophy for life.
• We learned how to adjust in the middle of the game. So if you were down at halftime, you looked at what you were doing and adjusted accordingly. You didn’t whine. You didn’t quit. You didn’t lie down on the field. Now that I am an adult, if something bad happens to me or my career, I adjust accordingly. It’s a powerful skillset to have — being able to have the flexibility to regroup and relaunch.
• We learned the value of watching film and planning. We’d watch film of the other team to get a feel for their players and plays. We’d practice and the scout team would mimic the other team. We’d develop our game plan based on it and execute.
• We learned that games in the fall are won by the work you put into the weight room in the summer. Time has taught me that your success is because of the work you do when no one is looking. There are no bright lights, cheering crowds or lit scoreboards when you’re in the weight room. But that’s where you build your base, your strength. That’s where victories are launched and set on their course. The work you do in the office when no one is praising you is what will get you the raise. It’s the practice you put in when no one is cheering you on. It’s the miles you run before a marathon.
• We learned how to handle disappointment — when you get knocked down, you get back up as quickly as you can. Losing sucks. But losing without learning a lesson thus you keep losing sucks even worse. Coming back from a loss is one of the most valuable skills I personally learned. Wallowing in self pity is a huge waste of life.
• We learned how to be coachable. This is where the ego can trip you up. Yet once you learn the difference between constructive criticism and the other kind, you begin to soar. Learning to recognize teachable moments is a huge step towards success. Not being a whiny baby when they happen is even bigger. As for negative criticism, you can choose not to engage it. If a turd floats by in a stream, you don’t have to reach down and grab it. You allow it to float on by.
• We learned that a good coach can change your life and that a bad coach can stiffen your spine. We had some really great coaches. When our head coach, Coach John Paty died, the huge church sanctuary was packed full of men who had had their lives shaped by him. But sometimes in life, you get a coach who is not so good. For whatever reason, this person may not like you and may even try to make you quit. That’s when you stiffen your spine and your resolve. That’s when you refuse to give in and you keep pushing.
• We learned the value of support. Our parents were good parents — actually no, they were excellent parents. They let the coaches coach and they supported us 100%. At the end of the day, it is hard NOT to be successful when you are blessed with that kind of support.
In memory of our head coach, Coach John Paty.
P.S. — Other things I learned while playing football:
I learned meteorology — I can tell when it is going to rain thanks to a 1984-era separated shoulder.
It is better to tackle a running back when your helmet is on. My nose still isn’t the same.
“Rub a little dirt on it” was universal healthcare on the practice field.
Running up huge concrete stadiums makes it hard to push in a car’s clutch after practice.
Never cheer rain right before practice. The sun WILL come out and make it a steam bath.
Morning two-a-days practice was rougher than evening practice. It was more humid and the cut Bermuda was wet and would stick to everything.
Water from a hot rubber hose is the same temperature as the sun and tastes like a hot rubber hose.
Black helmets are Easy Bake Ovens for your brain.
“Get your mind right,” is a plea for you to stop being an idiot.
An unwashed practice jersey smells like ammonia after three days. Get enough of them in a locker room and flies will literally drop out of the air dead.
My brain doesn’t work as well as it used to. It might be because of age or because of head wounds but I have developed a bad habit of forgetting things. When your father had dementia, that is scary but my forgetfulness is more cognitive overload than cognitive degeneration. I’m not leaving my car keys in the refrigerator.
Yet.
It’s just that I have a lot of @#$% to remember and most days I don’t. For example: Last Saturday I helped with Mississippi Today’s People, Politics and the Press. I had brought a Tumbler full of Green Tea with me that morning and as I was hauling stuff back out to my car, I spilled my hand truck — twice. I got flummoxed and was, honestly, really tired (I hadn’t taken a day off in two weeks at that point). So I got home at 9 p.m. and realized I had forgotten my Tumbler.
I have a lot of Tumblers. You know — Yeti-style cups that keep ice for a year or your coffee hot for a lifetime. But this one was special to me. It was a University of Tennessee one, black with a grey T on the side. And it was a Christmas gift from Amy. (She also got me a nifty Baby Yoda one, too — I drink a lot of Green Tea).
I tried not to beat myself up too much for losing it. But I did. I always do that. I tore my car apart and cursed myself royally. I kept picturing my cup alone and frightened. Yes, I am weird.
At 6 a.m. on Sunday, I got up and drove downtown to the Mississippi Museum of Art. I thought, “If I left it when I dropped the stuff on the hand truck, it’s probably still there.” Downtown Jackson is a ghost town on the weekend and I figured the odds of it being picked up were slim. I poked around the outside of the museum. No dice. So on a whim, I emailed the museum and asked if it had been found.
On Monday, I got the word: It had!
So today I drove down in the monsoon for my precious. I got to the front desk, asked for it and was handed a silver Mississippi Today cup. My heart, crestfallen, sank like the Houston Texans. Dejected and sad (yes, I know it was just a damn cup but…) I drove back to the office. When I got back to my computer, there was an email that read, “There was a mix-up, we have your cup! It just wasn’t at the desk.” So like Indiana Jones keeping his drink cup, I went BACK down there. And here it is. The Holy Grail. The cup of life. The Tumbler of T.
So thank you to my friends at The Mississippi Museum of Art. I am at peace again.
P.S. Amy ordered me another one. She’s kind like that.
You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixon. Comet and Cupid and Donder and Blitzen. You even know Rudolph, the shiny-nosed reindeer who’s a legend in his own right (and who has a pretty good TV special). But this tale isn’t about reindeer. It’s how a little white biplane saved Christmas.
Snow, a possum and nine tiny reindeer don’t mix well. Nope, not at all. As Santa and his team headed to the hanger, Plato the Possum ran right in front of them!
“What the Elf!” Santa yelled as the deer flew North, South, East and West. The whole team crashed into a broken, twisted heap. Plato the Possum, stunned but unharmed, ran off into the woods. The sleigh? Well, it didn’t fare so well. Santa panicked! “Oh no! What shall I do now. With no magic sleigh, how will I deliver toys to all the good little girls and boys?” And then he got an idea.But first, Santa had to tell the team. “I have some bad news team. We must go in another direction this Christmas. The good news is that you get the day off with pay — all except you Rudolph. I need your help.”Santa tested his plan. Everything seemed like it would work fine — until he turned on the biplane’s engine! Luckily Rudolph wasn’t hurt. But there was another way! Magic Elves modified the old biplane for its Christmas journey.
After modifications, the little biplane, with its magic cargo hold, held all the toys with room to spare! Time to get ready to go! Mrs. Claus, the brains behind Claus, Inc., laid out a new flight plan.
Before the long journey, Santa (and the plane) refueled.
Time to board! The vigilant Toy Security Administration (TSA) provided tight security. Three…Two…One…CONTACT! The little biplane sputtered to life! ZOOM! Santa and the biplane soared down the runway and into the sky. Santa couldn’t have been happier! HO! HO! HO! HO!
Santa headed to south and waved to the buddies in a nearby U.S. Navy submarine. Next stop: New York City!
Blinding snow made the flight a challenge but the little biplane chugged right through it. Santa looked down at the beautiful land below. Christmas time was his favorite time of year. Buzzing down 5th Avenue, Santa waved at all the people still awake. (since New York is the city that never sleeps.)
First delivery: The star for the big tree. Now it was time to head to Atlanta, Georgia! No matter where you’re headed, you have to fly through Atlanta. Even in places where he couldn’t land, Santa found a way to get toys to the excited children! Santa waved at his friends from NORAD. They track him every single year and provide him safe escort. “Where are the reindeer?” one of the pilot asked. “At the spa!” Santa laughed.
One of Santa’s favorite place is The Great Smoky National Park. He always loved flying over Clingmans Dome and Cades Cove. The snow muffled the little biplane’s engine’s sound.
Santa stopped in Memphis to say hello to some of his fellow present haulers. Heading South, Santa buzzed the Mississippi Delta. He saluted one of his fellow aviators. Santa buys coal wholesale from barges on the Mississippi River. Santa also gave the crew some nice presents because they had been good this year. “Every single year,” Santa chuckled. “Every single year.” Coal away!
Santa loved the Biloxi Lighthouse. He remembered seeing it standing tall after Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast. It represented resilience to him.
Suddenly a flock of seagulls flew right at him! He pulled the stick hard to the right and looped between the startled bird. Luckily, no one was injured. Santa sang one of his favorite songs from the ’80’s,”And I ran, I ran so far away, I just ran,”“Oh deer!” Santa shouted as he nearly clobbered two deer in Mississippi. Rudolph would have never forgiven him! While flying over a small village, Santa noticed some tornado damage and decided to stop to help. Giving to others was Santa’s #1 rule. Time was running out. So Santa began his ’round the world journey.
The Sphinx and the Pyramids stood guard in Egypt, as they have for thousands of years. Santa delivers gifts to the troops stationed around the world. The mountains in Afghanistan are so tall but the little biplane chugged right over them.The Great Wall of China looked even greater as Santa flew over it.While delivering gifts to the children in the South Pacific, Santa found a great gift for a good little boy. Christmas down under! Santa looked at the biplane’s fuel gauge. Time for a fill up! Dark clouds suddenly enveloped the biplane! Santa and the little biplane were tossed around! Would he make it out alive?!?Of course! He’s Santa — the greatest aviator in the world! (And the owner of one sturdy little biplane.) Santa knows that above the clouds, the sun always shines. Santa never gets lost. His GPS always leads him in the right direction. As he started home, he remembered a special kid who needed a special toy. He prepared for one more stop. As Santa landed, he was greeted by a fierce guard dog named Pip. They became good friends instantly.
Soon the little boy would wake up and find his own special little biplane! Pip approved. It was time to head home! The biplane saved Christmas!!! Santa requested a flyby. The tower responded, “Negative Ghostwriter, the pattern is full!” Rudolph guided Santa in for a perfect landing. Christmas had arrived! Mrs. Claus came out to greet him with a big hug. They are a great team! Santa and the little biplane both had earned a long winter’s nap. THE END
When you drive from Nashville to Jackson, you have a couple of options. Nashville-B’ham-Jackson or Nashville-Memphis-Jackson. (Forget the Natchez Trace — only do that route if you have six months to live and want it to seem like six years) Most of the time, I go through Birmingham, particularly if I am going to Dave’s HQ in Franklin. Yesterday, I was starting near Opryland. Google Maps told me to go through Memphis, but I had come up that way and fought with trucks the whole time on 40 (thanks Fed-Ex). I love trucks, mind you, and know they keep the economy rolling. But when they get next to each other and you’re stuck behind them doing 50 in a 70 zone, it is maddening. So I decided to go through B’ham on the way home.
Little did I know I was about to go on Homer’s Odyssey (while driving a Honda Pilot).
First of all, 440 in Nashville is a classic example of building the drunk-driving laws into the road. If you have one drink, you’re going to die in a fireball after hitting a construction barrier. I was at the end of the rush hour and while the traffic was backed up (oh yeah, it was raining, too which apparently Nashvillians — who are all former Mississippians — can’t drive in the rain either). I only said a few cuss words until I got to I-65. I made it past Brentwood and Franklin with no problem and then my phone (and Garmin on my car) told me of major slowdown ahead. Both recommended I cut cross country to get back to 40. I would save 30 minutes.
I had already wasted at least 45.
So turned right and I toured Spring Hill, Tennessee — which is quite lovely I might add. I drove through the rural Williamson County countryside in the fog and the rain, picked up 840 eventually and made it to I-40. The trucks were so glad to see me that they slowed down to show it.
The new bypass around Memphis is the bee’s knees, btw, but it totally confused my outdated Garmin map (see attached photo). It dumped me out at Hernando and I continued South to Batesville (Since I’ve been teaching at Ole Miss, I have been making that drive weekly and can do it in my sleep — and have a couple of times). I made it to 82 and my Google Maps told me that I-55 was shut down. I was in denial but my estimated time of getting home. 5:29, climbed up to 6:21. Amy had ordered takeout that I had to pick up and I didn’t want to eat cold slop when I got home. Hell, I just wanted to GET home. The siren song of staying on the interstate called to me. I sang to the top of my lungs to drown its seductive cry out.
I turned off at West and took Highway 51 through West and Durant to bypass the closed interstate.
West is gorgeous. The homes and the old church near the water tower are really pretty. Durant seemed nice, too — although it was dark, foggy and rainy. I was praying I wouldn’t hydroplane and end up in a cotton field. My food really would have been cold if that had happened.
I got back on 55 at the Yazoo County Line and headed south again. My estimated time of arrival now was 5:45. I was home free. And then a deer started to run out in front of me right as I got to Canton. As he stood on the side of the interstate pondering his death by my car, I screamed, “Not today, you son of doe!”
I am glad I travel alone.
I made it home with semi-warm food, a cramping back and a thankful heart. My odyssey was finally over. All I know is this, if Homer had had Google Maps, he could have avoided so many of the delays that made his journey so long. I know without it, I would have had a very cold dinner.
