As some of you know, we went to Rhode Island in June for our granddaughter’s baptism. It was one of the most tense, stressful drives I have ever endured.
When we left home, the weather was overcast and spitting rain. Unfortunately, it did not improve as we drove east.
Approximately 30 minutes before we hit Albany, we ran into road construction – the east bound lanes were dug up and diverted to half of the west-bound lanes. Because of this, the signs had been taken down. We missed the exit and had to take the longer way south.
Then we missed the next exit that would take us across the Hudson River to the Mass Turnpike. We ended up way too far south — almost to Poughkeepsie. Of course, I got the blame credit for missing the exit, because I was going by written notes from a previous trip and had forgotten to pack the map.
We took one of the exits and asked the young booth attendant how to get headed back north and get on the Mass. Turnpike. He told us to keep going south and take Route 84 east through Connecticut.
After another 20 minutes of driving south, and a lot of snarkiness being thrown about, we took the next exit and asked the elder gentleman how we could get back on and head north to hit the Turnpike.
He told us that if there were no police watching, we could make a U-turn and get back on. I wondered what the police had to do with it; but looked to my right, and what do I see?
A State Trooper barracks just on the other side of the fence.
We looked in all directions, and did a U-turn. It was only then that I noticed the sign that prohibited U-turns. Ah-huh!
Finally, we headed back north, only an hour behind schedule.
Twice we almost rear-ended the car in front of us because they put on their brakes suddenly, and we just slid when we tried to slow down. It seemed as if the road was covered with ice, not rain water.
When we finally arrived at the hotel, our normal 6 hour drive had been turned into an 8 hour nail-biter.
But, thank God, Sunday morning dawned bright and clear and we had a marvelous baptism service. The grandchildren spent the afternoon in the “pond”.
The drive home on Monday was also dark and rainy.
We had one scary moment when we had to pass a tractor trailer that was pulling tandem trailers. It was swerving from the rumble strips at the edge of the pavement to the center line and back again; but it was going so slowly we had to go by it.
A few minutes later, we pulled into a rest stop, and I shook my head at the thought that it was going to go by and we would have to pass it again eventually. Thankfully, we didn’t see it again.
We finally arrived back home safe and sound, and this weary traveler felt like kissing the ground; but sent a very heart-felt prayer of thanks heavenward.
… and a terrible instigator of trouble, especially at night.
When it is cold, she crawls under the blankets and curls up with me to keep warm.
But when she wants attention, she will stop at nothing to get it….
More blanket digging and meowing. Then stillness for a couple seconds.
Then she’s off. Down onto the floor to run through the house and back up onto the bed, feeling like an elephant when she runs across me.
The mattress shifts as she jumps from the bed to the dresser. I watch through half closed lids as she sits and watches for a reaction.
I sit up and yell at her to get down. She doesn’t move.
I throw the blankets back and move like I am going to go after her. She hesitates another split-second, then jumps down and takes off through the house, as if expecting me to chase her.
I lay back down and here she comes back again to start the process all over.
Scratch … dig … meow … jump to the dresser.
I again lay still, watching as she waits for me to react. I don’t.
One tiny foot comes out and … thud…a perfume bottle ends up on the floor. I lay and watch.
Thud … another perfume bottle. I wince, praying that they don’t break all over the floor.
You can almost see the wheels turning in that tiny little Yoda-head.
She sits for a second, watching me, then shoves another bottle onto the floor.
After four or five bottles have landed on the floor, she decides she needs a new strategy and jumps down onto me with a large thud that nearly knocks the breath out of me.
She hops across the bed, and onto the bedside table. She waits. Nothing. Then she turns and begins batting at a picture hanging on the wall.
This is where I have to draw the line.
The picture is one that came from my husband’s grandmother.
I jump out of bed and yell. She runs.
Only to come back and start all over again.
Is it any wonder I don’t get enough sleep?