Home again, home again, jiggety jig...

Survived yet another journey on America's roadways. Not even any close calls this time. No weaving semis to dodge, no careening speeders to speak of, no debris of any size to dodge.

Makes one wonder what the world is coming to...

It was a 2-2-2 trip... two days in Biloxi, two days in New Orleans, and two days to drive home.

Home is a wonderful word, isn't it? The evening before the wedding we were asking the bride's father how he was holding up and he said...

"Pretty good."

Then... "I'll feel better when I get home."

And we all do, don't we? I mean, a trip somewhere is usually interesting and often fun. But home is where we can truly relax. Even when I was working, I felt more relaxed, more at ease, when I was not out of town.

Back in 1977, I spent the a lot of time traveling for training. Baltimore, Dublin (Ohio), Atlanta, Chicago, Dublin (again), Albuquerque... I lived out of a suitcase, in motels and hotels, ate in restaurants, hung out in bars. Oddly, I didn't feel better during the times I was home. I was anxious and on edge. I knew I would have to leave again in a few days or a week.

I couldn't really settle in and relax.

I enjoyed the travel. Back then you could book flights easily, the planes were not always crowded, and you had relatively light airport security to deal with. Today I won't even consider flying.

It's not that I don't feel safe. It's the crowding, the lines, the security process, the surliness, the tension that is constant all around you. Everyone in a hurry... except the guy in front of you. Or the airport screeners.

So I drive instead. And hate that a little bit too.

Home, sweet home.  Aaaaahhhh...