And on the 5th Day...
And on the 5th day they rested…
7 am. We’re rolling.
We pulled into Kansas City late last night for a quick nap. Not sleep. Nap. We collectively are trying to catch our breath from the emotional roller coaster of yesterday. Today we have a four-hour ride to Saint Louis and then Indianapolis later. The strain of trying to herd all these queer cats is starting to show. I, for one, recognize this as a cue to keep as low a profile as possible. I don’t need no trouble from no bunch of cranky newlyweds.
My mantra: “I’m on the bus, not driving the bus, I’m on the bus, not driving the bus."
One story is the daily show. Each stop holds a surprise. Another is the continuing drama of the bus. My invisible seatmate (hah!), Rebecca used to refer this as “aviary behavior.” The pecking order. The constant juggling for position. I think I’ll keep that train of thought to myself. We are a community of good people and I shouldn’t sell us short.
So, on to Saint Louis. I’d rather focus on the exterior rather than this cage anyway. It sounds like the folks in Saint Louis have been doing a lot of work for the event this afternoon: a real coalition of groups pulling together with a projection of 1,000 attending. It’s important to not have expectations, but it is nice to have something to look forward to.
Oh, and did I mention that the toilet on the bus blew up this morning? Gee, we must be at the halfway point. I’m on the bus, not driving the bus. I’m on the bus, not driving the bus.
1:30 pm, Après St. Louis
What a warm, albeit soggy, reception from our St. Louis branch of the family. A picnic in the park. Literally! I spend a lot of time staring out the window during this trip, mostly daydreaming about lovers past and future. Or if I remembered to leave a note for the housekeeper to remind her to not let the cat out: the vital-stupid stuff of life. And, I amuse myself with billboard cruising. The bus window is like a picture frame to each world through which we pass. Wyoming gave us wide vistas, buffalo, antelope and jackknifed trucks in the center divider . Saint Louis laid out before us its Discount Bible Depots, Cracker Barrels and solid brick homes of many, many generations. Everything is solid. Everyone shakes your hand here and means it. They look you in the eye.
We knew they were glad to see us. Plenty of hot dogs to go around. Four kinds (who knew!) of macaroni salad. And, to the Widow Ewing’s highly trained eyes, some of the best looking women ever assembled in under a 300 sq. foot picnic pavilion. Sporting women. Cardinal fans. Team players. Crisp.
It felt like we were the long awaited distant relatives arriving for the family reunion. We felt embraced. As we left, a big ol’ bear took my hand in his and told me we would be in his prayers. Sounded good to me.
7 am. We’re rolling.
We pulled into Kansas City late last night for a quick nap. Not sleep. Nap. We collectively are trying to catch our breath from the emotional roller coaster of yesterday. Today we have a four-hour ride to Saint Louis and then Indianapolis later. The strain of trying to herd all these queer cats is starting to show. I, for one, recognize this as a cue to keep as low a profile as possible. I don’t need no trouble from no bunch of cranky newlyweds.
My mantra: “I’m on the bus, not driving the bus, I’m on the bus, not driving the bus."
One story is the daily show. Each stop holds a surprise. Another is the continuing drama of the bus. My invisible seatmate (hah!), Rebecca used to refer this as “aviary behavior.” The pecking order. The constant juggling for position. I think I’ll keep that train of thought to myself. We are a community of good people and I shouldn’t sell us short.
So, on to Saint Louis. I’d rather focus on the exterior rather than this cage anyway. It sounds like the folks in Saint Louis have been doing a lot of work for the event this afternoon: a real coalition of groups pulling together with a projection of 1,000 attending. It’s important to not have expectations, but it is nice to have something to look forward to.
Oh, and did I mention that the toilet on the bus blew up this morning? Gee, we must be at the halfway point. I’m on the bus, not driving the bus. I’m on the bus, not driving the bus.
1:30 pm, Après St. Louis
What a warm, albeit soggy, reception from our St. Louis branch of the family. A picnic in the park. Literally! I spend a lot of time staring out the window during this trip, mostly daydreaming about lovers past and future. Or if I remembered to leave a note for the housekeeper to remind her to not let the cat out: the vital-stupid stuff of life. And, I amuse myself with billboard cruising. The bus window is like a picture frame to each world through which we pass. Wyoming gave us wide vistas, buffalo, antelope and jackknifed trucks in the center divider . Saint Louis laid out before us its Discount Bible Depots, Cracker Barrels and solid brick homes of many, many generations. Everything is solid. Everyone shakes your hand here and means it. They look you in the eye.
We knew they were glad to see us. Plenty of hot dogs to go around. Four kinds (who knew!) of macaroni salad. And, to the Widow Ewing’s highly trained eyes, some of the best looking women ever assembled in under a 300 sq. foot picnic pavilion. Sporting women. Cardinal fans. Team players. Crisp.
It felt like we were the long awaited distant relatives arriving for the family reunion. We felt embraced. As we left, a big ol’ bear took my hand in his and told me we would be in his prayers. Sounded good to me.
posted by Leslie Ewing at 8:47 PM
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