In a world that is in a chaotic spin, Race Card races all the way to the Oval Office, Cop killings, pending invasions from foreign countries, terrorism, liberalism run amuck. On the news, the retaliatory riots presented, and one fool in a brand new $60,000.00 Dodge Challenger Hellcat crashed and was found sitting by the curb.
Told a person, if you want to watch drama and cop-killings, all you have to do is turn on the news as its now at everyone’s doorstep. They replied, “yeah right, it’s getting stupid all right.” Tired of Christmas specials, visual topics of love and peace; they pick up the remote changing the channel to a mystery murder show, tie all the cop shows together and you have episode one million nine hundred fifty nine. Typical words spoken today though, when dealing with anything concerning life, words overshadowed in little white lies.
Reminds me of a woman I ran across while waiting to pay my tab at the gas station so that I could get back on the road. She was in her 60’s, but her mind was locked in a perpetual state of drug-dumb, talking as if she was back in the late 1960’s, in some dirty Haight Ashbury room covered in posters and beads doing drugs with the Grateful Dead and the Mama’s & Papas. She asked in her weak and spindly mind, “when did we start using unleaded gas?” The answer never understood or accepted by the woman, “about forty five years ago.”
Need an escape! But where to? How? To the internal bank of good memories, never tainted, never to be destroyed by human hands. It is believed that good memories are stored safely in heaven, they stay there till we make it home, making eternity peacefully pure of depression; even if dementia overcomes us before our passing here on this non-coherent orb with all its favored drama filled days and nights.
Two cars, two hearts, one love shared; and a long drive on Highway-5. The smile instantly regains control of my face, cheeks raised, the warmth of a beautiful memory, a beautiful time.
The tugging of the heart, so strong at times; it feels as if your soul is being pulled through your chest by the very roots. Common the turning at the road sign, away, away, away; turning back so overwhelming and wished for when knowing love waits for the return trip home, but you must make the trip before you can return.
Passages of time, one left before the other, a parents need for one or the other of the the drivers, two different times and places, the reunion welcomed; Ruby’s on the pier, love and holding tight in the foggy setting of the day.
Midnight rolls in, loves driving wheel, Highway-5 through the clutter of L.A., till the city dwellers leave the freeway behind for their neighborhoods of chaotic uncertainty. Drive, leave it all behind. Northbound, through Valencia, Castaic, Gormen, beyond Lebec; up and over the Grapevine to home.
From Sylmar to Highway-152, every rest area along the way, an opportunity, a hug, a kiss waits behind the wheel; to some a waste of time spent. Nonetheless, we stopped, each one, every stop, love quietly glistening; embrace, embraced, embracing still.
The sun slowly took over the morning, the reddish orange light of day, what a time of togetherness, under the heavenly painted sky. Some people believe in love, they see two people hugging, the vision reminds them to call home, to hold their spouse no matter the reason for their drive. Truckers would blow their horns as they traveled past, thinking of their wives and families they have back home; maybe they will call home spending more time than usual as they try harder to convey their love to one another.
In later years, if they emulate what they see, as life takes its coarse as life always does, maybe they will know that every second of time, every embrace with the one they love; maybe they will understand that every moment taken is loves beautiful blessing.
Soon we see the sign, Highway-152 West, Gilroy, Morgan Hill, Highway-101; Los Banos, Next Exit. Exit taken, three stops then home, three more chances to hold, to embrace before parking the cars, unloading the duffel and the cases, before the drive will be over till the next drive comes around.
The shortest long and winding road, Highway-152 from Highway-5 to Highway-101, the last leg home. We stop, the expanse of water, San Louis Rey Reservoir, home is just ahead, the journey filled with love. We kiss, we hold, we love. We enter the roadway, only to pull into Pacheco, western shore of the reservoir just visited. Our hearts guiding our way, souls full, wanting to be home while not wanting the journey to end.
We enter the road finding the last stop, Casa de Fruta, the fruits of the valley come together there, Apple’s, oranges, all the candies a sweet tooth can handle. The Peacocks dragging their long beautiful feathers around, ducks – Mallard and Indian Runners tucking themselves in the tall grass, walking with their wee waddling babies.
We leave, our tired eyes, yearning for home, Highway-101 just ahead, we take the back road, through Gilroy to Monterey, the old Highway-101, the El Camino Real all the same road. Once a footpath for the priest on their way to the missions along the inland side of the once rugged coast.
Northbound, the traffic light, Vineyard, then Lacrosse, home, the journey finished.
We unload the cars, walk J.J. down to the dry river bed of rocks and dirt, he runs, he runs, he returns; we are home. For once, together or separate, in our needs to travel, the road signs didn’t pull at our souls, our longing to turn around was not controlling our hearts; for once the journey was shared together.
We shared the same journey with my daughter’s, through rain and Tule fog, two separate cars, one love; whether they knew it or not, the love was there.
Through the miles driven, the stops taken, the time given and shared; a lesson given from one soul to another, and from one heart to another, is that Loves Journey never ends.