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Florida, Driving, and Dancing

We in the Midwest have started bundling up. We've had one snow already and a few times snow fell without really sticking to anything. Winter Wonderland arrived early.

I went out to start the car and realized it's time to pull the ice scraper out of storage. No sensible Midwesterner is without an ice scraper at all winter times.

It could be argued that no sensible Midwesterner stays here for the winter. They all flock to Florida.

Speaking of Florida, I just went there with my sister to visit another sister and her husband. There were a total of 4 cute kids between my two sisters--two 2-year-olds and two babies. Crazy Aunt Becka was in her element holding babies for days on end. I never get tired of babies and their squishiness.

Beach waves
Somewhere near Navarre, FL

We took some time out for fun while we were there: visiting the beach nearby and watching the Blue Angels practice their routine.

We also saw Seaside, FL, the town where The Truman Show was filmed. As beautiful in real life as in the movie.

As long as I live, I'll never tire of the sun and palm trees, the sand and waves, the smell of the salt air and the taste of fresh fish.

The driving to and from Florida was its own adventure. Nothing bad happened, but I was the designated driver--no alcohol involved. When a mother has a 2-year-old and a baby on a long trip, she spends more time in the back of the vehicle keeping little ones happy than she does in the front just enjoying the drive.

So I was the driver, a role I like very much. Driving has always been fun for me. Relaxing. Soothing. Exhilarating in some cases--like driving on a race track.

Or just creeping along in bumper-to-bumper traffic as in Nashville during rush hour. Didn't time that very well.

I think one reason I like driving is because I'm always driving toward something I love: home, family, the work I love, the places I love, something beneficial.

Driving gives me time to reset and think. I need that thinking space.


Since I'm not dead yet, I decided to learn dancing--real dancing, not just a random bee-bop move that makes me look like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld.

Besides, I don't know how to be random. I never have.

You know what I'm finding out about dancing? It's therapeutic. After a hard day, a grumpy day, a day of ups and downs, it resets me like nothing else.


Hope springs eternally.

And I can attest to that saying by my actions today and on many days past. There is a parking lot in the middle of a town nearby that is always full. Always full.

And yet I pass through each time I need a spot--only to be disappointed yet again.


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