What I like most about this photograph is that we aren't all perfect. I have a week's worth of perfect of the girls but then I have this. We were on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel where you can pull over right before the first tunnel traveling southbound having left at 6:30 and traveled approximately 150 traffic free miles. It's a 537 or 38 (depending on the direction) drive which went very smoothly in terms of how that drive normally goes right up until we hit the end of the Jersey Turnpike, just before the Vince Lombardi truck stop which is my stop of last resort if I need gas.
The tolls were backed up in a way which didn't make sense for the relative sparseness of traffic but became flat out apocalyptic on the other side. It so bad it was actually funny. Seventy minutes and ten or fifteen miles later we made it through the GW tolls, across the bridge and onto the Henry Hudson where the traffic vanished and remained vanished all the way home. Thirteen hours with one long stop and two short stops isn't too shabby.
Lucia's boyfriend arrived to take her home and Elizabeth and I fell on the couch with our books. I got through two and more than half of the third in a series and wasn't ready to stop reading. At about 9 PM I realized I was feeling a deep, low humming coming through the couch where I was sitting. I asked Elizabeth if she could feel or hear it. Negative. She sat in my seat. Negative.
Extended road vibrations. That's all I've got.
I notice I'm avoiding the office and I've run out of time. This is the first time my hair has not been on fire since February 29 and as much as I love the place, I'm not quite ready to walk back through those doors.