We stopped for lunch in Mobile at a seafood restaurant just off of I 10. Because they had outdoor seating, they let Snow stay with us, on a leash, of course. For a little while, it felt like old times because Chris and I chatted amiably about inconsequential things to pass the time and to make us both feel as if we had a dining companion. I have never enjoyed eating alone, so even a cheating husband was better company than no one. If it were just me, a burger in a paper bag defined lunch.
Traveling along the interstate means most of the really nice views are missed. Interstate travel is about speed–get where you are going as fast as you can. The ribbon of asphalt carved its way through a lot of trees interrupted by the inevitable fast food restaurants and gas stations along the interchanges. On only the second day of travel, I decided that the interstate highways may be the quickest way to travel, but you don’t get to see the real America. I enjoyed driving across Mobile Bay and that is all I can say about the trip through Alabama.
We arrived at the Welcome to Mississippi a short time after our lunch in the seafood place. Again, neither of us showed smiles, the earlier camaraderie gone. Clearly we still weren’t happy about having to spend time together. The trip before us seemed daunting and endless. Snow frolicked on the shoulder of the road, getting happier each minute we traveled. At least one of us was enjoying ourselves.
I emailed the photo to Mr. Cartwright and, also impulsively, I emailed one to Lily. I wondered if she missed us. I am certain she didn’t miss our fighting and arguing.
Again, the interstate provided little entertainment through Mississippi. We stopped at a couple of different interstate convenience stores to use bathrooms, grab snacks and to let Snow pee. We filled the very thirsty gas tank and I was secretly glad Lillian paid for the gas. While Chris smoked in a parking lot, I gave Lillian my gratitude.
We managed to pick up quite a bit of traffic in Gulfport, but I still maintained at least 55 mph all the way. At the Louisiana welcome station, we got out of the car and I took another selfie of the two of us. A portrait of two people who were bored, irritated, and disheveled by the road trip. The photo wheeled through cyberspace to Mr. Cartwright.
Karen Writes More Than Karen Crochets 