I've been a little M.I. B. [Missing in Blogging?]
I've been on two trips -- and neither had Internet. One place -- the Internet was down -- the other -- not even connected. I felt like I was in a bubble for five days.
I drove down to south Georgia to see Wingate and a girl we both knew from college. Catherine drove up from Florida, and I drove down from Marietta -- and we met in the middle at Wingate's home in Thomasville, Georgia, also known as the middle of freakin' nowhere.
I mean, seriously.
I drove down in the rain on last Tuesday -- which is always a good day to be on I-75.
When it rains, people drive weird and act weird. When I taught school, kids would stand in the rain. Now that I am retired, I see that people drive long distances in the rain. This was a serious rain -- remember? -- we got five inches here...
At a rest stop in Perry, Georgia, a fellow traveler and I had this conversation in the ladies' room.
Me: Fun, huh? Driving in the rain.
Fellow traveler: It's one of the signs of the end of the world. The Rapture.
Me: Uh. Yeah. I mean, it could be.
Fellow traveler: Oh it is. It's in Revelations.
Fellow traveler: Yeah, honey, Revelations -- you need to read your Bible.
Me: I do. I really do. [sets hand dryer to turbo]
When I finally got off Interstate 75 at Cordele, Ga, I gave Wingate a call on my cell. She said cell service was terrible out there, and that I would be surrounded by plantations and nothing else.
She was right.
She didn't say cotton. Cotton was everywhere -- I kept lookin' for Scarlet. Lawd.
I stopped at a place called "Striplings" for gas. Apparently, they are proud of their hog whacking.
Over the doorway it reads, "You Never Sausage a Place."
Later, on the phone with my hubby, I tried to recreate that sign for him.
Me: It read "you never s-a-u-s-a-g-e a place.
Me: What does s-a-u-s-a-g-e spell?
Hubby: I don't know.
Me: Yes, you do.
Hubby: Spell it again.
Me: S-a-u-s-a-g-e -- the sign read "you never s-a-u-s-a-g-e a place."
Hubby: I don't get it.
Me: Sausage. You never sausage a place.
Hubby: Whatever. How is that funny?
I paid for my gas, got a few looks from some old men with few teeth, and I got back in my car and turned left headed to Thomasville.
I went the speed limit because it was raining -- however, I would like to go on record to say that the Crisp County State Prisoners' Van passed me going at least twenty miles over the limit, and its tires spewed blinding water on my windshield.
I am not sure that a prison guard was driving. I've seen that Nicholas Cage movie -- the one where the prisoners take over the plane and crash it? Nicholas Cage was all pumped up, and John Malkovich played a psycho?
Wait. John Malkovich always plays psychos. Never mind.
Well, he sure was in a hurry. Was Tuesday the night they get extra servings of spaghetti? Were they running a Clint Eastwood movie night? Were the prisoners having a knitters meeting?
When I got into Pellham, Georgia, I was temporarily distracted by a lime green 1976 Chevelle that pulled in my line of vision, but I did note that the median of the highway held 9 crosses and flags... I wondered if that was the impact of Iraq on that very, very, small town?
Wingate gives visual directions -- if she knows the names of the streets, she gives them, but some of her travel tips including "Big BP station" and apparently for my friend Catherine coming from the south, "turn right at the dumpster."
When I got in to Thomasville, I took a road over to the east side of town and to Wingate's house, which was about 7 miles out of town on a road full of nothing but big plantations, pine trees, and dark.
I arrived at her abode at 5 o'clock just before the coming of the real dark -- as my husband likes to say, "Dark thirty."
I drove in mud, pulled up to her garage doors, and there she was...
Wingate's house .. two days later when it wasn't raining.
More later -- I'm headed to Bible study -- we're studying John, but I think I need to look at Revelations.