I went to a meeting in the “big city” yesterday; it required spinning around on Satan’s Highway, aka Route 128 in Massachusetts. I got home after dark.
My driveway is big and it has an entrance and an exit, used interchangeably depending on the weather and which direction I’m heading. Sometimes motorists think the driveway is a “U-Turn” but it’s not. It’s private property.
Last night, a car drove in one entrance and drove up to the other one. The car idled in place for five minutes. It made me uncomfortable. What if it was a stalker or a killer on the loose? I’ll show them who’s the boss of this driveway tonight!
I got in my car, drove up next to the vehicle, and rolled down my passenger window, tossing all caution to the wind. I said “May I help you?”
A man on a cell phone said “I’m just making a call.”
“This is a private driveway. Move along.”
I was surprised to hear those words come out of my mouth in real life. I only like confrontation in my dreams.
He moved along.
Dreams were not plentiful last night, but I have a “back bench” of blog posts for days like today when my noggin hurts and I’m stoopid with fatigue. I can write a “flashback” post and link to some older stories I’ve written. It’s not my favorite approach, but it seems more responsible than posting a bunch of BLEEP.
I was going to write about “seeds” and “seed catalogs” today, so park your Pinto for a minute or two and read some past posts.
Here’s a serious post about GMO seeds.
Here’s a silly post about dreams and seeds.
Here’s a picture of a seed packet.