And now we return to Monument Valley, and I am proud to share with you this image of my companion, my partner in disorganized crime, my travelling home if times get unspeakably hard, in short, my truck. I love my truck, and Truck loves road trips, particularly when they involve some form of off-roading, which our sojourn in Monument Valley did. Valley Drive, the road that runs down through the monuments, is red dust and bumps, and Truck was in her element. (Truck can switch between genders depending on the circumstances. Sometimes Truck feels female and sometimes Truck feels male. A transgender Truck. And in response to some ridiculous sentiments I have heard over the years, not all women who drive trucks are gay.)

This is my fifth Toyota pickup (shameless plug). Toyota pickups are the only vehicles I have ever bought when I was the only one making the purchasing decision. My first one was baby blue and a stick shift (which I didn’t know how to drive.) They’ve saved ex-Pat’s life twice (as he destroyed them). And my last truck is now Kelsea’s. She loves it so much that she even wrote one of her college essays about it. We’ve traveled through blizzards, fires (stupid me), and floods together. When you find something in life that’s that dependable and loveable, be it a person, an animal, or a truck, stick with it.

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Monument Valley, Arizona.

Quote of the day: “I love the smell of Waffle House; it’s the smell of freedom, being on the open road and knowing that ninety percent of the people eating around you are also on that road. Truck driver’s, road-trippers, hangovers–those who don’t live that monotonous life of society slavery.” — J.A. Redmerski…….. (but I call it Casa de Waffle)

Daily gratitudes:
MKL
Dogs with their heads out the car window
The conjunction of a planet and the moon this morning
When the antique store is open when I’m walking home
Watching little kids play soccer