Seattle Rentals

Yesterday I was with mom at a car rental place getting a car to explore Mount Rainier. We had made the trip to Seattle from Phoenix and were excited to finally be getting a car to take our journey out of the city. After confirming our rental we went to the car lot and stood in line for an agent to take us to our car.

A nice looking tall man came up and confirmed my name saying he would take us to our rental that morning We walked through the parking lot and I quipped that a small car would be preferable as I drove better in little vehicles. He assured me it would be an economy car which worked great for me. As we neared the end of the lot he slowed a little looking around and commented that he thought there were economy cars at that end. We walked a little further and sure enough, there they were, two little cars just hiding behind a large SUV. I pointed to the little silver car on the left and said that would be perfect.

We started through the various routines, verifying the GPS was in the car, how to get out of the lot, loading our bags into the car, etc. Then the agent pulled out his tablet to finalize everything and asked about insurance. We debated the merits of insurance versus just using my own to cover and finally decided to go with the insurance.

Just as I finished signing mom pointed to a scratch on the paint near the gas tank and asked if that would be an issue. The agent explained that the scratch wasn't deep enough to warrant as an insurance issue because they could just buff it out. Well, it was at that moment that my brain decided to kick into humor mode. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep. Maybe the early up before the crack of dawn wake up. Or it could have been a serious caffeine deprivation finally coming head. Whatever the reason, my internal filter had completely shut down.

Just as the agent states, the car is fully insured, I lift my hand in the air with the car key in it and shout "FULLY INSURED!!!!!" and proceeded to act like I was keying the car. Mom and the agent both stopped and stared. I stopped and looked up, the agents eyes practically bugged out and jaw was wide open. I laughed quietly and said, "Kidding." Mom and the man just started laughing, the agent looked shocked and quipped, "The cars covered for damage but don't do it in front of me!"

Ladies and gentlemen, this experience is complete proof that a lack of internal filter, sleep, and a good dose of cynicism may very well result in giving a car rental agent a heart attack.

Travel and writing

In traveling having a romantic mind can be a dangerous thing. I think about the next journey I want to take and find myself thinking about the potential for the perfect story, the perfect romance. These things never come to fruition but it certainly gives me some material for my stories. I find as I see beautiful destinations or locations that hold a little enchantment that I can't help but wonder how I could work it into a story. 

I've been up the California coast and watched little white butterflies flutter among purple flowers while enjoying a meal on the patio of a small cafe. I wondered about the butterflies and what magic they might bring to that space. I've traveled along beaches and pictured meeting a handsome stranger with his great dog. I've stood on the cliffs of Ireland and journeyed in my mind on the daring tales of a faerie and her friends. I pictured the genteel nature of southern gentleman while walking the boardwalk in Texas or North Carolina. 

No, the imaginings of my mind don't come true to my own life but I still greatly appreciate every experience. While reality is different than what my imagination stirs up, I find that every experience leaves me with a desire to see more, and wish to visit new destinations. With each real life experience my imagination flows a bit more and before I know it, I have another story idea, another journey of the imagination that happily hops into the queue in my mind, impatiently hopping from one foot to the other while waiting its turn to change from imagined to reality on the pages of a book.

Wind

Music blared through the headphones of my favorite band as I settled into the backseat of my mom's car. At ten years old, I was a travel buddy to mom while she drove the family car to Indiana where we would meet up with my dad and brother on a visit around Indiana, Michigan, and into Canada to visit family and friends. My cherished Walkman was nestled between my leg and seat of the car. I held tightly to my Laura Ingalls Wilder  book while trying to push my hair off my face. I had been spending time alternating between reading the book, cozy in the back of the car, and watching the changing scenery as we traversed across the country.

Mom and I were driving back to Indianapolis from Phoenix together to on an amazing trip I won't forget. There were moments of flat landscape and the trip was long but I don't really remember ever really being bored by the trip. There was so much to see, and even when the landscape was flat as we crossed Oklahoma I remember recalling reading Little House on the Prairie and her description of the prairie land and how miles ahead of her and mile after there was nothing but flat grassland. I'd heard description of this part of the country as being flat and dull but I was fascinated. In my ten year old mind, it was awesome to see this part of the world. All I had been exposed to in my life was the mountainous terrain of Arizona and the hot valley, Phoenix, where we lived. I'd never experienced anything outside of Arizona and this was all new to me.

Going through the Texas panhandle was interesting as we passed over hot dry grasslands where it didn't seem were moving. I remember stopping for gas and a quick lunch at a cafe and gas station. I remember picking out a small horse with plastic hair and a velvety type material over the horse designed to make the horse feel real. It wasn't exactly realistic but I loved it just the same.

We crossed into Missouri and we crossed over a river, it wasn't huge but it was full of water. I asked my mom what they did with all that water. When she told me they didn't do anything with it, my reply "What a waste." She still laughs about that response today. In my perspective, living in Arizona it was all about conserving water, not letting any of it go to waste. So why would any other part of the country be different. My exposure to water running under a bridge to this date was either a canal channeling water for use or a flash flood which usually resulted in the bridge getting closed.

We spend hours in the car stopping for food or gas. At times mom would pull to the side of the road and make me run around the car a  few times to keep me up and moving. I was lulled by the movement of the car and happy to read my book and listen to my tapes. I don't know how much of the trip the windows stayed down but that is what stands out to me, blasting music, fighting wind while trying to turn the pages of my latest Laura Ingalls Wilder and watching the countryside move past, all while the wind blew into the car. It brushed my face, sent my hair flying all over but was an enjoyable feeling of flying.