The Pursuit of Happiness

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I’ve been doing a job of work up in Nebraska and spend time on I-49 and I-29 between here and Omaha. It’s a pleasant drive and, except for 60 miles of metropolitan Kansas City, the land rolls by in a Rothko styled tableau that is both fecund and abstract. There isn’t anything worth listening to on the radio and my cell phone is deader than Lincoln’s mother; I enjoy the resulting isolation and discover I can still tolerate my own company; I am grateful for both of these blessings.

I tell myself jokes. Did you know there’s a new Bill Clinton soup recipe? It’s a wiener in hot water. Ba da bing…

And I remember I haven’t begun my Christmas shopping yet. There’s a Love’s truck stop at the next exit and I think about pulling in to kick-start the holiday potlatch. But I don’t. The boss and I will give each other the same four things we’ve given each other for the last 10 years. My haul will include a Snickers bar (large), and she’ll get a bottle of perfume and 3 gift certificates from local clothing stores. I’ll get socks and a $4 cigar from the kids.

I suppose I’ve described a lack of imagination, and maybe energy, but the word “comfortable” fits and feels better. We’ll exchange these gifts, eat good food, and doze off and on during the Denver-Oakland game. Through it all, Frankie the Wonder Dog will make a nuisance of herself and, at four o’clock, pals from Blue Eye will show up and we’ll do it all over again. Lack of imagination is subsidized by love and gratefulness for one another.

By the time I get to Omaha there’s snow on the ground, and just about every house is wreathed in light and radiates with Midwestern cheerfulness. It’s a beautiful and orderly city, and the folks I work with are smart and hardworking in similarly cheerful ways. We drink coffee on our breaks and, in honor of the season, eat fruitcake and frosted cookies. Early the next afternoon I’m back on the road and can’t wait to get home.

Merry Christmas, dear friends.

1 COMMENT

  1. Sounds like a good pre-Christmas ritual. My “tree” is still NOT up. Recuperating from windows installation has put quite the damper on things. But I’m plodding forward. If I run out of time, I’ll shove stuff in the closed-off back bedroom. It probably won’t see the daylight until this time next year. Like dozens of other boxes. Merry Christmas, Dan, Susan and Frankie.

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