In case it seems moving is entirely an exercise in managing grief…

I knew it would be a challenge to begin a cross-country road trip directly after an international flight, but we were in a time crunch to get to South Carolina. Despite a lot of driving on Okinawa, I forgot how to drive long distances. On our first day driving from Arizona to Oklahoma, I was losing it mid-afternoon. My body and mind were numb and exhausted. My oldest son Ransom was my navigator and he called Matt in the truck ahead of us to let him know we needed to stop. Within a few minutes, my son and I were looking at each other in alarm as Matt slowed.

“Where is he going?” Ransom said as Matt signaled toward an off ramp. Flat roofed, squatty buildings lined the roadside, with an aged sign that read “MOTEL.” The windows were all boarded or painted over.

“Do you think they sell Diet Coke?” I joked.

“No. Just no. Where is he going? Children and dogs disappear in places like this!”

“If there’s a clown painted on the front of this building, we’re gunning it.”

We turned into the deserted parking lot for the first building that might have been an Indian trading post in its hayday. Matt drove right past it toward the second building which faced away from us. I saw a big tree ahead, and I knew that his Arizona instincts had kicked in. He was homing for the shade to let the dogs out. Ransom burst out laughing.

“What?”

“Nice, Dad. Nice.” I still hadn’t looked behind us at the entrance to the building. The gravel parking lot was empty except for a lone semi-truck.

I hopped out and began to stretch, looking over to the signs hung across the front of Club 203. The building had promotional posters tacked along the peeling siding. I blinked as I saw the first poster of a girl in a cowboy hat and little else, and by the time I finished scanning the length of the building, I was clutching my sides laughing. Matt came around the truck.

“Nice work, Chaplain—you parked us directly in front of a strip club.”

“Kids, don’t get out. Just stay there. It’s fine.” Matt waved the kids back into the trucks.

Ransom sat in the front seat stifling his laughter, his head buried in his hands. Matt and I tried to stay facing the tree, but giggles got the better of us.

“Lovely view out here.”

“Must stop location.”

“Think we should see if they have a bathroom for the kids?”

 *picture has been edited– quit zooming in*

            Within minutes, I was fully revived and able to drive again. Let’s hope this doesn’t work its way into a summer essay when the kids return to school.