Maybe he has a point. Every August, when we begin our long drive to
He is free to listen to music, or to the news, or to talk on the cell phone, none of which distract me. Once I have engaged my gears, the RPMs (rhymes per minute) keep accelerating and my mind drives full speed ahead.
Oh, I could see myself in a spiffy new car, with lavish leather reclining seats, climate control, quiet interior, mood lighting and a computer with satellite Internet connection.A limo is actually what I have in mind. Instead, we travel in my husband’s work van, loaded chock-full of luggage, 212 pounds of dogs and cat, and towing a sailboat. It happens to be a very nice, roomy vehicle, but its rigid suspension makes for a rather stiff and bumpy ride, and its lack of sound insulation creates a non-stop drone that resembles a ride in an old
But all of this is irrelevant, for I have entered a blissfully oblivious state, and the only sound I hear is the playful babble in my brain.
My facial expressions, I am told, range from agitated twitches to motionless, blank stares. Rob will sometimes try to talk to me, or take my pulse if I don’t respond. But when I do look at him, my expression is glazed-over and strange. He has every right at that point to demand: “Who are you and what have you done with my wife?’
But, he is a patient and supportive man. Rather than feeling abandoned, he spurs me on. And whether it’s his big heart, or strong instinct for survival, he always assumes all of the driving when I am moved to write.
And now I need to talk to my accountant.
Posted by Iza Trapani, author and illustrator of loads and loads of books, but most recently Rufus and Friends: Rhyme Time, our characters of the month (see the bottom of the blog).
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