We were headed back home after leaving The Grand Canyon. I must once more blame my faulty memory for forgetting much of the trip back to Indiana. A few things do come to mind when looking at pictures from the trip and also from talking to Cindy and friends we have verbally told about our honeymoon.
For instance, we made a stop at Four Corners, where the states of Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico and Utah meet. I know because we have a picture of me standing on the site. I didn’t choose to use that picture because it once again shows that I should never allow my picture to be taken when I’m wearing shorts and a T-shirt. I think that I still have the sandals that I’m wearing in the picture.
I remember that Cindy freaked out when we were driving down the mountain from Wolf Creek Pass in Colorado. Something similar happened in Nevada last year. I love the mountains, but I’m not sure that it is worth seeing them when they have such a traumatic effect on my wife.
Of course I remember Hannibal, Missouri, the site of our first major blowup as a married couple. I don’t remember the incident that started everything, but it had to do with my driving. Cindy was not liking the way I was driving, and was letting me know it. Finally I got very irritated with what I considered back-seat driving and said, “Face it! You’re just like my mother!” Friends, that was the wrong thing to say.
Cindy snapped, “Pull over and stop the car.” I did so, thinking that she wanted my full attention. In a way she did, because she got out of the car and started walking.
Now I had options. 1) I could park the car and walk to catch up to her and try to cajole her back to the car. Or 2) I could drive slowly along beside her, incurring the wrath of the people in the cars behind me, while I tried to get her back in the car. Or 3) I could take the bridge across the river to Illinois and wait for her on the other side. While option 3 had a strong appeal, I chose option 2. She settled down enough after a couple of blocks to get back in the car. I learned my lesson. I don’t believe that I have ever again compared her to my mother…at least when I’m driving.
Tomorrow: The last honeymoon post. I promise!