By Mike Johnson
I just returned from a ten-day trip to Minneapolis.
Now it’s all a blur.
2,325 miles on the odometer.
Hundreds of small towns.
A dozen different gas stations.
Four different hotels.
Thousands of faces at the state fair.
Hundreds of faces while biking, walking and shopping.
200 faces from my class of ‘75 reunion.
A handful of faces of close friends and relatives.
Travel is amazing just from the standpoint of returning unharmed.
All that movement.
Navigating 80-mph traffic and 30-mph city congestion.
Traversing strange places filled with unknown people.
We returned with memories and mementos so it seems we actually made the journey.
The cat is all over me, starved for attention, implying I was gone.
But like a dream, we wake up in our own bed at home sweet home.
With a deeper appreciation for all this homestead provides.
Glad I went, glad I’m home.
If it wasn’t for special events and special people, I’d never travel at all.
Perhaps I never actually left.
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