Well, we got here late yesterday afternoon, as planned. Still, as relatively painless as the drive was, it took its toll. Somewhere in the Great Big Illinois Nothing along the western reaches of I-88, I started to get a scratchy throat. By the time we got to Downer’s Grove, I was sniffling–but there’s no way to blow your nose while attempting a transition onto I-294, trust me. Carol gave me a Zicam as soon as I could take one hand off the wheel for a few seconds, and half an hour later, we go to the condo intact.
That last forty minutes was some of the gnarliest driving I’d done since we left Phoenix six years ago.
We didn’t feel much like prowling for supper after a drive like that. My sister came to the rescue by ordering a take-out Italian feast from Salerno’s on Wolf Road in Mt. Prospect, and once a little of their superb chicken tetrazini went down the hatch, I was a far happier guy. Julie is walking now, and big sister Katie is very close to carrying on coherent conversations. Kids grow up fast when you’re not looking, even if you stop looking for only a month or so.
I was in bed by 9:15 and slept until 6:30. I’m still sniffling, but don’t panic: It’s the same damned cold I always seem to get after a period of intense stress and expenditure of energy. There’s a lot to do this trip, and I’m by no means done with my book, but I’m taking today off, and in a moment I’m going back to bed for awhile. If I can keep my butt in bed and not expend any more energy than I already have, the cold will be gone tomorrow morning. That’s the plan, at least. I’ll let you know how well I do.
