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Under Construction

June 21, 2012

Driving along one of the many congested slow-as-snails-on-Valium roadways here in my major Southern city, I couldn’t help but check out the scenery. (There wasn’t anything better to do.) Ah, the orange barrels, the dust, the concrete barriers, the giant earth-movers, and the red taillights snaking to either side. It made my mouth dry as the Sahara and I longed to sprout wings and soar to a fresh, fragrant new place.

On the far side of the ten lanes groaning and snorting fumes and curse words, I noticed that a concrete, sound proof (yeah, right) two-story barrier had been erected to separate a street of modest houses from the freeway, or should I say slaveway. I turned to the youngest of my brood. “How would you like to live there?” I immediately regretted my snarky comment. When they built that house had they known its owners would sleep, eat, and make love to the constant drone of fossil-fueled vehicles and later the dust and grit and moan of years of construction? I’m betting that answer would be ‘no.’

I’m on the highway heading toward building two late-in-life careers. I bought the map, entered the expectations and goals in my GPS and smoothly entered the freeway, knowing I was pointed in the right direction.

Now I’m on the road, but I’m going nowhere fast. How did my best intentions snarl into a ribbon of delay and frustration?


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