Whether or not we're having fun seems inconsequential. I can't believe It's been three weeks since my father died.

In that time I've logged 2,304 miles between here and home: 1,920 on interstate highways and 384 in the air. That's three round trips. The road time amounts to about 30 hours give or take a couple. My last road trip north was finished in 4:48, but the trip back to Memphis took more than six hours. Starting out, lane restrictions due to construction made passing through Louisville ridiculously tedious. Later delays in Nashville for the same reason -- where six lanes dwindled to two and a "must exit" situation -- made the trip unusually long and tiresome.

I've been to the Floyd County courthouse more than a few times, just like I had the day before driving home. Leaving there, I pulled away from my curbside parking space only to immediately pull into a metered space. An offensive bird left an ugly, lumpy intrusion to cook on the windshield, squarely in my sight line, while I was indoors. Further, I'd spent $30 for a wash/detail at St. Matthews Car Wash the day before. (I know, it's a bit uppity for a car wash but if you know me and had seen my car it was a rare occasion to behold: suicidal insect carcasses plastered on the front, rain-enabled road grime everywhere else, filth on the floor mats, grimy windows). Crusty bird leavings on an otherwise sparkling car were an affront to my OCD nature. The turd had to go. Windex from the cargo box and a napkin from the glove box changed my focus.

Workers busy eradicating evidence of roads too often traveled.

Finished with eradicating the offending splotch, I pulled back out onto Market Street where I was reminded of an incident that occurred when I was very young.

Mother had taken Daddy's bright yellow, hot rod 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible to the same place for something or another and -- per his instructions, I'm sure -- backed into the metered parking space. She couldn't see over the trunk through the back window, and a side mirror is no help in such a situation. She hit the meter, bending it backward and earning a traffic citation and fine. I can't recall any damage to the bumper but I'll bet it wasn't spared. Needless to say at the very least, yelling ensued when she picked him up after his shift at Pillsbury.

My traveling days aren't finished, but I need to stop and take a breath. Catching up on paying work, housework, and yardwork sounds like a nice way to start what I expect to be a full week at home. If I can manage to kick-start my gym work in the process I'll be aces.