Wednesday, March 3, 2010


I love to drive. And since I hate post-9/11 airports we have done mostly road trips since then. To Nova Scotia, to the Grand Canyon, to New York. The feeling of the country-side slipping by beneath the wheels of the car is seductive. But from time to time I would love to be a passenger. Steve was just getting his licence at age 30, when I met him. He creamed the transmission in the car I had at the time. Since then he has christened every vehicle we have owned with a dent. Generally, I insist on taking the wheel.

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