I’ve just returned from 9 days wandering around western Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee on vacation with my husband, and I’m here to tell you that if a marriage can survive more than 1500 miles of driving in  9 days, it can survive anything. The old guy gets car sick–not the throwing up version, but the version that turns a happy camper into a guy with a headache, greenish face, and an aversion to living–on winding mountain roads, especially if he’s not driving, so the Blue Ridge Parkway was a curious choice for our vacation. Air Force One would have been quite a help to us getting across those beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, but we didn’t coordinate with the Obamas in time to hitch a ride. We had no idea they were heading to Asheville for some R & R, but we decided at the last minute to veer toward Blowing Rock instead.

I’m guessing that Barack and Michelle did not get to take in many of the sights that we came upon while meandering along the backroads. I actually missed the best sight of all as I was paying attention to the insanely treacherous mountain road, but Ed snorted and said I had just driven by a twelve year-old boy in nothing but his underpants throwing rocks at some ducks in a creek–he wasn’t laughing at that–it was the sight of another boy just above the creek on a roadside porch pointing a shotgun.  Ed was just glad he’d lived to tell the tale. I was so mad I’d missed the scene, I wanted to turn back, but thought better of it. Our trip had better moments than that, I swear, but the good stuff will have to wait.