My Old Kentucky HomePosted: May 15, 2011
The fam and I left Little Rock on Friday afternoon (May 13th). If I said it was bittersweet, I’d be lying (and totally cliché). You all know I love good food, so we stopped at one of my favorite restaurants just outside Memphis. It’s a little place with great burgers and a cute window on the side for people to drive up and take out. I think it’s even named after a girl with red hair, just like Caroline. Man, I love Wendy’s. By the time we got to Nashville I felt like I had old oil sludge running through my bowels.
This was Caroline’s first big car trip, and she handled it beautifully. She slept through Tennessee, which I was particularly proud of, and woke up in Kentucky with a smile. She must’ve been exhausted from the packing and driving (which is weird, since her lazy butt didn’t pack a single box), because she slept off and on consistently for about 24 hours from the time we left. It’s taken her about 36 hours to get back to normal and figure everything out—but I can tell that homegirl loves her dad’s old Kentucky home. Rosie and I are excited to walk around campus with her, and show her where our love blossomed like acne on a 13-year-old.
I have already made two trips to Wal-Mart, as I am somehow contractually obligated to do in my first 18 hours back in the Bluegrass state. The whole town of Berea appeared to be there Saturday night. I guess when there are no good movies out, and the Huddle House is out of business, what else are you supposed to do?
So, I’m now one step closer to Canada, my personal Shangri-La. The home of Joey Votto and ice-road trucking and the metric system. One week in the heart of horse country, and another in the flat farmlands of southern Michigan. Then, across the border for socialized medicine, higher taxes, and hockey.