Feels good, about time
Blue skies ahead and B.S. behind.
Got the wind in my hair
I got nowhere to go so I’m already there.
And maybe Moab, maybe the Rockies
Maybe the Great Salt Plains or the hills of Kentucky.
Maybe north or maybe south.
I don’t care as long as it’s now.

So long, four wheels turning
Got a tank full of gas down the road I’m burning.
Can’t say I would and I can’t say I wouldn’t.
If I don’t come back, don’t come lookin’.

Jackson Dean

When I was 19 years old, and a sophomore at the University of Nebraska, I decided there was no way I was going to come back for my junior year. Unlike many people I know, I never liked school. I had friends who went to graduate school simply because they enjoyed attending classes and reading textbooks. Oh, and maybe they didn’t want to face the real world.

Not me. I was ready to quit after my second year. I tried to talk one of my friends — who wasn’t attending school at the time — if she would be willing to go on an adventure. Let’s pick a place — somewhere in the United States but far from Nebraska, I suggested. We can get jobs as waitresses (that’s what they called servers in those days), and just experience life in a new place and figure out what we want to be when we grow up.

I nearly had her convinced to go, but she chickened out at the last minute. I didn’t blame her. It was one of my most daring ideas. As for me, I was too scared to go it alone. I did, in fact, quit school after my sophomore year, but aside from moving to Colorado with my parents, I didn’t do anything nearly as daring as my idea of heading out with nary a plan.

I heard the song Don’t Come Lookin’ by country singer Jackson Dean the other day on the radio for the first time. I listened intently, and remembered how I felt those many years ago when I was 19 years old and ready to leap into the Great Unknown. I got nowhere to go so I’m already there.

I began daydreaming about being 19 again with no responsibilities beyond taking care of myself. I wondered what it would be like to get into a car with a full tank of gas and a pocketful of cash with more savings in the bank and begin driving. No map. No ideas of where I wanted to go. Just getting on I-80 or I-70 and heading, say, east. Maybe turning south in St. Louis. Stop in little towns and sleeping in family-owned motels. Driving until I fall in love with a town, maybe in Tennessee, and finding a job and an apartment. Calling it home for a while.

Honestly, that idea is so foreign to my personality that likes to know just what is planned for tomorrow. Still, there was a time in my life when I would have done something like that. Or at least I like to think that I would have. Since I didn’t, I’ll never know.

You all know by now that Bill and I are preparing to move into smaller digs. Nearly every day, we tackle some room — or at least some closet — and dig through the contents, pulling out the many, many things we will take to Goodwill, and lay aside the few things we will actually need when we move.

It’s very hard to make these decisions. We recently cleaned out a closet in Bill’s office in which he kept paper products. All of these paper products were in good shape. However, given that we are both retired, and given that storage space will be at a premium, we had to throw out/recycle boxes and boxes of partially used paper products like labels and postcards and transparencies (do people even use transparencies any longer?). Plain printing paper we set aside to donate to an elementary school or a day care center.

I recently took a look at the appliances that live in my kitchen. I have a four-slot toaster, a Kitchenaid Pro, a toaster oven, a citrus juicer, a waffle iron, a food processor, a blender, blah, blah, and blah. Some of these won’t make the cut.

My Kitchenaid Pro is probably my favorite appliance. I use it for lots of things, but I especially like to use it in making bread. However, it’s big. Very big. And it’s not always my friend. On two occasions, after I got my ingredients into the bowl, I pushed go and it didn’t go. Nothing. Nada. Nichts.

The second time this happened was just last week. My Gloor temper fired up and I nearly threw it in the garbage can. I didn’t, but what I DID do was get on Amazon and order my new Kitchenaid Artisan Mini that I was considering purchasing for its smaller footprint. Not only is it smaller, but it works much better for making small batches of whatever, something I’m more prone to do these days.

About an hour after I made this spontaneous purchase, I went to my Kitchenaid Pro and pressed on once again. Of course, you can predict what I am going to tell you. The machine began working as though it had never had a problem. I successfully completed my batch of cinnamon biscotti.

The next day, I waited patiently for my friendly Amazon delivery person to deliver my new Kitchenaid Artisan Mini. It didn’t arrive until late that evening, so I left it in the kitchen to open the next morning.

When I pulled it out of its box, it was so small and adorable that I literally said out loud, “Awwwww.” The accessories are also so very tiny and cute. It’s kind of like a Barbie mixer on steroids…..

Never fear. I have a plan. I will bring both mixers with me to my new home. I will store Big Mama in our storage bin and put Little Bitty on the counter because I will use that one most often.

I was explaining this to my sister Bec the other day. I meekly admitted that in addition to those two mixers, there is a Kitchenaid Classic that is currently living in my basement. It works fine, but the mechanism to holds the bowl up is broken. It was going to be expensive and a pain to fix, so I decided to purchase the Kitchenaid Pro.

“I’m the only person I know who owns three Kitchenaid mixers — a Dad, a Mom, and a Baby.”

“Kris,” she said in a big sister tone of voice. “You own four. Don’t forget your Kitchenaid in AZ.”

Oh yeah. Pepto Bismol pink. How could I forget her?

Some people collect stamps…..

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress,
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country love
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness,
And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years,
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

Oh beautiful for halcyon skies
For amber waves of grain
For purple mountain majesties
Above the enameled plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
Till souls wax fair as earth and air
And music-hearted sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress,
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
Till paths be wrought through wilds of thought
By pilgrims foot and knee!

Oh beautiful for glory-tale
Of liberating strife,
When once and twice for man’s avail
Men lavished precious life!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
Till selfish gain no longer strain
The banner of the free!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years,
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
Till nobler men keep once again
Thy whiter jubilee!

Inspired by a trip to Pikes Peak in 1893, Katherine Lee Bates
wrote the poem America the Beautiful. Her poem first appeared in print on July 4, 1895, in The Congregationalist, a weekly journal. Ms. Bates revised the lyrics in 1904 and again in 1913.