This time last week I was on a road trip.
I love a road trip, 5 hours on a highway with big blue skies, a talking book, singing from the top of my lungs to some very daggy 80’s pop songs (Spandau Ballet, anyone?), and stopping for coffee in small country towns with old pubs and their wobbly verandahs and tin roofs. And then there’s the nostalgia of driving down the main street in the country town where you learnt to drive.
It was a great weekend and not only because it was warm and sunny (take note Melbourne, any time you want to stop this miserable swing back to winter would be most welcome). I raided Mum’s stash of solid gold 70’s craft books (more of that to come) and got quite a bit of work done. My second brother was in town and stayed on a little longer to see me. We took him to the train station on Saturday and waited with him for the 1:07 to Sydney. It was a complete trip down memory lane. See that footbridge over the train tracks? That’s the footbridge we used to walk over to get to the main street from my high school. As I sat on the platform, listening to the sparrows in the background, I could picture myself walking across the bridge and all the long forgotten faces of old school friends. It was so long ago. I think I’ve changed so much since then. Then I think I haven’t changed so much since then. A trip back to your childhood hometown can be a bit freaky sometimes!
Clearly it’s a genetic thing, to think creatively when problem-solving, to make do with what I have at hand. This is my brother. He’s a builder and very good at thinking outside the square. And what’s a smart builder going to do when he doesn’t have a pocket for his pencil? Tucks it into his socks, of course! I’m proud of that thinking. Way to go, bro!