Headed Home

I am on my way home from Naples, Florida, after spending some time with my son. He is in law school there. He seems to be doing well, considering how stressful first-year law can be (I’ve heard).

Currently, I am at a Pilot truck stop in Fort Myers, waiting on a bus to Orlando, Fl. where I will catch a train back to South Carolina. You’re probably wondering why I didn’t book a flight.

Number 1, I thought it was too expensive. Number 2, I don’t like airplanes. I’m not one of those people who hasn’t flown much, or at all. While in the Navy, I was on at least 100 flights. At least two of those flights were on helicopters. I would say 5% of those flights were pretty sketchy.

I’ve been on a plane that lost an engine; a plane that nearly landed in the water; a plane that came close to hitting a helicopter, one that landed way too hard…You get the picture.

I think I know every sound an airplane makes. If I hear anything different, it makes me very nervous. So, I stay on the ground when it is at all possible. That makes my travel days very long most of the time.


Today, I chose Amtrak. It will be my first time traveling by train. I hope it will be relaxing. I bought a seat in coach, and I don’t really know what to expect. I will probably be pretty tired when I get back home. No time to rest, though, because I need to clean my house (don’t ask).

I am looking forward to getting home. Hopefully, I can get back to a regular practice schedule. I don’t think I will ever be able to quit trying to learn music. It is part of my DNA, I guess.

Naples is an excellent place, but it does not compare to Naples, Italy. They are both crowded cities with crazy drivers. However, one is better because it’s in Italy. And in Italy, the food is better, and there are more interesting sights. Like I said, no comparison. I guess only I would think to compare the two cities.

Anyway, I was mostly there to see my son, and he was pretty busy. I really didn’t get to see much. I am glad to be going home. My body longs for my own bed.


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