Not the Troof

(Troof = Truth that way my really young daughter used to say the word. Still cracks me up because, no matter if you thought she was telling the truth, SHE thought she was. That’s usually all that mattered.)

What’s with those fancy overhead digital road bulletin boards needing a ‘nothing’s going on’ message? It’s not like my eyes, tired from watching the idiocy around me, couldn’t use a break. No, I get some notice about Report Suspicious Behavior. Hmm, eerie shades of 1984, which I re-read last year. What’s next?: Yesterday’s 3-vehicle Pileup did not Happen. Out Unrepaired PotCraters did not damage your axle. Have you had a Big Mac today? When I’m on the Washington Beltway at rush hour, trust me when I say I have many better, life-preserving things to do than ponder the suspicious activities that may be around me. Unless you consider a 90-mph motorcycle a tad suspicious (is he late meeting his girlfriend? Is she late and he’s skipping town? Is he just compulsively stupid?)

I’m crossing Kansas, unfortunately figuratively. Go figure that, of the many unfulfilled dreams in my life, touring the Midwest during tornado season would be one of them. I imagine a springtime Turin would impress, a fall Pyrenees would boggle and a summertime Antigua would simply titillate. But the Midwestern expanses sound nearly as bountiful to the body and mind as the captivating expanse of the Russian steppe or Ukrainian backcounty. Ahhh, throw in a great tornado and my thoughts fly about as nicely as an old barn’s contents…