Bittersweet

Jessi Golly is on his way to Tucson for the next leg of his epic journey across America. His friend Kiley is expecting him Wednesday. Get on the bus, Gus, don't need to discuss much, just drop off the key, Lee, and get yourself free.

There were only minor complications. To use the October 20 ticket, he had to check in at the Greyhound station and pay $10 to have it changed for departure November 7. No problem. Sometimes you get inconsistent information from different people at 1-800-houndog. This bus stops in Indianapolis, St. Louis, Oklahoma City, El Paso, and Phoenix instead of Dayton, Nashville, Dallas, and El Paso, six of one half dozen of the other. Arrival in Tucson is about the same time early Wednesday morning.

A good place for people-watching, the bus station. All sizes, shapes, colors, ages; arrivals, departures, transients. There are a million stories in the naked city. They announced the arrival at gate 14, and Jessi got in line with his backpack. Big hug. "It was good to have you home for a while. Have a good trip. Be careful; you know what you're doing." Handshake. Turn and walk out to Fourth Street, go east on Town, return a DVD at the library, go north on Grant, hit the interstate to the office, go to work as usual.

The soundtrack? WCBE played a rock version of a Hindu chant, then a very up-tempo thing called "Night Train" about lunch in Shanghai, sticky rice, business travelers, Westerners on holiday, and if it stays on schedule there will be breakfast in Bangkok. Jessi's journey will be slightly less exotic than that, but some of us can romanticize anything.

Sunday he went to see a family friend in Clintonville (see Your Worst Nightmare, August 15) and came back with a couple of good photos of a young man who went to war. Later another friend came over to our house and stayed for supper. We had a batch of bread in the oven and a cauldron of spicy bean soup in the crock pot. Gven and I were tired and ready for a black and tan after grouting the floor of the den, the dark green ceramic tile floor that Gven and Jessi laid last week. It looks great, by the way. It was pleasant to sit in the dining room and eat a meal with the bright and animated Aura and Jessi, who have know each other since fourth grade and are still fast friends.

Saturday Gven did a yoga workshop at Picturesque College with her friend Jody. It was a near-perfect day outside, so Jess and I took the canoe out on Hoover Reservoir. It's a simple matter to hoist the canoe from its sawhorses and tie it on top of the truck, drive a couple of miles to the southwestern edge of Northeasterville, push off from the muddy bank, and paddle around for an hour and a half. Well worth taking a break from yard work and other chores to get out on the water, listen to the geese, watch the blue heron, talk a little, but mainly just float and paddle on a partly cloudy Indian Summer day that defies description. Then we hauled the canoe out of the water and back to its sawhorses, and we climbed up on the roof to sweep leaves and clean gutters.

Pretty mundane stuff, but as I said, some people can romanticize anything. Let's see, he's probably crossing the Mississippi right about now.