Back to Indiana Again

See? That's me, standing next to the USAirways jet, flexing my arm muscles preparing to strangle whichever toddler decides to scream for 3 hours as though she's being drawn and quartered. I will threaten to make that a reality. There are all kinds of clever things you can rig up with a heavy steel beverage cart.

This will be another quick trip to see the family. I'm taking advantage of having Veteran's Day off. I cannot wait to get away from Phoenix. Not that I don't love pollution so thick that your lungs escape through your esophagus during the night and leave a sticky note telling you to "Eat Dogsh*t." And not that I don't simply adore constant road rage and police copters circling and swooping as though I have used a staple gun to attach a gaggle of felons to our roof. I love these things!

But there is nothing like the hometown, and driving the parents' big Lincoln from one end of town to the other in 2 minutes without even speeding. We cruise around together and I get to relieve my mother of her driving duties, as we frequent the usual haunts: Walmart, Long John Silver's, the holistic pharmacy.

"This is nice. I miss being able to just ride and look at things," she says.

After Mom and Dad have gone to bed each night, I sit outside in their garage to talk on the phone, so as not to wake them. My spot of choice: the seat of their golf cart, with my feet propped up onto the drink holder. Scott and I talk until my cell phone sizzles into the side of my head like a branding iron.

When I'm in Phoenix I miss my family. When I'm "home" I miss Scott. I am now nothing but a big perplexed cat. I want out this door. I want back in.

Now out.
In.
Both.