Christmas card from a DJ in St. Paul

I-80 between Des Moines and Omaha is pitch black by 5 o'clock in the evening...not much traffic. Once away from the city, the only evidence of the wind turbines was their collision avoidance beacons, each firing off at a different time than those around it....a strand of giant red lights against black nothing. I must've spent 15 minutes trying to come up with a red light district joke that would work with a farming community tie in...but I got nothin'. Obviously I had begun to go a little car crazy with nothing but the hum of tires with 30% tread and green mile markers to look at. My phone's 'This American Life' app only works with a solid network connection, so that was a bust...consequently I think I memorized the new Cadillac Sky record.

One track in particular really got me inside my head. I had a full 90 minutes to remember.

I'm runnin' at 72 mph in a tin can, listening to this song and thinking about the time dad took me to Dairy Queen on the back of his motorcycle after I had worked in the yard all afternoon. I was so tired, I lapped at that ice cream cone for all I was worth. I remember struggling to stay awake after the exhilaration had worn off. All those brilliant moments when dad would make a sharp, swooping turn, and quick starts from a stoplight where he'd goose that old 550 enough to snap my head back a little. Permagrin.

I remembered how excited mom used to get around this time of year, how her Christmas spirit was indefatigable. Thanks to mom and her Christmas club account, us kids always had some nice gifts and appreciation for the meaning behind them on Christmas morning. I was a little disgusted to remember how we would chuck the socks and undershorts aside, and how we'd empty the fruit from our stockings right back into the crisper. Mom told me once that they always got fresh fruit in their stockings when they were kids, that was a real treat. And I'll be honest with you, I kinda wish I had gotten some boxers and socks this year, I'm in need. The toiletries mom put in there would be welcome, too.

My brother and I connected on a new level this trip. We played guitar for two hours straight Christmas Eve...and I just want to say that all the time and money I've spent on guitar lessons and practicing paid off some huge dividends. I recorded us playing there in his basement...they'll never go gold, but they are to me.

I left home with anticipation, and was not disappointed. I left feeling like a ghost and returned whole and buoyant...renewed.

And I'm just getting started into the planning stages of next summer's trip into the Badlands with my brother from another mother.