We're home from Modesto. My son's team won the two games they played (both shut outs!) they won the 3rd by forfeit since the other team missed the team check in. This means they advance in the tournament and next weekend we're in beautiful Ripon CA, not so far from Modesto, I'm sorry to say. Sigh. Now it's win or you're out so we'll see what happens.

Anyway, the GPS was worth every freaking penny it cost. EVERY ONE. Of course I missed a turn on the way to Modesto, in the dark, right where there are no fewer than a bazillion intersecting freeways (580, 680, 880, 980, 24 all with east and west flavors.) If not for the GPS I would have been hopelessly lost in a very bad part of Oakland with no clue how to get where I was supposed to be. GPS - how do I love thee? Let me count the ways: times spend actually hopelessly lost: 0. Number of Carolyn-esque wrong turns that turned out OK: 5. I spent practically no time feeling stressed. In fact the only really stressful moment of the trip was in the garage when the thing you're supposed to affix to the dashboard to hold the GPS came un-affixed. Duct tape fixed it back up. Yes, my dashboard looks totally stupid and crass at the moment, but I'll track down a better class of GPS dashboard holder and all will be well.

I got very little work done, but while I was staring at my laptop, thinking about chapter 10, I had a very interesting thought and decided what the hell? So I wrote one sentence of what-the-hell idea and it was good. Then I fell asleep.

Now we're home. The laundry's done. The car's unloaded. I made cookies with my niece. My dog and Jasper the cat are excited to have me home. I am glad to be home and going to bed early.

Labels: the art of being lost, writing