While these past two days have been just a long haul to Wyoming, I am feeling a nostalgia attack. Our trip from Rawlins, where we spent the night, to Denver is one I took many times in the first four years of my life. Rawlins was my first home (Denver the birth place). With my mother’s family in Denver, we drove down in a big truck for holidays. According to my mother, I stood at the window in front of the cab for the entire trip, just watching the scenery. In those WWII days the road was probably two lane and the trip hours long. Now I travel on the interstate in the luxury of a home on wheels.
We went to see Harry Potter last night (very enjoyable) and past the sad little neighborhood where I lived. My only memory is of the wind blowing dust from the railroad tracks into my eyes. Looking at the town, I am grateful that my parents left and took me to the big city of Denver.
No comments:
Post a Comment