Hello, Memphis

Next week this time, I'll be packing. I'll be feeling like this. Next week, I'll drive to Memphis to meet Diahn for our bi-annual visit. Next week is my birthday. I'll be forty-something. I have a tendency to round-up my age. Might as well be 50. Ask Diahn.

Next week, I will shed my responsibilities for three blissful days and head north, just to be Melinda, with someone who probably knows me better than I know myself.
I will wear my imitation converse sneakers and mismatched colorful scarfs. I will take endless photos of everything I see. I will drive through the great state of Arkansas, alone.


I will sample fabulous Bar-B-Que.


I will listen to The Decemberists, the Dixie Chicks, Mat Kearney and Springsteen along the way and bellow at the top of my lungs.

I will stay awake until nearly dawn, talking, taking in every moment, every smile, every story, drinking fine wine and being silly...downright goofy, really. That's how we roll. We've known each other for so many years. And we're eerily alike. Sisters.

I will explore.

I will bask in the complete and utter beauty of doing whatever I want, whenever I want to. As long as Diahn wants to do whatever I want, whenever I want to. And she will. Because we're like Ike and Mike.

Here's what I will NOT do during those three days:

1. Doctors appointments
2. Ortho appointments
3. Dentist appointments
4. Cleaning
5. Cooking
6. Laundry
7. Sweeping
8. Working
9. Try to reason with teenagers (oxymoron)
10. Worry
11. Pay bills
12. Do dishes
13. Anything else that involves putting anyone and everyone else before myself...is that selfish? Naah...it's just three days.

And FYI...I WILL FIND ELVIS. I'm pretty sure he's still alive.