Today my dad says to me: "Don't drink and drive."

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At first I didn't realize that he was refering to our lunch at Biggie's Pub where I hesitated when he asked what I'd like to drink. I was dreaming of a Great Lakes Brewing Co. Christmas Ale, but asked for a Pepsi Cola. "Cola," I said, "contains a mineral that stimulates the appetite." I know it because I've been studying up on minerals lately. Clare had a test in one of her nutrition classes on Monday, and I went up to Perks to help her study on Sunday night. Coffee and flashcards. Life doesn't get better than that.

I am safe and sound in the city of my birth, Lorain. The drive home was leisurely, though my leisure added about an hour to the normal time. I stopped in Nelsonville to lament my departure over a cup of coffee. I meditated on all the wonderful friends I left behind, and nearly cried doing so. Then I stopped at an military surplus store in Lancaster that sells wool field shirts - the kind of OD green sweater that I wear. I finally stopped about twenty miles north of Columbus and a gas station. I ate a tuna sandwich and watched the sunset over an expanse of bare cornfield, the broken stalks tiny testaments to an entire year of growth.

When I passed through Oberlin, I desperately wanted to stop for another cup of coffee, but felt it best to pass straight through town. Now, I dream of riding by bike out there and staying the weekend.

Tonight I snuck over a low fence and right onto a large pot filled with dirt and six or seven small pepper plants - my mother's garden. I may have smashed one or two of the little guys, but I say, "Heck, it's November. Those guys don't have much growing to do anyways."

Well, here I am in Lorain, and I feel like a transplanted tree. This is not my forest. Not that it isn't lovely, but it's also overwhelming.

I spent some time calling all my old friends, telling them I'm in town and hoping to meet them. I'm off to visit with David right now, and I want some coffee.

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