Honestly, today, I’m just grateful I made it back in one tired piece last night from my foray to Charlottesville.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Herman woke up yesterday morning with a horrific allergy attack. In fact, he had already been awake half the night sneezing, snorting, and rubbing his eyes. We were both pretty wiped out but I was determined to go on to see Tippi Hedren in person. And I was equally determined that he would stay home and rest.
So for the first time in quite a few years, I ventured on a bit of road trip after dark. I’m getting too old and too dependent on my sweet husband’s protective company for this.
They don’t just roll up the sidewalks early in our corner of Virginia, they button up the highways too. I was all by myself for a lot of the way home. There must have been two dozen deer crossing signs between here and there and U.S. Route 29 undulates like a roller coaster. Every time I topped the crest of a hill I was sure I’d run headlong into a stunned animal.
But it was worth it. I pulled into our garage at 12:45 a.m. By two o’clock in the morning, I finally quit jabbering about what an experience it was to watch The Birds in a theater with hundreds of other people and to see the still glamorous and cucumber-cool Hedren talk about making the movie. After fifty years, it’s pretty common knowledge that she still loathes Alfred Hitchcock.
More about that tomorrow.