A roundabout route to paradise

It was a gray and gloomy day with a depressing drizzle covering everything with a layer of cold, dark water.

It was a Saturday and the laundry had fallen so far behind, the only practical solution was to load everything in the car and take it to the local laundromat. Unfortunately, every other citizen in the state of Colorado had the same idea and apparently chose the same laundromat.

Trying to make the best of a bad situation, I sought the only flat surface available for folding my now clean and dry clothing items. Unfortunately, this was coveted space and another launderer chided me for taking too long.

It was the straw that broke this camel's back. Disgusted with the weather, frustrated by my own lack of initiative and organization that had resulted in the laundry trip to begin with, and deeply offended by the chiding I received, I went off on another of my then frequent tirades.

"Surely, there must be a better place to live out the days of our lives," I exclaimed, repeatedly.

Acquaintances had recently relocated to the ever warm climes of Florida. Oh, how they extolled the virtues of the southern climate, the ocean breezes, the temperate winter weather, the lack of snow and ice. Each remembered word echoed in my mind and I decided that Florida was paradise and we needed to move.

Ever impulsive and not just a little pushy, somehow I convinced my husband that we should just leave the laundry in the car, grab the groceries out of the cupboard, and head south and east until we ran out of land.

Florida bound, we headed out in our little Volkswagen hatchback, traversing the infamous Monument Hill, never once looking back.

All through the night we drove, with no map and therefore no clear route. Taking our bearings by guess and by golly, we did manage to make it east into Kansas where we took our first roadside break, fashioning a miniature stove out of metal coat hangers and Sterno. (The chicken noodle soup never did get warm.)

The winter wind blew fiercely, threatening to turn us around in our tracks, tails tucked between our legs but I would have none of it. "Never say die," I said. "This will all be worth it, once we hit those white sandy beaches. This winter wind will be nothing but a distant memory."

Back on the road we went, still navigating by guess and by golly, meandering across the state of Kansas where, during the wee hours of that Monday morning, we blew a tire.

Just 18 miles east of Wichita, we were at a dead stop.

Our initial plan, after acquiring a used spare tire, ($18) was to get temporary jobs to replenish seriously depleted stores and, within a month, be back on the road to Florida.

A series of misfortunes kept us from returning to that southeastern road and 29 years ago this week, we finally did turn back, tails tucked firmly between our legs, and headed home.

We still haven't see the sun-drenched shores of Florida, nor tasted the salty brine of the Atlantic Ocean on our tongues.

It's a little disappointing, after all these years, to realize that we never made it to our destination. On every other journey we took, no matter how impetuous or ill-conceived, we arrived at our destination.

True, once we saw the high country in February and the high snowpack, we kept going, but technically, we reached our destination.

And, even though we were back home the next day, we made it to the family farm in Iowa without missing a turn.

Not so with our Florida plans. I got close in 1994 when I attended a conference in New Orleans and Danny got even closer back in 1986 when he helped George and Lil move to Valdosta, Ga., but neither one of us has ever made it all the way to the Sunshine State.

I wonder if that means the journey isn't over?

If it isn't, we've certainly taken some interesting detours en route. Let's see, from Wichita, back to Denver, up to Worland, Wyo., over to Craig, Colo., back to Denver, out to Brighton, Colo., and now, McCook.

We've also encountered a good many strangers that became fast friends along the way. Some I can name, others I remember only as friends for the way they treated helpless strangers in their life path.

And somehow, along the way, it seems our destination has changed as well. Remember the exclamation that prompted the entire Floridian fiasco, "Surely there must be a better place to live out the days of our lives!"? Even that has changed on this long circuitous route to "Surely there must be a better way to live out the days of our lives!"

I may or may not see the sandy beaches of Florida. I may or may not taste the salty brine of the Atlantic Ocean, but I will most assuredly continue to journey to the destination I found on my way to that earthbound paradise -- a home in heaven, a place prepared for me.

And, just as in the journeys of the past, I won't be traveling alone. On each of the journeys we made during our impetuous youth, we always had friends along for the ride. This ride is no different, because there is plenty of room for everyone and the paradise that it will be will outshine the best and the brightest that Florida or any other earthbound destination can offer.

Care to come along?

"In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going." John 14:2, -4 (NIV)

Dawn Cribbs doesn't go anywhere by guess and by golly anymore, and the days of impetuous journeys are at long last at an end.