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Wednesday, July 30, 2025 - August 13, 2025 - Coastal Shopper & News - Page 3

Gregorian Chant By Greg Lockhart The past two weekends, I have spent a considerable amount of time behind the wheel of my Chevy truck.

Mission accomplished. Sort of. Because, you see, our younger son had plans too. Which brings us to Weekend Two: another journey, this time still north but a little more westward to the Marietta area of Atlanta. The occasion? An engagement party for our son Connor and his fiancée, Liz. A beautiful celebration, full of love, laughter, and some delicious Louisianna inspired dishes. A good chicken and andouille sausage jambalaya never gets passed up by me. I even had a second portion for a post-party snack. Some explaining probably needs to occur on how my fellow UGA graduate Bride and I keep getting intertwined with Louisiana and LSU people, but this dynamic will have to wait for another column to explore. So, for now, I will just say they had a wonderful event. We met a lot of new family and made some new friends. Now, if you’ve never driven in Atlanta traffic on a weekend—don’t. Just don’t. It’s a mix of NASCAR and therapy session, with a pinch of demolition derby thrown in for flavor. Somewhere between Macon and madness, I felt the spirit of my late Uncle Jimmy take the wheel. Uncle Jimmy lived in that area years ago and had what could best be described as a... confident driving style. He didn’t use turn signals so much as suggest directions via force of will. At one point, while navigating five lanes of erratic humanity, I turned to The Bride and said, “I’m channeling Uncle Jimmy.” She gave me that look. The one that means, “Well, that explains everything. I’m just going to recline my seat a bit and close my eyes.” Through it all, the song “Driving My Life Away” by Eddie Rabbitt started playing in my head. It wasn’t on the radio, mind you—I think it was just summoned by the combination of sun glare, brake lights, and the growing suspicion that Waze had given up and gone home. But first, we had to get there.

The first trip had been marked by relentless rain and lightning—the kind that makes you question whether your windshield wipers are actually doing anything. The second trip, however, was clear and sunny, which only meant everyone else was out on the road, too. It’s like Mother Nature said, “Here’s a beautiful day… go clog I-75 with it.” We survived both trips. The furniture was delivered. The engagement party was celebrated. Our sons are both moving into new chapters of their lives, and we’re proud, exhausted, and our bottoms are slightly fused to our truck seats. Now we are home, where the grass - unmowed for two weekends - has launched a full-blown rebellion. It’s not a lawn anymore. It’s a habitat. I saw a squirrel disappear into it and never come out. There’s a suspicious rustling sound whenever I get near it, like it’s plotting. So now, with travel behind me, I’ll be reacquainting myself with the mower, the edger, and the ever-growing to-do list The Bride always has for me. Still, I wouldn’t trade the past two weekends for anything. We helped one son settle into his first home and celebrated the engagement of the other. In between traffic jams, I realized that these moments— frustrating, funny, and full of love—are what family is all about. LOCATED IN HISTORIC DOWNTOWN “Your Downtown” (912) 322-6764 105 W Bryant Street - St. Marys, GA 31558 HOURS: Thur, Fri, Sat - 10:00AM - 5:00PM Come See For Yourself! Summer Sale! 20% OFF - Most Items The Golden Pineapple “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 Even if they come with a side of crabgrass.

Weekend one was a ten-hour trek (each way!) from St. Marys to the greater Washington, D.C. area. Why? Because our oldest son—the pilot—has become a proud homeowner, and The Bride and I were delivering furniture like some sort of overachieving parents slash midlife U-Haul franchisees. Let me clarify. It wasn’t just a leisurely drive up the coast admiring the sights. No, we were pulling a U-Haul trailer behind us, which meant that every turn, every merge, and every gas station was now an advanced physics problem. My truck, which usually handles like a champ, suddenly felt like it had been saddled with a stubborn mule that didn’t like going uphill or braking downhill. It was certainly disheartening to watch my average miles per gallon plummet to almost half its normal rate. Of course, no trip to the D.C. area would be complete without northern Virginia traffic, which is less “rush hour” and more “existential crisis on wheels.” Nothing like watching your GPS estimate your arrival time… and then silently watching it recalculate every five minutes, as if it’s losing faith in your life choices. After a successful mission of delivering the furniture— some from his apartment, some from our garage, and performing some handyman projects like installing new light fixtures and an under-the-cabinet garbage can, we turned around and headed back to Georgia.

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