A Few Cross Words

I've been daydreaming, recalling the big highway expedition we made out west last May. I fully plan to share those snapshots with you, but the photo labs and sub-contracted beavers are still gnawing down trees to accommodate our prints. We took a forest full of pictures. Here's one.

We covered a lot of blacktop those first two days, more than 1300 miles, zipping through Georgia, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico. We didn't see much except stormy weather and highway Welcome Centers and Rest Stops. (I go to those for the thrill rides.)

The first eye-popping vision of the trip was alongside I-40, east of Amarillo, advertised as "The Biggest Cross in the Western Hemisphere." The metal structure rises 19 stories high, spanning a width of 110 feet.

I'm buying the adjacent lot. One night, I'll sneak over to the cross and hang a gigantic sweater on it.

Maybe a V-neck with a 15-yard spinning bowtie.

And, I dunno, we'd like to see something in a peek-a-boo floral skort.

But most likely, close by, I'm going to build my own giant cross an inch taller just to see how long it takes folks to call me "Satan."

I will settle for them to call me "The Biggest Prick in the Western Hemisphere." There is a certain allure.