We’re back from the lake. The trip was blessedly cool, calm, and refreshing, but way too short. We spent Friday previewing the Route 90 Sale north of my parents’ house, where Jen and I picked up a pair of 30’s era New York license plates and an old-time folding ruler. (A brief explanation: The Route 90 Sale is a yearly communal yard sale where everybody along the road empties their basements, attics, and storage sheds onto the front lawn, hoping someone will buy something. It’s become a Central New York State tradition, bringing throngs of rubbernecking dealers, tourists, rednecks, and space aliens into the area to rifle through piles of junk.)

Saturday we helped my family set up tables in front of the house, and then hit the road for an afternoon of picking through glassware, toys, glassware, old clothes, glassware, and junk. We actually made out alright in some departments—for a grand total of about $25, we picked up a wheelbarrow, seeder, cordless weed whacker, three milk glass vases, and a red glass “exit” sign. (There would be pictures linked right about here, but it rained off and on all day.) Saturday evening my folks hosted a very informal barbecue on the porch where we got to visit with a bunch of family and tell stories, which is always a highlight of any visit.

Sunday we helped set up the ½-price sale and set out for Baltimore. Halfway out of the county we spied two wooden bedframes on the side of the road and picked them both up for $30—antique sizes which don’t quite fit a full and are too big for a twin. We’ll have to do some finagling with them to make them work.

Meanwhile, somewhere below Wilkes-Barre, we started noticing people lined up on highway overpasses as we traveled south, waving at cars. Further down the road, we saw people lining the onramps and clogging the rest areas, sitting contentedly on lawn chairs facing the road. After some discussion, Jen correctly guessed that there was a NASCAR event nearby and that the locals, who had nothing better to do, were waving at the team trucks as they drove out of the state to the next event.

Dear People of the State of Pennsylvannia:

I have to drive through your huge, boring state to get to my parents’ house. Could you please get off your beer-drinking, NASCAR-watching asses and fix your damn roads? I mean, seriously, there are potholes large enough to swallow my Jeep up there. We cross the state line from New York and it’s like we’ve driven straight into Beirut. And, not to notpick on you here, but when you do work on them, could you do it quickly? there’s a stretch of I-83 that’s been “under construction” since Eisenhower, and the Jersey-wall bobsled hamster cage thing is getting old.

Love, Bill.