Friday Afternoon

Spent the morning working at the nursing home, installing privacy curtains, until we ran out of material, then took Milady to lunch before heading home.  Driving toward the house, the classic station played this old favorite by Arlo Guthrie.

And the sons of Pullman porters, and the sons of engineers,
ride their father's magic carpet made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep are rocking to the gentle beat,
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

That song gives me wanderlust in the worst way, and it's a good thing that Milady and I have a trip planned, or when she got home this afternoon, I'd tell her to put some jeans in a bag, and we'd hit the road.