Managed to get on the road good an early down to Detroit. Got close to the city limits and jumped on Grand River. Heading Southwest. Found Stout street like I always do and sat there for a second thinking about that old fireplace, swimming masks, the arches and mom and dad, some thirty years ago. My beginning.

124. “First steps.”
125. “Chinese Food, Stout Street, Redford.”

Then I shot down to Dearborn, took a pass by Gramma Josie’s little house on Artesian. Thought of her fruit cellar, her hedges out back, the mysteries in the basement and stale potato chips in her closet. More early years of mine. Then I got on a couple worn out freeways and shot down to the Henry Ford Museum for an afternoon of history, accomplishment and American spirit.

As kids, we were dragged to thatr big museum in the summer, and Greenfield Village on school trips. Dragged. I wanted to see the museum as a thinking adult. This was my chance. I scoured the place, burning up those floors.

126. “Greeted by Edison’s mark and shovel.”
127. “A sad day in November.”
128. “Putting this national treasure into context is just a little too much for a quick moment.”
129. “A gigantic locomotive.”
130. “C and O for Progress.”
131. “For my favorite Canadian: Dano.”
132. “Moments of graphic brilliance.”
133. “Liberation!”
134. “The chair Lincoln was assassinated in…”
135. “…complete with the original blood stains.”
136. “Legacy.”
137. “Lincoln’s life mask.”
138. “The hand that wrote the Gettysburg address.”
139. “The powerful Frederick Douglass.”
140. “Determination.”

Sitting in the seat where Rosa Parks single-handedly started the Civil Rights Movement is just too heavy to put into words. Moved. Climbing in, the little old lady, white, looked up to me and said, “She refused to move for ALL of us.” Think about that for a second.

141. “The bus that picked up a national treasure.”
142. “The view from Mrs. Park’s seat.”
143. “A polite refusal to move.”
144. “For Campbell: A “Scort” in pristine condition.”

Once finished with the museum, I headed over to Uncle Bob’s to see visit him and Auntie Cris for a bit. It was great to catch up, even though Uncle Bob was recovered from a visit to the dentist earlier that morning.

I jumped over to meet my Detroit friend Petzold. Or, “The Petzold Situation.” Something along those lines. She’s been reading this blog for many years, starting with a daring purchase of a shirt some five years ago. Awesome. We jumped in her car and headed downtown to see the city, hopped the border in Windsor for supper at a French-Meditteranean bistro, gazed across the water at the Detroit skyline, caught a couple bands in Hamtramck and called it a night. She had her guest room all set up for me, and I was thankful for thousands of things, and crashed out right away.

145. “Dad’s birthplace. Wesson Street.”
146. “A quiet ride into another country.”
147. “From Windsor: That Detroit skyline.”

A long, wonderful day. One of our best.