It was hot. It was dusty. I was all sweaty, which made the grain dust stick to me all over. It was the most miserable day I could remember. It was sometime in the early 1950s and I was about 9 years old.

I finally gave up and shelled out hard cash for a GPS. It’s wonderful, considering that it’s not very smart. I’m wondering if I should have sprung for more than the entry-level model.

My nine-year-old grandson was just in here telling me all about the red Camaro he saw in the church parking lot today. He claimed that I needed to get one.

Dan and I got out of his truck at Colfax, Washington, testing the pavement, lest we fall. It was the first time I rode with Dan since he got his first truck, now five trucks ago at last count.