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The Lights of Home

    Hey everyone. One night many years ago I was working a job in Kansas. It was winter and the blizzard warnings were out. There was an awesome feeling in the air, kind of creepy, as though all of nature held it's breath.
    I was at work and since I had a four-wheel drive car I was not as concerned as I should have been. I was one of the last people to leave the plant, even after the authorities had indicated everyone should go home.
    We lived 60 miles from the plant. It was around midnight when I headed out. The first 30 miles were paved roads, about 20 of that was interstate. The ferocious winds were polishing the road to a sheet of ice in places. The top speed was probably 20 mph. The wind, which had recently swooped down the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains, was now roaring like a drunken psychopath across the great plains. That, along with the heavy snow was causing a 'whiteout'. I could barely see past the front bumper of my car.
    The muscles across my shoulders were knotted from the tension. My car was the only car on the road. I did see where a transfer truck lay on it's side just off the highway. It had been abandoned after the wind had caught the broad side of the trailer and just laid it over.
    When I reached the half-way point of my trip I had a 30 mile stretch of dirt road to drive before I could reach the little farm house we had rented. We're talking about an area where there are no homes for a 20 mile stretch or more. There were no lights on the road, no gas station. It was make it home or most likely die in a car, in a blizzard. The wind kept grabbing the car and trying to rip it from my control. More than once I had to stop and use a wrench to beat the ice off my wipers. With each passing mile I gained appreciation for a little car that was as tough as a little kid from the south side of Chicago. I knew that my life depended on a car. Workmen somewhere had built the vehicle not knowing that my life would depend on it's abilities and tenacity. The last 30 miles of the trip I plowed snow with the front bumper, all the way. The white stuff was several feet deep. I thought of my family in the little house, a mile from the nearest neighbor. I wondered if I'd see my children grow up.
    Then I came out on a little rise of ground above my house and saw the lights of home. It was one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen. I drove into the old, ramshackle shed that served as a garage. Wearily I climbed out and looked at the car in the light. It was encased in a solid cocoon of ice and snow. I popped the hood and saw that  the snow had pushed up around the engine and almost the whole space under the hood was packed with snow. I had to use a broom handle to bust it all out. It's probable that a few more miles could have seen the engine overheat and lock up. As I walked to the house I thought about something a Kansas resident had once said in a movie. In The Wizard Of Oz Dorothy said "There's no place like home." Then she clicked those heels on the ruby slippers. Come to think of it, my car was the same color of red as Dorothy's shoes.
   From a nice warm house at the green retreat, I'm CE Wills.

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