The history book I'm listening to has spent a long time explaining a battle and hardly any time on how all those people got fed before it. That's what I keep wondering about. Somebody had to haul the food, find the road and get there when they were expected, same as any load, except a hell of a lot harder. I don't need another list of generals making speeches. I'd like to hear from the fellow with a broken wheel and a wagon full of something spoiling. Maybe there's a book for that too. Donna says I can turn anything into dispatch trouble. She's right, but I reckon dispatch trouble probably changed a fair amount of history.

My boy called when I was parked up and we talked about absolutely nothing urgent. Something somebody cooked badly, a movie he thought I'd like, whether Donna still had that old dog blanket on the couch. Usually I ask too many questions about where he's going next and he gives me the short version. This time I let him ramble. Felt good hearing him laugh without trying to work out if he was leaving something out. After he hung up I sat there longer than I needed to. It's a strange thing missing a grown man and remembering the little boy at the same time. Didn't feel especially sad, just wasn't ready to turn the radio back on.

Donna bought new pillows and I figured a pillow was a pillow till I slept a whole night on one. Woke up on my side without having to work my shoulder loose first. Stayed there listening to her getting coffee ready, feet warm, no engine idling through the wall. I sleep alright in the truck most nights, but my back seems to know the difference even when I don't. Got up slow and stretched in the doorway. Nothing impressive. Just felt rested enough not to need the television on while I came around. By afternoon I was out mowing, sweating through my shirt, and that good night's sleep still hadn't quite worn off.