Yesterday morning, I headed over the bridge to the East Bay to explore the world of campers for our crazy summer road trip. I invited the man with the money to accompany me, and fearing for his wallet, he managed to escape from work briefly to join me!

Afterwards, it was nearly lunchtime, so I suggested we should dine together (gasp). A drive down the street lead us to a shopping plaze that appeared to have a few options, but as we circled the plaza we discovered that every entrance to a neighboring business complex was blocked by cop cars with lights flashing and solemn men in uniform vigilantly watching.

Undeterred by the neighboring activity, we pulled into the plaza and sat down in a little restaurant that was still prepping for the lunch hour. As our food arrived, so did the sound of choppers. Somehow, I can't recall the taste of the food, but I can tell you my stomach was starting to knot as Ron and I exchanged apprehensive looks. Interestingly, the restaurant workers didn't even seem to notice as the copter hovered back and forth.

I stepped out of the restuarant a bit tentatively. All around us folks were attending to business as usual merely glancing occasionally up at the sky beneath the roar.

As I drove away, I thought about my quiet prairie childhood where I could hear the crickets in the shade during the day or lay on the hillside with my brother and watch the clouds shift shapes as quickly as our imaginations.