Had planned to visit York County, South Carolina, but that plan got washed out. Instead took the scenic route back to Greenboro, through Huntersville, Davidson, Mooresville, and Salisbury. That route, as you know, is thick with Presbyterians. Found some real nice graveyards. Presbyterians combine propriety with style in a very effective way, and their neo-Gothic headstones are absolute bait for a simpleton like me armed with a Hipstamatic app on the iPhone.
Anyhow, as I drove through Cornelius, I saw Joe Gibbs driving in the other direction. He was turning at an intersection, just cold driving home from work down to his fancy lakefront mansion. Just probably thinking up another way to turn a bunch of jackasses and losers into champions. Like always. I only caught him for a second in the corner of my eye. But I know it was him. You know how? Because seeing Joe Gibbs is like how the old folks described seeing George Washington, or Robert E. Lee. His bearing. His presence. His manifest holiness. (This is actually true.) Yeah, I’ll be telling my grandkids about this.
Obligatory stop in Davidson to seek forgiveness for my undisciplined and un-Christian ways.
Then outside of Mooresville, I saw camels. Yes. Some Live. Freakin’. Camels. Right alongside some Longhorn cattle and llamas. At this point, I knew this good day had turned into a great day. I’ll be naming my next religious/Whig newspaper after them, I think. The Live Camel.
Dog rode along with me. She loves Presbyterians, apparently, as she ran pell-mell about their cemeteries. Must be her Caledonian heritage. Then she had a cheeseburger. At that moment, her day went from good, to great, too.
If I meet an untimely end (and I don’t plan to at this point), promise me you will scatter my ashes at dusk into the meadows just outside the stone wall of the Thyatira Presbyterian Church graveyard in Rowan County. Thanks.
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