Good Morning, Grandmother

On July 21, 1987, I was in South Dakota driving west, because I'd promised myself I'd celebrate my fiftieth birthday--July 22--in the marvelous Badlands. I hadn't imagined that I would really finish my research in time to arrive on my actual birthday, but there I was, my work had gone much more quickly than when I bent my elbow daily. On July 24 I would celebrate nine months sober, but I wasn't thinking about that. I was just driving.