I made another trip to Dickinson yesterday. I just can't quite get "retired." In fact, another trip in a couple of weeks is in the plan. Driving westward on I-94 for some reason reminded me of the first time I drove over it. I was young, hadn't had my driver's license very long, and was called on to drive my Grandpa's little green Falcon to Fargo so he could see his doctor at the VA hospital. He'd had strokes that kept him from behind the wheel. It was a grand adventure, even though the interstate was by no means completed, maybe 15 or 20 miles was complete.
Dickinson is super busy! Street work adds to the confusion plus lots of new building construction activity. It looks like a boomtown. I wonder what it will look like when it "busts."
When I got home, two pieces of anticipated mail awaited. One was a package of three books from the Western Writers of America that sent them to me for review, the other a large manila envelope with information and pictures about the man whose biography I am preparing. It sure helps the cause having his family descendent assisting in the process.
