Craig Chambers

Denver Confluence Writers

Craig Chambers

My first thought after waking up last Saturday morning was focused, settled, clearly defined. I knew what I had to do.

It’s usually not that way. Before going to bed at night I usually have a bowl of cereal while scrolling through my iPhone to catch up on the latest news. Consequently, my first thought in the morning will probably be that I don’t know what to do. As a reporter, I have a public voice, whether or not anybody is listening... street corner Evangelical preaching Biblical truths, like the End is Near if we don’t change our ways.

So, these days, my first thought in the morning is usually confused, unhinged... What am I supposed to do? Join a march? Fix the backyard fence? Join a church? Bake an apple pie? Write?

If I’m going to write, what do I say? What if I can't think of anything to say? Maybe I should just quit writing.

But last Saturday morning, there was no such unsettled wandering of the mind. We had to go help Elli, the oldest daughter. Culley Jane and I had to drive our pick-up to Longmont, an hour or so north of Denver, depending on the traffic on I-25. Elli had to move a piece of furniture or something to another city along Colorado’s “front range” and needed a pick-up truck to do the job.

.

When family needs help, you do it, unless it’s connected to some hairbrained scheme.

So Culley Jane and I are headed up I-25 on a Saturday afternoon. Traffic’s pretty heavy, but moving along. I drive slow, so even semis pass us by.

Whenever I see a Crete Carrier truck, I say, “There’s one of my old trucks.”

Culley Jane asks me if I miss my years on the road as an over-the-road trucker.

I had to think about it. Like a lot of things, we remember the good parts but have to work hard to get at the things we’d just as soon forget.

"What was the best part?” she asked.

"I guess waking up in the morning and knowing what I had to do," I said.