A Trip of One’s Own
June 30, 2026 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as mystery, Road Trip, short fiction, vacations, writing
The cereal poured from the spout so quickly it overflowed Marie’s bowl and fell to the tile floor in the breakfast bar. She and Todd were on the second day of their summer vacation, and bar was a stretch. Other early risers crowded past her, their shoes crunching on the small O’s she’d spilled. She barely had room to turn around to find the milk. Meanwhile, Todd ignored her for his phone, doom scrolling through the morning news.
She plopped her bowl down on the high-top table, this time causing the milk to splash.
“Are you eating this morning?” Marie sipped her large coffee, glad for the caffeine, eager for the jump start it promised.
Her husband waved a hand, not looking up “Later. I hardly slept last night. The traffic noise, your snoring.” He finally glanced at her, with a scowl. “And you have to drag me out of bed at this ridiculous hour.”
The cereal had already gone limp in Marie’s bowl; she suspected it was an off-brand.
“We agreed that we would visit the Frederic Church house today.” She was not going to let Todd ruin the trip, ruin this precious time away from their cramped twin in Frenchtown and the Ginmans next door, whose three dogs never stopped barking. The rustic hotel along U.S. Route 9 had looked inviting in the photos posted online. Reality proved different. Small was an understatement.
“I’ll just wait in the car when we get there,” Todd growled. “You like that cultural stuff. You know I don’t.”
Fifteen years with this grouch. Had he always been this way? Her mother’s words, whispered in her ear as she adjusted the flounce on Marie’s wedding dress: Enjoy this while you can.
Once upon a time, she did. But now . . .
A hotel staffer appeared at Todd’s elbow and speaking in low tones requested that he report to the front desk. There was an issue.
“What’s wrong?” Marie asked. Todd’s clothes were strewn around their room, but that was nothing new. She would tidy up, as she always did, before they departed. Checkout wasn’t until Sunday.
The staffer ignored her. Todd grimaced, muttering under his breath, but followed the hotel rep away from the breakfast nook. Every table (there were only five) was filled, and the line for the coffee urns wound its way out to the lobby.
After twenty minutes and no return of Todd, Marie tossed her trash in the receptacle and went in search of him. She wanted to spend the day at the Church house and studio. She loved the artist’s glorious landscapes, even if all she could afford was a print of his Marine Sunset she had framed at Michaels with a discount coupon.
Todd was not at the front desk, which was unmanned. Aside from those in the coffee line, the lobby was empty.
“Hello?” She waited a moment, hit the brass bell on the counter, but no one appeared to help her. She fumbled for her cell phone and tapped on Todd’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. Had he returned to their room and fallen asleep?
Marie strode back to the room, steeling herself against his ongoing complaints. Like the lobby, though, the room was empty of Todd. Empty of his clothes too.
“Where the hell is he?” She was ready to head out without him. He could just stew for the day, hang out at the hotel, walk to the strip of small retail businesses across the road. She would savor an outing without his dark mood coloring every moment.
Back in the lobby, she stopped again at the desk. The staffer was the same one who had fetched Todd earlier.
“My husband, Todd Slifer,” Marie said. “He never returned to breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” The staffer’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps he’s gone to your room?”
Marie sighed, the morning slipping away. “You summoned him to the desk. He’s not in the room or in the lobby. What was the issue?”
The staffer turned to his screen. “There must be some misunderstanding, Ms. …”
“Slifer.” Marie allowed her foot to tap out her impatience on the lobby tiles. This was vintage Todd, playing passive-aggressive when he didn’t want to do something she wanted. “Room 265.”
He tapped a few keys. When he looked up, she took a step back.
“Ma’am,” he said, with a slight shake of his head. “The room is booked for a single occupant, you. The room rate is good for two people, if your husband has come along. Shall I add his name?”
The lobby walls seemed to shift, and she grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from falling. “Are you saying that you did not drop by our breakfast table earlier and ask my husband to accompany you?”
“No,” he said. “I haven’t left the desk since I came on at seven.”
“Thanks.” Had he winked at her? Marie straightened up and pulled her purse higher on her shoulder. “You’re right. A misunderstanding.”
She wouldn’t look too hard for Todd, now or later. The tour of the Frederic Church house awaited her.
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A Pet Project
April 30, 2026 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as cabin, Road Trip, short fiction
Sixty miles into the drive, Jill had second thoughts about the wisdom of bringing her animals with her. The cat, sequestered in her carrying case on the front seat, kept up a steady mewling. Except when the beagle in the back seat got too near, which set off a yowl. That prompted a barking response, joined by the woof of the English setter in the rear compartment.
Jill turned up the volume on her playlist, trying to drown out the cacophony, but then worried she wouldn’t hear the mysterious clunking sounds that had started from the back end of the car about fifteen miles ago.
It wasn’t that she was foolhardy. She’d considered asking a friend to accompany her on the trip, either to drive or help manage the menagerie, but no one was available—or they were conveniently busy when she offered the ride.
“I’ll pay for your train ticket back home,” she said, but got no takers.
Now her destination in upstate New York, a rental cottage on a lake, seemed far, far away. Just under three hundred miles left and way too many pit stops to go.
Kenneling was not an option for the month she planned to be away writing—or trying to write. And when she located the rental (pets allowed for a small upcharge), bringing the critters was an easy decision.
“Petey, pipe down,” she said to the beagle. He snuffled the cat’s case, poking his head between the front seats to get at Tux, and then baying. “You, too, Chips.” She glanced in the rearview mirror to check on the setter, who couldn’t access the back seat (and cause even more chaos) because of the cargo net. “The next rest stop is in sixteen miles. Hang in there.”
The minutes and hours slipped past, and Jill felt pulled between the poles of her endpoints, home and rental. Then Petey stuck his nose in her ear and licked it.
“Gah!” she sputtered.
At a rest stop, she pulled up near its tiny dog park and gave Petey and Chips the run of it. As she was corralling them back into the SUV, Chips pulled the leash from her hand and eagerly headed toward a family of four making their way to the rest stop building.
“Chips,” Jill called, quickly shutting the side door to keep Petey in place. “Come here, boy!” She hurried after the setter. He could charm a rock into giving him a pat.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, short of breath, when she reached the family and grabbed the leash.
The two young children huddled behind the parents, peeking at the dog, who pranced near them. In the distance, Petey’s bark told Jill he was equally interested in the situation.
“No harm done,” said the woman, although she was frowning. “But you really should keep better hold of that dog.” The parents turned their backs on Jill and pushed the children ahead of them.
Jill narrowed her eyes. As if I wasn’t doing my best.
Back in the SUV, she gassed up and continued north, the sun already past high noon. Three more pit stops—but no more leash mishaps—and she finally exited the interstate, turning onto the winding roads leading to the rental.
Her mood darkened as the GPS route inched forward. Why had she thought this would work? Between walking the dogs and refereeing the guaranteed skirmishes between the canids and the cat, she would have little time to concentrate, let alone be creative.
The long, unpaved driveway to the rental led through thick stands of oak, maple and birch, until a final turn revealed the lake. The sudden quiet when she switched off the engine stopped the dogs from whining, and even Tux fell silent.
No other houses interrupted the scenery. She heard only the scolding of chickadees and the lap of water against the lakeshore. Out of the car, she breathed in the scent of pine and spruce.
Immersed in the serenity of the setting, Jill saw the dogs curled up beside her on the floor of the cabin, while she tapped at her keyboard, the cat tucked away in her own hidey hole. Thirty days of freedom. She was ready.
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Isabel Swift wonders…do you make lists?
March 24, 2010 by A Slice of Orange in category Archives tagged as Deep South, Lists, Road Trip, TravelWell, in addition to “To Buy” lists or the more mundane “To Do” lists?
Years ago I created another kind of list & recently revived it. The summer after high school graduation, a girlfriend & I decided to travel and settled on hitchhiking around England for a month. In addition to planning our itinerary, we also developed The List (as it applied to the UK).
It contained things that we felt were quintessentially of the place, and enumerated things we wanted to have experienced before the holiday was over. The list “ingredients” didn’t have to be difficult to achieve; that wasn’t the issue. It was meant to measure what we felt was a true and full experience of a new environment.
I can’t remember the exact elements for the UK List, but it was things like:
1) eat fish & chips
2) see Buckingham Palace & the changing of the guards
3) drive in a London taxi cab
4) see someone in a kilt
5) visit a castle
6) see Shakespeare at Stratford-on-Avon
7) buy an umbrella
8) drive in a Rolls Royce
9) go to Hyde Park
10) be invited to tea…
You get the picture. We would argue and add things to the list as their quintessential-ness was discovered and determined.
Recently I went on a road trip with the same friend some 35+ years later. She lives in Alabama, so we went on a trip around the area. I found myself creating a list–it sort of was made as it happened instead of beforehand. But we argued through the essentialness of the ingredients, and I think we pulled together a good collection. I realize it is a girl list. You boys will just have to work on your own. Here it is:
The Deep South List:
1) Receive an Unsolicited Greeting
(i.e. hello) My friend didn’t think this should count as a key indicator of Southern-ness. I really had to explain that NO-ONE in New York would say hello to a stranger walking down the street–you’d think they were pan-handling.
2) Courtly Solicitation
#1 was men & women; this is just for women–Male interactions with females are often touched with a decorous flirtation, a sense of ‘Southern Charm,’ an awareness and appreciation of your femaleness, e.g. ‘I always stop for pretty girls,’ or have door held for you..
3) Bitten by Ants
Apparently, this is standard. I can vouch for it happening.
4) Drive on a dirt road; visit a farm/meet a farmer; wait for Cows to clear the road
The South has its share of cities and industry, but rural South seemed quintessentially Southern, not found elsewhere, and needed to be experienced. I didn’t get a photo of him, but our farmer was driving a tractor…not unlike the one pictured on the billboard below…
5) Roadside Attractions
One of the carved living tree in Tinglewood, ALA and Bourbon St. New Orleans, LA
6) Breakfast with Good Ole Boys, eat Grits with Unidentified butterlike substance
OK, he’s not a Good Ole Boy, he’s the god of the forge, Vulcan, who presides over Birmingham, ALA. Magnificent, isn’t he? And I know you’re distracted, but really, there’s no butter in the South. My grits came with a pat proudly announcing it was 40% margarine. It never told me what the other 60% was and I was too scared to ask….
7) Tea: Sweet/Unsweet
Well, I may have to make an exception for New Orleans, where it was hard to find anyone who’d give me sweet tea–it was all DIY. You do have to specify “Hot tea” if that’s your preference, as tea = ice tea.
8) Being asked where you come from
Yes, this would also be on a California list–but it’s just not Northeast in my experience & always startles me & reminds me I am somewhere away from home. In some parts of the South, I am sure you are asked where you are going–i.e. which grave yard will you be joining–to better understand your status. Location, location, location.
9) y’all
10) Cotton fields
Well, I hadn’t thought of posting while I was traveling, so didn’t take appropriate photos, just captured a few things that appealed. Here’s a a rather remarkable ironwork cornstalk fence in New Orleans.
11) Church signage with admonishions, instructions, information about Jesus
I regret not having photographed some of the Church signage: you have to see it to get it. Here’s one man’s front yard sculpture–it captures some of the spirit.
And here we are with our trusty black bug at the end of the trip. Think of the photo as modern art, creating a sense of immediacy and motion (and covering any bad hair or poor clothing choices).
Since we created out list as we went, we were sure to accomplish every one.
Do you make lists?
Isabel Swift
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