7/26/13

72613

7/26/13

I should say something here about the fact that my dad was a truck driver for over 50 years–sampling every road-bound flavor, from long-distance to moving / van lines, from short delivery to medium-range in-state.

He ended up as a local freight driver, criss-crossing Southern California with a base usually in Victorville/Barstow or Lancaster. My dad also did stained glass, wood carvings and other hands-on fine crafts on the side, while saying how much he disliked trucker culture. He’d blast Jazz in the truck cab as he memorized urban mazes, later using the intertwining arteries with the clean, fluid second-nature of geographical Zen.

The best part is, as a retired Teamster, dad now attends get-togethers with other regional drivers and they cook gourmet foods for their potlucks. Forget potato salad and friend chicken. They experiment with international and haute cuisine. My dad prides himself on his Vietnamese spring rolls, Pad Thai and Creme Brulee. The guys have a tasty competition for topping the daring of the other dudes. Lobster Thermidore? No problem. Macaroni salad? It better have a white wine base.

KR S2 E2

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