chicago to LA

4 1/2 years ago, right after tying the knot, my husband and I moved across the country for a job opportunity in Illinois. Oak Park, Illinois to be exact. The birthplace of Ernest Hemingway and the home of Frank Llyod Wright. A charming city, just west of Chicago filled with beautiful homes and wide streets with a canopy of oak trees growing on either side that meet in the middle. We had travelled to Oak Park 2 months before our move and looked at exactly 34 homes before choosing one, making an offer and signing the paperwork...all in one warm, sunny September weekend. We were filled with anticipation and giddiness as we set off on our road trip to our new home. We had just celebrated my birthday and were looking forward to an autumn filled with brisk weather, changing leaves and warm cable knit sweaters. However, exactly 1 day in to our road trip, that giddiness faded as I realized that a cross country road trip was not my style. Much of the road between California and Illinois is filled with a great vastness of nothingness. Broken radio stations, rest stops and fast food are hardly the things dreams are made of. Yes, we stopped to see the Grand Canyon and the Oklahoma City memorial but by the time we hit the St Louis arch, I  wasn't interested in stopping. Like Clark Griswald before me, circling the arch in the car was enough for me.