What is This Place?

(Shreveport) - It's Friday, and I'm sitting in a place that seems strangely familiar. It's eerily comfortable, and I seem to know my way around rather well. I recognize the faces of the people around me, and they are treating me kindly and with respect. Hold on. Let me ask. "What is this place called?"
Home? OH!
For the first time in six weeks, I will spend a weekend in my own house. No airplanes, no buses, no hotels. I may give my Quiet Comfort headphones a rest.
I have used almost every form of transportation, short of a burro, over the last couple of months. The planes, trains and buses were usually reliable and reassuringly on time. Except for this one time.
I decided to roll the dice and ride a bus with some fans to a football game in Little Rock. I thought the timing would be tight and I was nervous about it. Reality surpassed my expectations. Somewhere around Hope, Arkansas, there was a boom! The bus began to list to the left. We had a blowout.
Be advised you cannot rent a car on short notice in southwest Arkansas on a Saturday. You might not be able to do it with long notice; but hopefully we will never find out. I was supposed to be on the air at 6:50. We arrived at the arena between 6:35 and 6:40. I had to carry the equipment in, set it up and immediately begin play-by play. We were a little late getting on. No stress, no worries. Except for the part where I starting bleeding from every orifice.
I am so grateful to be home that I have made no plans. I'm going to sit on the sofa and watch DVD's with my son.
Next week, my part time broadcasting career resumes. Fortunately, my longest trip over the next ten weeks is two hours by car. I probably won't even need the headphones.

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