I miss our Mallorca Drive winter abode, its front and back patios bordered by the Sonoran Desert, its prickly pear, sunny blossoming brittle bush, and regal saguaros at our doorstep.

But here we are back in Minneapolis, bypassing Mason City, Iowa last night. We planned to walk around viewing Frank Lloyd Wright architecture, his fancy Park Hotel, one of his last-standing designs. We imagined sipping Prosecco in its fancy bar, celebrating our pretty good road trip and our two glorious months in Tucson.

We abandoned our plan after stopping at three motels inquiring about a room, each lobby smelling of cigarette smoke that made me cough. Mason City was now on my shitlist.

“Let’s go home,” I said. “We’ll keep listening to ‘Townie'”, the gripping audiobook memoir by Andre Dubus III. Too much serious bar fighting grossed me out in the rough town of Haverhill, Massachusetts, which I knew. Still, I immersed myself in the adept author’s New England story. Maine being my number 1 home. Was Tucson my number 2 home? Minneapolis number 3?

Traveling through the Southwest, the first two days of our journey proved magical, as it often does driving byways instead of highways. New Mexico Route 117 was the ticket, unknown to us with its hoodoo-like rocks that turned into a dinosaur-sized arch. Soft white sand around what may may have been the drinking puddles of an ancient ocean 150 million years ago.

On to Las Vegas, New Mexico, where I had read about a panel mural sequence inspired by my late great mentor, the historian Howard Zinn.

Surprise! “The People’s History of El Norte,” old and faded but still relevant, appeared in the parking lot across from our designated lunch spot, the lively Charlie’s Spic & Span Bakery and Cafe. Not to be missed if you find yourself in a very different Las Vegas.

“The eleven-panel mural is a chronological and colorfully painted tribute to historical events deemed important (by a public survey) and in some cases omitted from history books. It was painted by some 300 culturally diverse students under the direction of Rock Ulibarri, historian, educator and community leader and by Casa de Cultura, a non-profit organization whose mission is to create and maintain the cultural authenticity of the community.” (visitlasvegasnm.com)

Did I feel like a teacher again, introducing disappeared history to the sweet young green-eyed hostess or the two big guys standing behind her waiting for their table? None of the three knew about the mural.

I sat down at the waiting place. I had to tell the man next to me — Danny, a Las Vegas native — about the mural. Today’s history was on his mind.

“If that guy wins again,” he said, “this country is really going downhill.”

“True that,” I replied.

Danny was hesitant but he smiled and let me take his picture. We were on the same page.

I feel like myself! I feel like myself! I kept saying to Marc, drinking my second coffee of the day, an iced white mocha at Charlie’s, then munching on a yummy green-chili burger atop a jalapeño bun.

The green-eyed hostess found a t-shirt for me: “Panza Llena Corazon Contento” (Full Belly Happy Heart). I felt at home at Charlie’s.

Two nights later, I began to feel at home back in Linden Hills, sipping on Prosecco and munching on Trader Joe’s olive oil popcorn. I can’t wait to see my son’s family later today.

It’s a good feeling immersing myself in wild places. It’s a good feeling submerging myself in history. It’s a good feeling connecting with kind people. Anywhere. Everywhere.