Pinecones, Traffic, and a Sliver of Light

What started as a road trip to bowling practice turned into a reflection on pinecones, hope, traffic prayers, and sacred laughter. Sometimes the smallest moments carry the biggest truths.

The day started simple—dogs playing fetch, Bella editing her vlog, Barbi finishing the last bits of packing.

I stepped into the garage and saw it—my old wicker memory basket from back in the day. In my hand, I held two pinecones: one dry and dead, the other tiny and new. I paused, walked back inside, and showed them to Barbi and Bella.

I said:

“People don’t hoard things. They hold onto stories.”

Barbi looked up gently. Bella glanced and half-smiled.

I was channeling sacred legacy. Bella reacted like I’d just handed her an acorn and a half-baked sermon. “Cool,” she said.

I walked back out and dropped the pinecones in the basket like sacred scrolls.

We hit the road.

Barbi handed me tacos. I asked for salsa. She passed it to me without a word. That’s Barbi. Doesn’t miss.

As we were leaving Odessa, we passed a hearse. I said, “You know what’s wild? Some people actually buy old hearses and just drive them around like regular cars.”

Barbi nodded.

Bella was baffled.

That’s when I said, “That’s basically the Ghostbusters car.”

We all laughed. And then it went quiet—like we were riding alongside someone else’s story for a minute.

Fast forward—San Antonio traffic. I was boxed in. No opening. I prayed quietly:

“God, will you give me an entrance?”

Right then, the car in front of me slowed. I slid in.

“Thank you, Jesus.”

And then I saw it: a bumper sticker on the car ahead.

“Thank God for Hondo Crouch.”

Barbi asked, “Who’s Hondo Crouch?”

I said, “The reason we’re all here.”

I had no clue. But in that moment, I was ready to canonize the man.

(Fact check: he did put Luckenbach on the map.)

A few minutes later, I let a car merge. That driver immediately let someone else in.

I said, “Anybody, everybody… come on in. Let’s just throw a party.”

Barbi said, “You reap what you sow.”

I replied, “At least sow with a blinker, my guy.”

Meanwhile, Bella was breaking down her Level ball—her favorite.

Not urethane, not quite reactive, but plays like both.

“It clears the front and still snaps,” she said.

Ball’s got heart.

Then, someone gunned it around traffic to cut right in front of us.

Before I could say anything, Barbi dropped it deadpan:

“I, too, was once young and dumb.”

We finally made it to the hotel. Barbi and Bella went down to return the luggage cart. Bowling practice is later.

I stayed in the room, turned on the game, and took a breath.

Because this trip?

Wasn’t just about driving.

It was about pinecones, salsa, memory baskets, traffic prayers, Ghostbusters, and grace.

It was about what we hold onto, and what we pass along.

And hope?

Hope is a cave.

And I’m here—watching the sliver of light… stretch.