Starting at I-70 mile marker 133

Mom's cell: Where are you?

Kev's cell: Rifle

Mom: Is this Dominic?

Kev: maybe

Mom:  if it is Kevin then give it to Dominic.  and it if is Dominic then slap yourself!

Kev:  hes sleeping

Mom: who?  better be Dominic

Kev:  dominic sleeping or dominic txting?

Mom:  Dominic better be the one texting if you re the one driving!

Kev:  muahaha maybe.  what's up?

Mom:  there's a cliff hanging over our heads... theres the sky and there's birds...

Kev: tho we would rather be in our beds... its too beautiful for words

Mom:  huh?  it's not our fault you dingdongs got up at 5 30... whiner.

Kev:  hey   it was poetry   gosh

Mom:   a half rhyme at best...

Kev:  heads and beds and birds with words = real rhymes

Mom:  I think we must a lost half your poem...

Mom:  oh.  oh.  duh.  we get it.

Kev:  haha ;)

Mom:the trees are green the sky is blue

Kev: where my mind has gone I have no clue

Mom:  i ve looked for it here  i ve looked for it there... up and down mountains   everywhere...

Kev:  but I think sometimes you might find that to find your soul you must lose your mind

Mom:  or at least your mind of worldly things and the trouble and worry that that brings...

Kev: aye worldly things and ice cream too  for i fear my tummys turned a purplish hue

Mom:  sayest thou thy tummy is sour?  wilt thou arrive within the hour? 

Kev:  within an hour it will be and thank the Good Lord for i must pee

Mom:  and watchest thou men kick a ball and run hither and thither 'pon grass et al?

Kev:  ahhh it is a good sport has always been and its always a blast til you re kicked on the shin

Mom: verily, those of us with better things to do will gladly meet you shin with shoe

Kev:  ahhh you re wickedly evil abjuration will make me cheer the win with more elation!

Mom:  but forgettest thou not my dearest son which side thy bread is buttered on

Kev: truth thou speaks and i proudly am covered one side with butter and one with jam

Mom:  in truth thou sayest what your mother knows best... a son who butters both sides makes a mess

Kev:  a mess I am i fully admit but the butter and jam was intensely good wit

Mom:  to wit indeed both jam and butter on the same side of the bread should please both dad and mother

Kev:  ahhh all i saw this texting time was a shocking lack of any rhyme!

Mom:  i bet pardon if you please.... surely you jest   clearly you tease...

Kev: teasing is not in my set of skills.... i just tell honestly and sometimes it kills

Mom:  methinks thou hast either a heart of stone or a head the size of the super dome

going through canyon  silencesilencesilencesilencesilencesilence going through canyon

Mom:  are you there yet?

Kev: yaaa we are at Smugglers cuz the people weren't ready for us to unload the truck

Mom:  ha!  order me a porter.  we re stopping at the house and then we ll be there 

 Ending at Smugglers sports bar with a glass of porter and a gyro, watching what us girls call "That Stupid Soccer Game." 

(Here ya  go, Kevvy.  Saved for posterity.  And our poetry is better than yours.   We don't care what you say.)

* For the record, this was on the way over the mountains Saturday with our first truckload of "move."  Dan and the boys got up and left around 5:30 Saturday morning so they wouldn't miss any of the World Cup game which started at 12:30 here.  The plan was that they were going to pull over  at the nearest sports bar with the big ole' moving van wherever they were when the game started.  Oh brother.  Us girls thought this was just.  well.  silly.  But, then, ya know....

 Anyway, Cathy and I slept in until a reasonable hour and followed the boys in the minivan, so we could drive everyone back over to the farm Saturday night after we dropped off the moving van. Dan got to drive the 26' moving van, by the way (NO way I was gonna do it...), and Kevvy and Dominic  drove Dan's commuter car over so we could park it at the new house and not have to deal with getting it over later.   Anyway,  Cathy was taking dictation for our side of this texting conversation.  Who was texting in the other car is still up for debate, but Kevin takes credit for the poetry -- such as it is.)