Last week I headed north to Monticello to see my new, perfect granddaughter*. The freeway to Flagstaff from the Valley is a pretty fast ride, and I was “going with the flow of traffic,” (wink-wink) when my eyes caught a tiny, pea-sized rock come off the tire of a truck ahead of me. (Which I think is crazy miraculous that our eyes can do that.) I don’t know how fast that rock was going, but I know how fast I was going, yet my eyes track...
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