This is scary or am I just upset? Or I am upset when I get scared. It is just those dam pack rats. I thought I had an effective system. Last night as a trial I left the van in a different location outside of the garage. Dam those ubiquitous desert varmits. Sure enough the brat or brats chewed the paper towel on which I had a bar of Irish Spring soap. I was told they don’t like the strong smell of that brand of soap. Ha, the brat knawed on the soap and chewed the paper towel.
In 8 days I am leaving for almost three months. I have a friend who agreed to check the vehicle at least once a week. To hire someone to check the car every single day is not reasonable. I can leave bright LED lights on in the garage. If the electricity goes out for any reason, what then?
Picking up the chewed pieces of paper towel my breathing became shallow. This was not so much because I cringe at the thought of seeing a live rat. It was because again I am faced with solving a problem on my own, a problem I would have easily passed on to Ronald. Ronald is not here. So began a miserable morning of grief.
Intuitively, I cleaned up the towel crumbs and removed the bar of soap. I decided it is best I keep the van in the garage when not in use. To further my skill navigated this 24 foot long home away from home I again backed SasseaVan into its specially designed garage slip. This was my second backing it in experience. Wow, it does get easier. In the garage I keep the engine hood up, point an anti-varmit sound emitting gadget at the engine, decorate the engine with Irish spring soap, a few spritz of peppermint and go on on my way.
During my 2 mile walk around the north and south loop of Buffalo Drive, I introduced myself to a neighbor who was walking in the opposite direction. Listening to Pandora on my Bose headphones, I broke down crying, sobbing uncontrollably when Eric Clapton’s rendition of “You Look Beatiful Tonight.” How many times did Danny play that tune on the electric guitar he rebuilt? Once he blocked the front door to prevent me from going out while he sat on a kitchen stool silently mouthing the words. He did not sing, at all. He played so precisely, by ear. He never read music. But, I diverge.
When I got to the mailbox the movement of my arms twisting around to take my backpack off and the jiggling of the key to open the box transitioned me from a sobbing sally to an angry bitch. Forcefully I stuffed the mail into my pack, then walked with a vengeance back home. I kicked every pebbly stone (and there are a bazillion) on the tenth of a mile back to the house.
Inside, I filled the kettle with enough water for several cups of coffee. On a misty rainy day this is turning out to be coffee will be my friend. First, though, I drowned my sorrow in a big bowl of cheerios, raisins, coconut and walnuts. Usually I put in enough almond milk to moisten the cereal. Today, I filled the bowl to the brim. It’s a big bowl,,,
Well, I guess I am talked (written) out for today’s blog. With 8 days to go, my stomach is in a knot, my legs are tense, and my mind is telling me that this is a scary time in my life. I so miss my life mate and my husband. Two wonderful men, , ,
Now, just as I was ending this a friend sent me a video. The message says, “This is for you. It had me in tears.” I instantly wrote back, “I’m scared to watch it.” Then, I shut the computer off. Maybe later I will watch it. For now, I’ll go play the piano…
Ron stopped the van alongside the ditch on the right side of the road. Slowly he backed up to the driveway. A realtor sign was shadowed next to the wooded lot. Without hesitation we bolted out of the truck. Immediately I ran to the back door then all four sides of the house. I cupped my hands around my eyes to glimpse at the interior of the house.
With an uncertain future, as it always is, coupled with aging I had to include a plan to see my sister and brother to celebrate all we are thankful for. Doing so on the proclaimed day the pilgrims and Indians had their infamous turkey dinner creates problems. This is especially true for my brother who would be taking a commercial airline to attend our little rendezvous in Florida. He lives in Poughkeepsie, NY. A compromise between him, my sister and me was easily reached
Sassea Sails 
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