The Shockey family enjoying a casual evening at Cheryl Shockey's. Picture circa 2005. This is what we do when we are all together. Forget the clothing, look at the eyes. Don't we look like a family of Satanists?
Tomorrow is the day. PDX at 12:30.
Mick: Do you just want to keep driving around until I get out to the curb?
me: Uh, NO.
Do I want to drive 'round and 'round if maybe his plane got delayed in Juneau or Seattle for hours and hours? Him, without a cell phone since there's no cell phone service available in Pelican. Well, he could call me on a cell phone, if he'd just walk up the incredibly steep dump hill and call. Yeah, that sounds like fun because I'd really hate to have to spend $3 to park. I sure wouldn't want to take the time to go pee after driving an hour and a half--I'll just hold it for three hours or more.
I'm parking and paying.
How will this visit go? Will it be like a second honeymoon? Sure, with kids and snoring, farting dogs (always blame the dog), and an annoying, clinging cat, and another cat who can't tolerate closed doors. Now there's the recipe for intimacy.
Then there's the list. Now I know Mick has missed me when he just laughs at the notion of The List. The List contains all those items, aka chores, that I either hate to do, refuse to do, or can't do without doing serious dammage to my already crunchy back.
The List:
*hornets
*earwigs
*ants
*poison weeds in yard
*refill propane and burn weeds in garden
*change water filter
*move ugly, cumbersome monstrosity of an entertainment center out of bedroom
*move extremely large, heavy, and awkward (but nice) dresser from shop and into bedroom
I'm leaving it at that. He's got a few more things that I need for him to do, but as for The List, that's it. I'm not counting on all of this getting done. That would be a first. The shock might make my heart stop. I could be overcome with lust if all items on the list were scratched off as completed.
The water filter has been on every list for the past two years.
There are also dogs to walk and cats to brush. Mick's the only one who does such things. I openly admit it. However, I'm the only one who bathes the beasts and you recently saw what a joy that is. My hand is almost healed. Almost, not quite.
I wish there were going to be tomatoes to pick. Oh, there will be--just about the time Mick flies north again. Life can be so unfair. I don't even like cherry tomatoes. There will be pictures of that mutant monster soon. The bane of my current existence. I think people who have been sentenced to do community service should have to come and pick tomatoes off that thing. Hell is filled with monster cherry tomato plants.
Then there is the issue of bed. Don't worry, some things do remain private. But not all...Can I give up my side of the bed, also known as the Middle? What about bedtime? Mick is one of those people who can go to bed by 8:00 if he can't find anything on TV. I write at night. Right now it is actually tomorrow. Midnight often sees me up and just heading to the shower.
Adjustments, adjustments. Every family develops its own routines and rhythms. And for the next ten days we'll just wing it. By the time we start to get a routine going, we'll be driving up to Portland and putting Mick back on the plane. This has to end soon.
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