I woke up later than expected, but not late by anybody’s standards (7 am). I’m glad I rest just as good at Kevin’s as I do at home. Probably more so, since I don’t have Chester to worry about. Oh, Chester! I sure did hope he was doing ok, and not cold. Surely he’d be fine. He has plenty of fur. Lord knows I vacuum up enough to make a quilt every week.
I could hear Kevin puttering around, and I definitely smelled coffee. I dashed off my morning thankfuls to Emily before ever getting out of bed. I had a feeling it would be game on as soon as I showed my face.

But I was wrong. We had a slower start than yesterday, probably because we were tired. And really, it was Sunday, so we shouldn’t break a sweat anyway. I’d had to go cool off on the porch a couple of times the night before. But we must carry on and get this village knocked out, so all he’d like was above the china cabinet and oh yeah, all the lights and greenery outside. But that’s what Russell and his dad were for, amirite? Especially since it had been determined Russell had merely sprung some muscle in his arm in the accident yesterday, not dislocated it, as he had thought.
But I know all about those injuries that you can’t see, and how much they hurt, so I wasn’t putting too much stock into how much he’d be able to help.

At any rate, today I was allowed to boil my own egg and toast my own bread. It’s nice not to be thought of as a guest, honestly. Every time I locate my own spatula or whatever, I think back to my orientation tour in December of 2021, when I was a stand in for my Uncle Dale. Of course, he wouldn’t dream of waiting on himself, oh no, not when Brenda and Kevin were there to do it.
I see him grinning that gap toothed smile at me now.

So we piddled around and fixed what we fixed for our breakfast, bickering about who put the strawberry jam up before the other was done using it, and our typical sibling ribbing, then settled into our respective furniture. Kevin knows I watch exactly zero TV, apart from Friends reruns and Yellowstone, so he surfed through his Netflix offerings, giving me a briefing on each show. The only thing that appealed to me was a sitcom called Ghosts. He started it on the most recent episode and I giggled my way through it. The premise is, if you’re not familiar, of this young couple inherits this house from a distant relative. It needs a lot of renovation. While they’re working on it, the wife falls down the stairs and suffers a head injury. She recuperates, but it leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, which the house is full of. One is a Viking, one is a hippie who was mauled by a bear at Woodstock, so she is left in a state of perpetually stoned. One is her great-great-great grandmother, one is a Boy Scout instructor, one is a black jazz singer from prohibition days, another is an Indian, a prep school dude who wears no pants the entire show, Revolutionary War soldiers, then there are the cholera patients in the basement. I don’t know who the writers are, but this makes for some bizarre storylines.
When they get free of the ties of this world, and go to Heaven, the other ghosts call it “Sucked off”. The husband can’t see or hear the ghosts, so the ghosts communicate with him through his wife. They play Dungeons and Dragons together. It really is hilarious. I recommend it if you’re looking for something brainless to enjoy and occupy your mind.

I looked up and it was almost 2:00. “Geez, no wonder people are addicted to TV!! I have to GO!!” I hadn’t even packed or stripped my bed yet.
So commenced that flurry of activity. And I had to eat my leftovers from last night. Kevin had been existing on Nilla wafers and peanut butter. I think he also had toast and more pumpkin roll this morning. Straight carbs. Whereas me, I try to eat vegetables and meat and cut back on bread and I still gain ten pounds. We’re not even gonna mention all the peach rings he consumed between Manard’s and Tra Di Noi Ristorante….

We stood at the door and exchanged a big hug. “I had a good time,” I told him honestly, and finding I was a bit surprised about it. I didn’t really expect to, since we didn’t have any big activities planned, and we didn’t do a bunch of food prep and cooking. And, you know, my overall pall that has followed me like a cloud of gloom over my head for months now.
“I did too,” he said. And I believed him. Maybe it’s just what we needed: me and him. I found it odd Scarlett never showed up, and that Jeff called twice yesterday but Kevin never offered any information of who his houseguest was, when Jeff was clearly fishing. Maybe that’s why. I have a friend like that. The harder she pushes for information, the more closed off I become. And she wonders why. And I truly don’t think it’s out of nosiness. I think she genuinely cares. But she’s one of those I suspect of having a secret life. While I have no desire to learn of her secrets, how is it fair for me to divulge all mine? It’s like, “Put all your trust in me, you’re safe to tell me anything….but I don’t feel like I can trust you with mine.” It’s uneven footing and it’s unfair.

But anyway. Four hours, me and the pavement. It was a beautiful, sunshine filled afternoon, and I was thankful. I believe an open sunroof and Enter Sandman will cure most ails.
I wound my way down 231 and this time, fortunately, I remembered the cutoff on 70 to avoid downtown Lebanon. I stopped for fuel and to teetee so I could get on down the interstate without stopping again.

I was glad to pass some guys who had been hunting. They were traveling as a convoy, two or three trucks pulling side by sides and four wheelers. They had killed some deer and had the heads arranged so I could admire the racks. I grinned ear to ear, thinking of my Uncle, who always tried to hide his so the “EPA won’t get called on me” (longstanding joke) but one year they’d shot like, eight, and they had all frozen, so they just had to do the best they could loading them. But he did try to be considerate to all the non hunters out there and people who think their meat comes from a grocery store. But me? I tooted my horn, rolled my window down, and gave them all a hearty thumbs up. It makes me happy that people hunt. I wish we had more skilled hunters, because we’re still overpopulated, but anyway, they’re trying.

I made it home at 6:30, with no true close calls for a change. Chester had actually eaten!!! I couldn’t believe it. So maybe I won’t have to be so dependent on Angela in the future. That’s always good. I gave him his toys from Uncle Kevin and took video to send. The Play-Doh guy never had a chance. He was demolished within minutes. The other one is holding up marginally better. He may make it a few days.
It’s good to have a dog to come home to. If you’ve got a dog, you’ve always got someone who is unequivocally glad to see you and loves you without condition. People aren’t that way. I will always have a dog, because dogs you can count on. And dogs won’t point out all the ways you have failed.
Dogs just love.