Getting caught up? in A small but passable life.

Anyway. It’s been three weeks since I’ve felt like scribbling. It’s been three weeks since we’ve been back in the desert.

We left the Ozark’s on October 10. We drove to Oklahoma City. We had dinner with my youngest nephew and his family. We stayed in the same La Quinta we’d stayed in on the eastbound trip. This time we paid only $17 and change using our accumulated points.

The next day we drove to Amarillo. Mom didn’t like the La Quinta I’d booked, but it was cheap. She was getting tired from the trip so she was getting kind of cranky.

That evening my eldest niece brought her two kids to the city and we went out to eat. The next morning an ex brother-in-law came by the room to visit. He was my sister’s second husband and the father of three of Mom’s grandkids. I hadn’t seen him in thirteen years. We had a nice visit.

I’d decided to drive the next ten hours to home all in one day. We left early on the 12th. We stopped for lunch in, I think, Holbrook, AZ. We drove down through the mountains, through Heber and Payson, instead of over to Flagstaff and down on 17. It was a very nice drive. We got home a little after dark.

So, the Fall 2018 Road Trip. September 24 to October 12. 3222 miles.

From my handwritten journal:

[Sunday, Oct. 14

Everything is back to ‘normal’ around here. The time I spent with Daughter was too short, but enjoyable for both of us. She is still planning on a trip out here around the first of the year. She has really been working hard. I think some time off would do her some good. We plan on doing a lot of hiking while she’s here.

We made a lot of stops on the trip to see family and several new additions to the family. We stopped in three different states.

Now I’m wondering how long I’ll be able to maintain my sanity. The simple fact is that I don’t really want to be here, but I really have no idea where I’d rather be.

I’ll just sit here and think about it for a bit.]

And that’s where I’m at this morning. In my chair. In my little room. Drinking coffee.

I’ve finished reading:

“Democracy, Inc.” by Sheldon S. Wolin
“The Forbidden Door” by Dean Koontz
“Cherry” by Nico Walker

From the novel “Cherry”:

“She was definitely fuckable.
She had a nice face.
And she was hard-core.
One of God’s diamonds.”

Yes, Mr. Walker, in his debut novel has proved himself a true scribbler.

I’ve got two more cups of coffee to drink and then I’ll go to the library to turn in the last book and pick up the new John Grisham that’s waiting for me.

The A/C in here has been off and the window has been open in here for weeks now. Temperature in here runs from the high seventies during the day to the mid to low sixties by morning wakeup at 8am. Perfect.

On November 1st, after my three cups of coffee, I put on my hiking boots my new knapsack and grabbed my new trekking poles. I headed across the road to state land. Desert. I started walking due south on a trail covered with bicycle tracks. No footprints. The trail turned east after a bit. A little further on it dead-ended in a copse of trees near a dry wash. And there was a huge cabin tent and several smaller tents. A hammock strung from two trees. An obvious homeless camp. Too cool. No one at home.

And I got to wondering, why is a camp that looks like a home called a homeless camp? To me it is an obvious matter of perception.

Now, in that particular patch of desert there are many, many clumps of trees to be seen off in the distance. How many contain little villages? Is there an unoccupied one that I can claim? All I need is two trees for my hammock and a flat patch for my tent. Oh, and a bicycle to make the trip between here and there quicker.

Head out there at sunset. Thirteen hours of uninterrupted bliss. Return to here at sunrise.

Something to ponder. Always an option.