Groundhog Day

I woke up Saturday morning in my own bed. Taking stock of the room I scanned my focus to the familiar ceiling fan, our large wood dresser, old photos, and various aspects of Diana’s scatter. Everything appeared, as it should, but something still wasn’t right. I was in my own bed, but on the wrong coast.

I can’t say that I’m disappointed with the latest bump in the road. It was extremely unsettling to walk away from so many line items of unfinished business. Window boxes still need to be installed, the dining room walls nag for a final coat of paint, counter top back splashes arrive Monday, and an assortment of new expensive tools are in desperate need of secure arrangement.

None of that happened. Thunderstorms produced flash flood warnings and South County endured a steady rain for most of Saturday. Absent any change of wardrobe, priority number one after a strong cup of coffee was to hit up the consignment store circuit. I arrived back in RI at 11:30 pm Friday night with a small carry-on and the clothes on my back. My suitcase is happily waiting for me at the Ted Steven’s International Airport in Anchorage.

Alaska. Crap! I need a ticket to visit my lonely duffel bag. This whole work-your-ass-off while bleeding money, enduring substantial stress, premature aging, and profuse sweating thing has been fun, but I have a job to get back too. Standing on the deck in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts while on hold with the Alaska Airlines MVP desk was an entertaining experience. Just not for me. Our only cell service is outside. We live downtown in a quaint historic village. I had nothing to wear and needed to be on the phone while passers-by smiled politely at the continuing spectacle that is my life.

I’m now booked out of Boston Logan Scum & Villainy at 4 pm on Monday. Yesterday afternoon was pleasantly spent wandering the new shops on Main Street, having coffee in the rain, and finding black raspberry ice cream for Kéa. Our friend Jamie drove up from New York to keep Diana company because I wasn’t supposed to be here, and we enjoyed a lazy day exploring a decade of gentrification in South Kingstown. I have 24 hours to sport my new old yellow $6 shorts. My only job today is to not get beat up by Biker Gangs at the Ocean Mist.

Please Don’t Kill Me
This wasn’t here three years ago….
Whalers Brewing Co. Conveniently located in the Old Peace Dale Mill next to Kéa’s climbing gym.

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