“Caveman food and barbaric tv tonight?’
-came The Colonel’s text
…
“Yaaz!”
-answered the hoodrat text
…
The Church ladies have bible study tonight.
Feelgood Halmark movies?
Nah, The Rifleman, Forged in Fire and interviews with deathrow losers…
Salad, kambucha and grace?
Beer, Vienna sausages on the woodstove, eaten out of the can, something salty, beer, oh, and more beer!
The best thing about being married to church ladies is that they have their church lady functions, bible study, relief society, etc. This gives the men a weekday night dinner opening in which exotic vegetables, well appointed deserts and finely cut salads are NOT a must.
Eating out of bowls and cans, and snacking off of napkins and drinking out of cans, gives the tired old cusses of this twilight world plenty of time to watch knife making contests, punk-killing adventures and other higher things in life.
Stayed up drinking rum afterwards with The Captain playing cards until ten, late coming ever more early as the expiration date on this carcass comes due.
The Colonel and I have been getting together on Tuesday nights, occasionally with The Captain as well, for these past two months.
Now ten days from hobo time, I’m already missing this place and these people and will, in particular, miss manfood Tuesday, with The Colonel.
My local clothes need to be packed and stowed and my carry clothes re-examined, as I’ve lost 10 pounds and 2 inches on my waist working on the roads these past two months, even though on Tuesday, The Colonel insists on fixing food that’s “not on Rick’s list.”
The Colonel bought me a new pair of boots which I hope to be my last, as there is now at least one pair of boots everywhere I stay annually. The pair he got me two years ago are still holding up and are staying behind here with the winter clothes in Cascadia.
The Captain’s wife has gotten me boot grease and bees wax water-proofer to oil up the duster, which will needs be left in Portland.
Before leaving I hope to haul branches and small boulders out or the upper and lower pond and perhaps fell a large dead cedar with The Colonel’s very nice felling ax.
The damaged brain is spinning with the affliction of another new novel and today, first I must finish this plague journal.
We have all survived the Dread Minus and the New Dread Minus as well in this little Christian enclave, where this old heathen has been granted annual sanctuary three years running now.
The government has not killed us yet.
But these Rig Pharma sorcerer covens are coming for us.
Thank God for granting this reprieve.
Ten days to maskland—that’s going to be so weird again, after not being masked for two months and then returning to the gaslit Masquerade.
Yeti Waters has emailed my train ticket to Portland.
The woodstove is stoked.
Grandma Mary is sleeping in her chair.
Toby is standing guard on the porch under the humming bird feeder.
Annie, The Evil cat is regarding this old hoodrat like a green-eyed sphinx...
And spring is already here under the shoulder of this evergreen mountain.
-James, Wednesday, February 16, 2022
