Everything we can pack is packed. We’re keeping both cars in the garage until after midnight (zero-dark early hours Clark calls it – must be a military thing).
We’re signing off here. This going to be the last post here for a long time, probably ever. I don’t see us getting a landline phone to the cabin anytime soon, let alone a cable-modem. I’m not sure that many folks will miss us. There are bigger things to worry about than just another refugee family.
Refugee — there’s a word that just has a dark hole at it’s center. We’re leaving home, leaving a place we’ve come to love, a house that we worked hard to buy and where our daughter took her first steps. And we’re not handing it over to some other family to build their dreams in. We’re locking it up, leaving most of our stuff, and running.
The locks won’t last long. Somebody will break in and clean out anything they think is valuable. Our furniture, our library, hell the flooring, will probably get turned into kindling this winter. God I wish we could bring more books…books are civilization (along with hot water).
Nope, eventually the skeleton of this place will become a home for someone new…someone more desperate than us. I still have the paperwork to claim this place, but it won’t be ours anymore.
And for all that, I sill feel guilty for all we do have. When I was out haggling for gas this afternoon I saw one of the other Davis-area Dads. I can’t remember his name, I suck at names, but he’s Connor’s Dad. Beats me what he was looking for or buying or scrounging. I was tempted for a second to invite him and his boy along with us to the woods. April could have a playmate that way.
But we already have five people going to a cabin built for maybe three. We don’t know if we have enough food for ourselves for winter. We can’t play at charity. You don’t reach out for a drowning man unless you are damn sure of your footing on solid ground. Otherwise you both drown.
I tried getting touch with the rest of my family down in CT. ‘All lines are currently busy.’ A medic-type down at the Convention Center said she’s with the Red Cross and will get word about Gil down to Liz. I can’t imagine her going far from her little beach-community, her people, and her grandchildren. They’ll find her, and she’ll get by.
The saying is that there is a Chinese curse: “May you live in interesting times.” I don’t want interesting anymore. Let me just look out for my own. Chop wood, carry water. Let my fences make good neighbors and may my fences be far off.