If We WEREN'T Here

This is how it usually works: in the spring -- somewhere between late March and early May -- we come out to the "cabin" to open it after winter. It's always an anxious time for me... was the place hurt by winter, was it broken into, did it flood, etc.

We give the place a good once-over, clean and vacuum, survey the area, and see what's what. For years you couldn't see any lights unless they were on a relative's cabin. Since the electric co-op came through and thinned trees near the power line, we now have a direct view across the highway to a neighbor's yard light that could, if necessary, double as a runway light.

I won't get into the whole across-the-river tree situation, but certainly our view and privacy have drastically changed.

Aren't I Mr. Sunshine today? One more, and that's it. I promise.

Over the years 80% of our fixed windows have gotten moisture between the panes and eventually cracked; this winter the window at the top of the living room wall joined the club.

What I'm saying is, if we were still in Seattle, didn't know any of this had happened, and didn't find out for another two months, I'd probably have myself a fit.

On the plus side, yesterday was the anniversary of Dick Cheney shooting his friend in the face with a shotgun while "hunting" caged quail. Remember how up-front he was on it, and how dubya didn't find out for a couple days? That's just a solid public servant who knows his place.

A replacement window arrived today, Monique made shrimp scampi for dinner, our little tabletop herb garden is doing very well, and "Nickel Creek" is playing on the stereo. I'm glad -- I'm thrilled -- we're here. And I'll try not to worry too much about what might happen. Enough stuff really does happen that I shouldn't the possibilities fester.