I enjoy alone time, but only in small doses. Natasha and her daughter Giorgianna, our houseguests, are away with Donna, seeing the sights in Flagstaff and Sedona. They left Sunday afternoon and will be home tonight. What do I get out of the deal? Three days and two nights of raising hell, which in my case translates to watching TV shows I like but Donna doesn’t, reheating leftovers, finishing a Carl Hiaasen novel. Oh, and not watching the news.
I’ve sworn off news for the duration, except for a quick review of Google News headlines in the morning. If what I see there is any indication of what they’re covering on network and cable TV, I chose wisely: I’ll still be relatively sane by election day. You I’m not so sure about.
Our refrigerator conked out. It’s 20 years old and probably fixable but Donna decided it’s time for a new one. She and Natasha went to Lowe’s, the only place still open at eight on a Saturday night, while I babysat Giorgianna. They came home with a small bar fridge. Donna wasn’t happy with the choices at Lowe’s, so she bought the bar fridge to tide us over for a few days. Only a fourth of our food fit inside, so I went to Safeway for ice, then brought in a big igloo cooler from the garage. That took care of the refrigerator contents, but not the frozen food. Donna bagged that up and took it to our friend Mary Anne, who had room in her freezer.
The next morning, when the girls had originally planned to drive to Flagstaff, they were instead visiting the few appliance stores open on Sunday. Donna called in the early afternoon to say she’d found a refrigerator she liked and that it will be delivered Thursday. They finally got on the road to Flagstaff at three and didn’t get there until after dark, but all is well now and they’re having a good time. Meanwhile, I’m eating takeout.
By the time our next round of visitors come on Friday—our granddaughter Taylor and our friend Angie from Tampa—our kitchen’ll be back in business with a new refrigerator. The little bar unit will find a home on the patio: I doubt it’ll get much use after this domestic emergency has passed.
Sunday morning, while the girls were hitting the appliance stores, I rode around Tucson on my bicycle, scouting trail for next Sunday’s hare & hounds event. I did it as a favor for two out-of-town friends, Angie and Theresa, who are flying in later this week to be the hares on Sunday. Knowing they wouldn’t have much time to figure out a trail, I mapped and scouted one for them, and it’s a good thing I did because Theresa had a family emergency and had to cancel her flight, and now I’m Angie’s co-hare. Here’s me after my Sunday morning ride. If my face looks chalky, that’s because it’s slathered with sunblock.
Schatzi’s just fine when she’s home alone with me. She’s never far away, as I write under the desk at my feet. Maxie, though, is the canine personification of loneliness when Donna’s away. She’s definitely my wife’s dog, just as Schatzi is mine. I think of Schatzi and Maxie as more than pets: they’re our familiars. The dictionary says a familiar is a supernatural spirit in animal form, attending and aiding a witch or wizard. Well, sure—another name for familiar is demon—but there must be benign familiars as well, attending and aiding regular people. Am I reading too much into the bond between people and pets? Probably, but it makes me happy to do so.
Well, I enjoyed my bachelor interlude, but like Maxie I’m ready for Donna to be home again.
But you’re checking the news on the internet, aren’t you?
“I’ve sworn off news for the duration, except for a quick review of Google News headlines in the morning.”
Just realized I opened this post by saying I was reheating leftovers, then halfway through said I was eating takeout. Both are true. I ate leftovers the first night. Last night, however, I had bun from the Vietnamese place, and tonight I’m going there again to bring home some pho.