Today promised to be a washout — I saw that comin’. What I didn’t expect was that the rain would start last night, long before we went to bed. The world greeting Smudge’n’me early this morning, then, already was thoroughly saturated, with much more on the way.
After we came back inside, I flopped into my recliner and the Heeler curled up on Deb’s. The latest downpour drummed on the roof.
I began considering what I have to do over the next three days — all of the stuff I named in yesterday’s post, plus a trip to the laundromat and fetching our Turkey Day order at Harps. (I still do the driving.)
Transfer station. Propane. Post office.
Maintenance on the Ranger probably can wait ’til after Thanksgiving.
And that list of pre-freeze chores? Could I throw on boots and a rain jacket and get started today?
It’s only rain, sneered the voices in my head. Don’t be a wussy.
Then, shortly before 9am, the rain stopped. Brilliant sunshine beamed down from a deep-blue sky dotted with cotton-ball clouds. The Mountain fairly glistened.
Buoyed by the change in the weather, I headed outside and went on the attack. I finished checking the RV’s batteries (they were fine), stood up and looked at the skies — gray, once again. A few minutes later, a light rain began falling.
I pressed on. Using the Silverado as a mule, I moved 12 concrete blocks close to where I wanted them on the utility side of the fifth-wheel and began the process of giving our sewer hose the lift it needed.
Cue the torrential downpour.
That robbed the task of whatever Fun Factor it might’ve had (and it didn’t have much to begin with). Because about half of the Stinky Slinky runs underneath the RV, technically I wasn’t working in the rain the whole time — but it still meant rolling around on gravel in a confined space.
In the end it took nine blocks to do the job. Time will tell whether or not I gave the run enough fall to prevent ice from blocking it completely. At least it has no bellies, no traps.
I was soaked to the skin by that point, and chilled, so I stopped short of starting on freeze-proofing the unheated section of our fresh-water hose. I came inside, got out of my wet clothes and relaxed awhile.
A nap happened.
When I got up I had no particular interest in picking up where I left off. I was satisfied to have knocked out two of the three tasks on my list. I’ll tackle the fresh-water hose tomorrow or Wednesday.
I did step outside during a break in the rain, just to take in my surroundings — to notice, if you will. The air was heavy and cool, colors deep and dark.
The rain had pulled a fresh layer of leaves onto the ground, giving the landscape a glow of its own. And at the risk of pissing off friends who, because of HOA rules, personal pride or simple tradition, have to rake or otherwise pick up leaves that fall on their yard, I’d like to say that it’s great to live on a patch of land where we don’t bother.
Though we should’ve settled in for the duration of the day, late this afternoon we had to make an “emergency” dash to Flippin. Our Keurig coffeemaker died this morning, the third time that’s happened in the last month.
The first was almost three years old, the one we’d used every day on our motorhome travels. We replaced it, acknowledging that it’d had a hard life, and the new one burned out two weeks later. Ditto the unit that stopped working today.
We’d be inclined to blame our well water, but we always run that through our Berkey before using it for drinking, cooking or coffee.
We opted for a cheap, no-frills drip coffeemaker. We could’ve gone old-school and used our percolator, but we prefer a little more convenience.
And let’s face it, coffee is Life.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.