(Y’know, if I keep doin’ clickbait headlines, I’m sure I’ll go to hell.)
My phone rang at 7:35am — “Private Number.” I ignored it. Shortly thereafter it rang again, and I ignored it again. I saw that I had a voicemail.
It was a Marion County sheriff’s deputy. I returned his call. He said he’d been assigned to arrange for Deb to come to The Mountain today to “get a few things.” She’d be accompanied by her younger son and his wife.
The deputy and I had a cordial, businesslike conversation. We set up the visit for 11am. The deal was that I’d be present, for the purpose of avoiding misunderstandings.
I started a couple of loads of laundry in the cabin. I went to the post office, where I made a disturbing discovery.
The PO box was empty, blocked off from the back. Just then, my phone pinged — a notification that the package I was there to fetch was flagged, “addressee unknown, return to sender.”
Well, shit.
I went to the counter. The kind woman behind it said that Deb had closed the box — that’s right, instead of simply forwarding mail addressed to her.
We sorted it out. The box was reopened in my name only. I got my package and returned home.
Awaiting the deputy et al, I noticed that I was anxious. Understandably, I think. I had thyroid/adrenal tremors — the shakes, that is — but that’s happened to me for over 30 years. Before a speech, a media interview, and so on. Nothing to worry about.
I felt calm, resolved. The sooner this was done, the better.
A veritable caravan arrived on The Mountain a few minutes after 11am — the deputy in his cruiser, followed by Deb and the others split between the boy’s pickup and a U-Haul box truck.
To “get a few things.”
It was my intent to have no interaction whatsoever with any of them. That ship sailed early, when Deb walked up to the deputy and me and dramatically dropped truck keys, a pistol magazine and a wool blanket onto the tailgate of my truck.
“Under the seat of my Jeep!” she barked angrily.
I walked away without a word. And I stayed away.
She and her crew of two cleaned everything of hers out of the camper and the cabin. Then, I was presented with a list.
I dug out all of her firearms. She wanted half the ammo and half the dehydrated food, and I erred on the side of giving up more of both, plus a generator and camping gear, just to make things go smoothly.
Still, she complained to the deputy that she was shorted.
She asked for half the rolled coins that were stashed away, and I gave her all of them, without hesitation. Then she demanded her late father’s antique firearms from me — strange, since she herself had secured them elsewhere two years ago.
I discovered later that she made off with my muck boots, men’s size 13. Bizarre.
The process took nearly three hours. In the end, she took whatever she took –– from GoPro to beer to boots, it’s just stuff. I can’t summon the energy to care.
Since I had no idea this was even coming today, I wasn’t prepared from a practical point of view. It didn’t have to take as long as it did, nor was there a need for contention. Any delay or upset can be attributed to the silence-and-surprise tactic, the total communication blackout which I’m accustomed to by now.
I’m glad it’s over with.
The deputy, by the way, was great. Young fella, born and raised here, two years with the department. We talked, just him and me, for most of those three-ish hours. Wonderful conversations.
Once I was alone again on The Mountain, I tidied up and returned to the camper. I was concerned about how the dogs handled all this.
(Of necessity, by the way, for safety’s sake, I’d crated Smudge before anyone got here. I don’t know if she was let out or not.)
I found my girl Scout lying on the floor where she always does, relaxed and unbothered.
When I released Miss Smudge from her crate, she threw herself at me, wrapped her forelegs around my neck and licked my face. I sat down in my chair, and instantly she was on my lap.
She leaned against me, hard, and pawed at me. And she’s been clinging to me since.
Scout will always be the best friend I’ve ever had, but today, I do believe that Miss Smudge became my ride-or-die.
This hasn’t been an easy day for the dogs and me. It was, however, a necessary one. It had to happen. It could’ve gone much worse.
I’m glad I’d already broken through from sadness to indifference. There is no hate. Processing what few feelings remain, if any at all, is bound to go better.
Next week, I’ll be arranging to take responsibility for the electric bill (in arrears), take over the storage unit (ditto, presumably), and establish a separate account for my cell phone. As I suspected, she suspended Internet service, and I’m not yet sure what I’ll do about that.
One step at a time. As a supportive friend said to me recently, “The only way around is through.”
Thanks for wading through this.
Today, dogwood blooms on The Mountain.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable