“I have a box for you,” plaintiff’s counsel said to me after Thursday’s hearing concluded.
“And I have a box for you,” I replied cordially.
We walked out of the courthouse (after the ten-minute escape delay she’d requested, of course), swapped parcels and had a brief conversation. Once I got home, I opened the package I’d received and rummaged through its contents.
On top was my Ranger Boats fleece jacket, missing since The Grab but written off as collateral damage. There was my laptop computer case, which was on the list I submitted to plaintiff’s counsel recently, but a pair of 1TB backup drives weren’t inside it where I’d left them. And there was a cheap cell-phone tripod that never belonged to me.
The rest of the box was stuffed with random manila folders and accordion files, which I have yet to go through.
So that’s what I got in exchange for the package I gave to The Other Side. (My offering was unsolicited, I might add.) It held jewelry and militaria from X2’s family, small items of material as well as sentimental value.
Obviously, we still have a long way to go to restore my personal property.
As for the divorce itself, the signed order still hadn’t appeared on the court’s website by close-of-business yesterday. It was to be drafted by plaintiff’s counsel (she told me it was on her computer, ready to go) and sent to the judge.
You can speculate about that as easily as I can. The reasons why don’t matter. Until I have it in my hands, however, either electronically or physically, I must consider myself only unofficially divorced.
Pish-posh. Technicality. Paperwork. The court granted the divorce.
Over the last 24 hours, I’ve done a couple of things I can’t say I’m proud of.
This morning, the temperature in the cabin was 62°F. That isn’t the coldest it’s been since I moved in, not by a long shot, but I caved to my aching bones and broke out a space heater. I turned it on, moved the dial to the lowest setting and warmed myself until about 7:30am.
And second, I used the word “dirigible” in a sentence.
I hope my readers don’t think less of me. I’m only human.
Time may not stand still, but for three days, beginning yesterday, I will. A little decompression is in order, I decided. My intent is to accomplish nothing of consequence until the first of the week.
The Mountain is the ideal place to do that, of course.
Everything here happens on its own schedule, in its own time. The sun rises and the sun sets. Seasons ease one into another. Inhabitants of soil and rock and tree and sky know their parts and move to a rhythm only they hear.
To be close to this land is to feel that tempo and to take my place in the unfolding of each day. The natural world makes room for me.
I give it my stillness. It returns its peace.
The Mountain’s oaks are dropping a bumper crop of acorns this year, much to the delight of whitetails and resident rodents. This eastern gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis), fixated on nut-gathering, was oblivious to Smudge’n’me sitting nearby.
That’s because the Heeler remained uncharacteristically silent even as the fluffy-tailed tree rat came within ten feet of us. She sounded her squirrel alarm only when the critter scampered away.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable