Well having given up on the whole moving thing I feel lighter. I wish I had gone already and was already there but I didn't make it out in time so I'm stuck for a bit. Letting go of a plane ticket to Portland hurts quite a lot. BUT, K said when the time comes for me to visit she'll help out. So, maybe this winter I will go visit K; while living here, and saving up to ... buy a van maybe? I could buy something that I could travel in. I think that would make me pretty damn happy. So that will be the new thing. I will land on my feet.
Next up on my agenda of must do immediately: make friends in town. I need to at least have coffee with someone once a week. And play backgammon. That dinner with M the other night was ... like magical and shit. My charisma was off the charts. The waitress was being COY for fucks sake. I think my crooked teeth show when I smile big and they disarm people-- southern folk's missing and crooked teeth always disarm folks. Except when there's banjos playing in the background. But I digress.
So thinking about getting a van and using it to travel all over and look for a place to die. The place to live until I die that is. Sometimes I wonder if I could make it to Alaska in a van, on my own. And how dad would feel if I showed up asking for that part of my inheritance. That... allowance of land on the lake. If they cheat me out of it somehow upon his death I'll be saddened. I sort of expect it. I get nothing from any part of the family, although when I went to visit Alaska the first time, and we were waiting for the puddle-jumper to pull up, my grandpa pressed a few 20s into my hand. "I wish it could be more" he said to me. It was the last time I saw him.
Ampa. You know, after that time Josh accidentally burned down the tool shed, we all stayed at the homestead for a couple of weeks rebuilding it and the outhouse. I dug an outhouse hole, I bet that same damn hole is still in use knowing my dad's reluctance to move outhouses. I helped build an outhouse. Then I moved on to the toolshed project. First they wanted me up on the rafters since I was a carpenter's helper in the union but I had vertigo at the time and so they put me notching rafters down on the ground. I had quite a stack of big wood to cut with a circular saw and it took all day. I took only a few small quick breaks as I wanted to get it done before dark. We were far out in the bush, and using a generator to power the tools. We had lights, but not a ton of fuel until more was to arrive the next day. So I powered through and got them all notched. Towards the end I looked up and saw Ampa in his truck. He had his head cocked and was smiling at me, nodding. Later he said to me: "I watched you work for two hours. I just sat there and watched you. I have never seen anyone so into their work, and streamlined. I wish I had gotten to know you sooner, you would have been a great help up here". (This was my first time meeting him, and I was in my 40s).
Later on, Ampa and I built one of the doors to the toolhouse together. He was nearing the end of life and his mind was still pretty good; he measured the boards for me. I cut them-- not checking his measurements. These were huge oaken doors. And now one of them was 1 foot too short! I got a lot of grief from the family for not double checking the door but I get a kick out of knowing that one of the doors has a little addition on the bottom... looks different than the other 'perfect' door... and that's MY door. Me and Ampa's.
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