Hell of a Guy

Saturday Morning


It is Saturday morning in Bridgeport, WV.  I am sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep Cherokee typing on a laptop using just one finger on my left hand and three on my right.        It has just begun to rain, a morning shower.  Rain water is gently rolling down the windshield and it is quiet except for the rain drops on the roof of the car and the sound of four fingers striking the keys of the laptop.  There is serenity in this boredom.

I was up this morning at 6:05.  Jackie had already left for work; her twelve-hour shift at the emergency room begins at 6:30.  The rest of the household occupants are still fast asleep.  Ken is a recliner in the family room.  Jared in his room lay sound asleep sideways in his bed.  Jon-Luke is in his mother’s bed in a position similar to Jared’s, as Princess, the family cat, stands guard over him at the foot of the bed.  She gave me a wary look as I glanced in to see if Jon-Luke was near waking.  The Nancy, likewise, is in a deep sleep.

This is the third time this morning I have come to my car.  It is 8:42.  The first time out I made a trip to Starbucks for coffee and a chance to catch up on all the e-mail I missed yesterday afternoon, as I drove the 170 miles from The Farm to Bridgeport, the home of stepdaughter Jackie and her husband Ken.  I had my morning Joe and returned to the house hoping to have the two boys up to go to breakfast with me at Bob Evan’s.  They hadn’t stirred.  I grabbed a shower and rattled around the bathroom with the idea of waking up someone, but it did not work.  A bomb could go off and The Nancy might wake up, then again, probably not.  So I left the house for a second time and got gas for the Jeep and went to the bank for some cash.  I returned home the find things as they were when I left.  The house is as quiet as the car except for the snoring emanating from the family room and the room wherein The Nancy dwells. So here I sit alone in this car hungry as hell.

I found the remnants of a bag of pretzels, and this then is my gourmet breakfast – 140 calories in 21 pretzels, at least for now.  I am up to eighteen.  Oops!  Nineteen!

The rain has ceased.  The sky is getting a little lighter as the clouds move easterly.  It is 8:51 and I am about to go back into the house to see if I can get someone moving so I can get a real breakfast, perhaps some yogurt and fruit.  Damn, there were only twenty pretzels left in the bag.  So I am about to go back in, praying someone is upright.

Someone has to be up by now, right?

And that is all I have to say about that…

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