The Old Blog in the Desert

It took me a little more than half the day to finally get home, having hitched a ride from a fella named Jim, in the back of his pick-up truck. I showered, and dressed in clean clothing, ate a thick peanut butter and jelly sandwich and downed two cups of freshly brewed coffee.

My stomach was a bit queasy from nerves as I sat outside on the front porch step and waited for my wife to get home. Her beaming smile at the sight of me was wonderful to behold and worth the absence.

And while I expected her to chide me with some sort of ‘I told you so’ comment, none has come. Instead she gave me a strong hug and a gentle kiss as we went inside.

“It could have been worse,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, “They could have slit my throat or something.”

She screwed up her face before turning to the stove, “Do you always have to go to the worse imaginable place?”

“No,” I answered, “But I gotta admit you were right about the dangers.”

Her back may have been to me at the time, but I felt her grin as she glowed at the idea that I admitted she had been correct.

After finishing telling her what had happened, she made a huge plate of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes with fresh salsa, some crisp bacon and sourdough toast for my dinner. Once I had eaten, I washed the pans and loaded the dishes as I’ve been doing for years now.

Since then, we watched a previously recorded TV show and now she’s gone to bed. I’m still up tidying up this last entry to my notebook and very happy to be back home.

Once finished here, I’m going to retire to the backyard patio with a small glass of whiskey, put my sore, swollen feet up and stare up at the twinkling stars, the glow of the moon, and enjoy my ‘isness.’