A Bubble Off Plumb

We want to send a special thanks to Russell at Codey Seelke’s repair shop in Okeene. He got our delivery van back on the road Wednesday with no fuss, no drama and would only accept thanks for it. That kind of service in this day and time deserves a shout out! So, many thanks, Russell.

About 10 days ago, our son, the baby of the family, now 20 years old and 6’5”, returned to Wyoming where he works as a taxidermist apprentice. He’d been home to help out, what with his dad’s heat stroke over the summer and us moving. While he was with us, he was lending a hand to a horseshoer, making a little money and learning a new skill, not to mention adding a lot of muscle to his already stout and lean frame.

All that stature took a lot of feeding, which equated to a lot of cooking and baking. He ate like a modern-day Jethro Bodine. Because he was working with livestock and metal, that took a lot of laundry and stain eliminating. Basically, keeping him clothed and fed while he was home was almost a full-time job by itself.

But we got moved and his dad was mostly healed up and the boy had to go back to his job. After all, fall and winter is the busy time for mounts and such. I helped him get his plunder in his suitcases, book his ticket and get to the airport.

He flew out on a weekday, so it wasn’t odd not to have him underfoot. That evening we went back to our previous empty nest programming.

A half-gallon of milk lasts a week or more. We are never out of bread and the linen closet always has plenty of dry towels. I know where the dishes are in the cabinets without the boy ‘helping’ me by putting things where, in his opinion, they ought to go. If we bring home leftovers from a meal out, they are still in the refrigerator when we go to look for them. We don’t have to share the television remote and one load of laundry every other day is sufficient.

Our pooch is relieved, too. The boy lives to torment the dog, wrestling him and holding him like a baby until he dissolves into a growling, snarling heap of anger and hurt feelings. He’s now much more relaxed and never snarls at all.

The size 13-Sasquatch boots don’t clutter up the floor and lie in heaps around the door. There is usually fuel in the tanks and the tools are put back where they belong. My books don’t disappear, and no one has used up a case of ammo for my pistols since he took off.

We can go to sleep at a decent hour without listening to the PS 5 until all times of the night. And no one has hijacked the radio to play Viking dirges or pirate shanties. Sometimes our money lasts as long as the month does.

We’ve had five kids and the last one has flown the coop. We’ve never been so free, so liberated.

We’re totally miserable. We rattle around in the house and wonder what the heck it was we used to do with our time and energy.

We are working on it, getting re-involved and invested in the community. I am finding clubs and groups and volunteer opportunities for myself. The Red-headed Stranger walks the dog a lot.

We will live, of course. Until the holiday visits, anyway.