Don’t get around much anymore

Home is where the heart is, right? If that is true, my heart has been held up on the sofa for the last few weeks. Books, TV and a few articles written with the help of the phone and thank God for the internet streaming Board of Supervisors meetings.

With a few pillows on one end of the sofa to prop up my leg and pillows on the other to cradle my sweet little head, I’m like caterpillar safe in my little cocoon. Linda feeds her little caterpillar just like her cat and birds; she lays out a pu-pu platter on the coffee table within my reach, just enough to see me through to the next meal. I’ve gained about 27 pounds.

I lay my laptop on my lap at such an angle as to see the screen and stretch for the next grammatically incorrect sentence. My fingers have swelled, too, like I have fallen victim to the sixth deadly sin from Dante’s Inferno – gluttony. So if you read kj or oiu, it’s not a typo you’ll just have to figure out what I was writing about, just as in the articles I have written lately while on pain meds.  

With my laptop perched on my belly as Linda leaves the house and I hear the car leaving the driveway, my book comes out; I twiddle around on the internet or play my guitar. Writing for the paper is for later on, like just before Linda comes back home. This is almost better than a vacation; a quiet house, a ceiling fan and me.

It seems, though, every time I decide to close my eyes and drift off, snuggling down into the pillows, the phone rings or Linda or Elliott walk in and, of course, they say, “Caught you sleeping!”

“Hey, I’ve been working hard all day,” I lie.


“I have,” getting more defensive.

“What have you gotten done,” I hear them say, but it’s not them, it’s just my guilty conscience.

It’s been a tough life the last few weeks. But I think it’s back to work Monday, that is two days before the paper comes out. You see, now my cast has been replaced with a boot and I only need one crutch and by the glorious return to the office, I will be walking with a cane. Such is life, the vacation always ends.

Speaking of vacations, school will be out in about five or six weeks and the wee ones will be antsy to have something to do. So what will it be, Outer Banks, Virginia Beach, Blue Ridge, the River, the Lake. You know we have so many options right at our fingertips or tire tracks. But fueling up our beasts will be more expensive, by percentage, this summer than last.

But a drop to below $100 per barrel of oil last week is a sign that things may not be as bad as we thought. According to the “experts,” gas prices follow oil-by-the-barrel prices by just a few days. But prices will not drop too far, and will not reach the $7 a gallon that Donald Trump predicted in January or the $5 that some felt were headed our way. In fact prices may level off somewhere down around $3.50 a gallon this summer. Roll out the barrel and get ready for a vacation, you can drive to.

And so as I immerge from by cocoon as a fluttering moth chasing your porch light, I’m going to start planning another vacation. I can’t afford to go too far, but my car does get 35 mpg highway. So maybe a little traveling, a little farther than my last vacation where I laid on the coach; get out on the road, see how the rest of the world lives beyond Chester. Maybe a trip to Richmond or Petersburg or even D.C., as long as hotel rates aren’t too high.


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