Here We Go Again

Said truck decides everything from here on out, including the utter refusal to start this afternoon when I have the good intention of driving down the mountain and into town to vacuum and clean my dad’s truck for him. Instead, dad has to borrow a school truck and drive 40 minutes to my place, where we give the Ford a jump and then he follows me to the dealership. It’s still under warranty and this has got to be a starter and/or alternator problem. Best to let them deal with it and hopefully it won’t cost a thing.

Meanwhile, I’m back in the South Toe River valley again for the third time in two weeks. I’ve been home from Oregon for two and a half weeks. I haven’t had a week of consecutive rest in my own bed since June 3rd.

And so there are all the necessary questions: What are the lessons to be learned? I’ve set up camp at my parent’s house again, plugged into the iPod to block the sound of the Lonesome Dove series (which my parents own on DVD) and try and get some work done. I get to use my grandmother’s old mahogany desk and, since my parents are almost all done moving in, now there is a mattress on the floor. This is a huge step up compared to the 9 nights I had on the couch when I was dealing with the crutches.

But I digress again. What are the lessons to be learned? That wanting is futile. That stability is a mirage. The only thing steady in all of this, actually, has been my refusal to stop writing. In this way, all these little bumps have been a blessing in the form of tests.

What other lessons? Does the mountain want to swallow me whole? Some days, it’s felt like that. But then PD reminded me that I didn’t hurt my ankle on the mountain and so I quickly put that thought to rest. What else? Patience. Healing. Accepting what’s handed to you and being able to look at it and laugh, then move on.

Here’s to moving on.