Home Alone

This morning, I am at home alone.

This happens maybe four or five times a year. This ironic part is that EG said, "Gee, if I had known you were going to be home this morning, I wouldn't have made these other plans." It was all I could do to not shriek with hysterical laughter.

This is the last day of school until after the first of the year, so I am savoring my solitude.

Generally, the only alone time I get is when I am driving, so the minivan with the bike crash scratches has become my idyllic retreat, despite the homework papers, wrappers, boy scout uniforms, toys and other jetsam which shifts around in the back as I turn corners.

I remember when I was in college--there was a guy we knew who used his backseat as a trash receptacle, simply pitching fast food bags and candy wrappers over his shoulder until he had the time and access to a dumpster, not to mention the inclination to shovel out the mess.

His car got mice.

Which he discovered when one raced over the back of his seat one day while he was driving, and flung its little self into his lap.

Since the driver threw himself out of the car without stopping, let alone putting it into park, he lost control of the vehicle and ran it into some stationary object. When the tow truck guy arrived, he found the driver had gone to someone's house, gotten their trash can, dragged it to the curb, and was using his snow scraper to shovel out the back of the car. The tow truck guy stayed way back until the driver was finished.

So despite the mess which seems to regenerate itself, I am vigilant in keeping the car from becoming verminous. Since I do sometimes arrive places early and just sit in the peace and quiet for a minute, I would hear scritching and nibbling from the back. The kids scritch and nibble, too, but they are much louder. I can tell the difference, I think.

One night, I went to get Rocky from Cub Scouts, and I left the girls at home with their dad. I had left fifteen minutes early, as I felt stressed. I parked in front of the scoutmaster's house, watched the rain fall on my windshield, and called my sister.

I said, "I need to know if I am crazy."

"Well," she replied, "since I am standing out in the pouring rain in the dark and wearing a head lamp so I can barbecue, my perspective might be somewhat skewed."

Anyway, I digress. This morning, I mopped myself into the room with the computer, so I am forced to sit in here or walk on the wet floor.

Guess which one I chose. Maybe later I can grill while wearing a miner's helmet.