I’m hanging out in the coffeehouse, listening to a French singer, with bongos and a trombone. I don’t speak French, but I think this means you need to know what’s coming up for me.
I don’t know if it can get a lot stranger than this music, but it’s going to get pretty weird. My brother and sis-in-law are getting ready to take off for a 10 day trip. They have two cats, one of whom has a heart problem and has to stay home. He can’t travel to my house to be cared for, and he can’t go to the vets’ for boarding. They need a petsitter. I won’t bore you with the process of selection and elimination by which the task falls to be alone. Me, alone. Alone.
Now I’m not a solitary person. Writers spend a lot of time alone – hours alone. In fact, I’m alone write now. (Write now – get it?) But not all day. Never all day and all night. I’m social. Solitude is part of the process, sometimes part of life, especially if you live alone like me. But it needs to be taken in manageable doses. I spend time with other people every day. And I live in a condo. There are people around. I can look out and see people – children playing – right outside. I can hear them talking below my windows. That’s what I’m used to.
My bro and his wife and child live in the foothills northeast of Sacramento, in a remote home, in a quiet, secluded and woody neighborhood. It’s not exactly in the middle of nowhere, but you can see the middle of nowhere from their porch. On a clear day, you can see sometimes the end of the line from the deck. And did I mention it’s quiet? It’s on a forested cul-de-sac, with just a few neighbors off through the trees. It’s rare to see them drive by. You never hear them, unless someone fires up a chainsaw.
But I agreed to go up and look after the kitties and and keep them company, for a little less than a week, while my nephew stays here in SB with my folks. We hope that a familiar person will be good for the cats, keep the separation anxiety in check. A paid petsitter will come daily for the rest of the time. Speaking of time, I have a few ideas for avoiding going completely Here’s Johnny, but there’s nothing in my experience to compare with this. So I can’t guarantee I’m coming back with my elevator still going all the way up.
I’ll be blogging it, of course.
Metaphor 