But he lives near the Washington Coast and snow that accumulates is rare, down near the river where his house is at. Nothing at all like Montana where he lived for years and maintained a small home up until two years ago. He was enjoying his evening watching it snow, while Big Bro cooked him dinner.
I was thankful for sunshine on the drive home this morning (I was too tired to attempt the trek in the dark last night) though it didn't warm up to Zero until almost 10 a.m.
I hadn't been home for two weeks. Partner was on the road and Barkley was limping enough I didn't want to put him in the truck just to come on up and putter in the shop alone. So I picked up some on call, and we hung out at the crash pad, Partner flying in and out there, when he had a couple days off between assignments..
But I love my work, it's part of me and I'll have my 20 years in here shortly and can retire and go be an "expert witness" a few days a month for some folks that have expressed interest (for $500 a day I know lots of big words). So for now, I put a lot of miles on the Bat Truck, Barkley has marked every bush along I-65 and at least once a month a semi or some idiot in a car with a "Coexist" sticker, who doesn't understand physics any more than human nature, seriously tries to kill me. It's not ideal, but it works.
While next to me in a semi, some guy with no teeth, winked at me. Oh, please let's get this line moving.
I wish I had some lights. There was one day out in the Squirrel Truck, trying to get somewhere out in the middle of no where, only the news choppers giving me a clue as to where I was expected and this old guy and gal in front of me would NOT speed up or let me pass. Sigh. On come the colorful lights no one expects from a 4 x 4 and I shot pass. Then the lights went off, as I drove right past all the media who totally ignored the little girl with the ponytail and ball cap in the truck as they were waiting for some guy with a steely gaze, a $400 suit and good hair to show up (they watch MUCH too much TV).
But when I walked in and just saw his bowls and toys tucked under the table in the den, I missed him. I miss both of them.
I don't know what the future brings, but for now I have these moments, these strings of days. Like words that crossed an ocean a lifetime ago, they provide that brief glimpse, a claim to fellowship with those illusions I thought had died, snuffed out in the cold and the wind, til one day, it's there, a sight, a word, a flutter of light, of heat, of hope.
I pick up my little phone and give my Dad a call, just to tell him I am safe.