The unmistakable sound of salt deploying jarred me from a sound sleep once again last night. I was not about to miss an opportunity to catch someone in the act.
To my utter surprise, there he was holding a sandwich in one hand and a salt shaker in the other.
Robert Lochaven, with a mouth full of bread and cold cuts, mustard on the corner of his mouth, looked at me nonchalantly and said, "good morning."
Checking the clock, it's 3:42 am. Technically, it's morning.
He sprinkles salt onto the business end of the sandwich and takes another bite.
I ask him pointedly how he found his way in.
The long answer that he provided is boring and you will be spared the setback.
The short answer, my summary of what Robert Lochaven explained to me in the wee hours of the morning, is that the consumption of large quantities of salt is a requirement for his particular mode of transportation, and since my home has so much of the grainy fuel, I may as well get comfortable with the idea of him stopping by from time to time. He explained that since I have accepted so much salt into my life, I must also accept all that accompanies it. And since I married a salt fiend a little over fifteen years ago, I must embrace the choices I've made in life and the unintended consequences that are married to them. For better or for worse.
I must admit, the reason for moving was a tad misguided. But I'm glad we made the transition anyways. Everything will work out okay, even if it's not exactly how we imagine it. Family Dog, as it turns out, has wisdom beyond his years, probably somewhere close to three (his age) times seven.
We spoke for around an hour, Robert Lochaven and I, plenty of time for him to adequately fuel up. Before he left I had one burning question. I could not let him leave without asking him when he's from.
"Soon" was his response.
He used the bathroom and then the house fell silent. I fastened up the loaf of bread and went back to bed. Looking at the clock, it read 3:42 am.
Despite what you may believe, today's Jazz Hands made no mention of "time travel."
Day two-hundred and thirty-eight complete.
"Soon" was his response.
He used the bathroom and then the house fell silent. I fastened up the loaf of bread and went back to bed. Looking at the clock, it read 3:42 am.
Despite what you may believe, today's Jazz Hands made no mention of "time travel."
Day two-hundred and thirty-eight complete.
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