Alone with My Twin Calicos...
When I bought my house here in Columbus, part of the expectation was that my partner would be joining me sooner, rather than later, but as it turns out it will be later. I've been here in Columbus, Mississippi (I like writing out the full name of the state, and the license plate is pretty, too), since Midnight of May 26, 2016. That is when I arrived to move in. I was here in April to close on the house, and I spent a week here that time, but I stayed in a hotel. So, I arrived in May with my two kittens, who were a little over two months old and "moved in" to an empty house. I had an air mattress, and it was literally the only furniture I had for over a week before the movers arrived. There was no place to sit, except for the toilets in the two bathrooms. I had no cooking utensils and not even a microwave, so I had to buy sandwich fixings and lots of junk food, or eat out at restaurants, which I did.
I was alone with my twin calico kittens and we made the best of it and have, now, for almost six months, but now that it's that time for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year, I'm feeling the alone part much more intensely than the rest of the time I've been here. I quickly add that I'm not feeling sorry about it. It's just the way it is. So, I keep out my feelers for what's happening with the people "back home" that I love and those who likewise moved this year. Specifically, Cliff's parents just moved to Rosebud, Texas, to a place out in the country and they're getting settled as well. And here is a story that will be talked about in the family for years to come, one that doesn't have anything to do with me or Mississippi, but I "witnessed" it through communication from Cliff.
To set the stage for the story, Rosebud, Texas, is 668 miles from Las Cruces, New Mexico, and on Tuesday, November 22, Cliff and his brother left Las Cruces in two pickup trucks, one hooked up to a horse trailer that was fifty years old (built in the 1960s), and the four wheels on the horse trailer are the kind that have the split-wheel ring—a very dangerous tire to change. Add to that, the tires on the horse trailer were old and the tread was thin, they also required inner tubes (yes, that old). It was loaded with stuff from their father's farm, including a welder, steel, and other heavy stuff, which their father wanted in Rosebud, Texas.
When I finally called Cliff at 5 p.m. to see what the progress was on the situation, he said they were just then leaving a steak house in Ft. Stockton, and as soon as they filled the pickups with gas they would be continuing down the road.
It was around four o'clock when Clay discovered that the manufacturer that built the horse trailer back in the 1960s was right there in Ft. Stockton. This in itself is actually quite a coincidence, since what are the odds that the very builder of the horse trailer would be in Ft. Stockton? And not only that, they were still in business, and not only that, but they had new wheels and tires that would fit the fifty-year-old horse trailer. The wheels were modern and did not have the split ring and the tires were tubeless tires. It was also quite a coincidence that the tires blew just fifteen miles outside of Ft. Stockton, the very place they needed to blow to make it possible for Cliff and his brother to get replacements. Remember that the distance they had to travel was over six hundred miles, and the tires blew in exactly the right place where they could get them replaced. Had this happened a hundred miles East of Ft. Stockton or a hundred miles West, the story would not have turned out quite so well.
So, that alone is something I and the rest of Cliff's family have to be thankful for this season. I might have spent Thanksgiving alone with my little girl cats, but I was emotionally "right there" when Cliff and his brother were going through their ordeal and amazing resolution.
And now, here is my absolute favorite Turkey video. I hope you enjoy it. It's another kind of survival story.