Supplies

Looks like a good day for traveling on Monday, temps high enough that the roads should be dry, and I'll make it off the Piedmont down to the coastal plain. It's a plan. Picked up road supplies today, then stopped at the pub for a pint of Guinness and a bowl of stew. Warmer today. Back home I split some wood, tomorrow I'll split a little more and load the house, pack, take out the air conditioner, button the house up, get out of here by 7:30 on Monday. Be a relief to just be on the road. Got a couple of James Lee Burke's on CD, at the library, that I might or might not listen to. Made a list of things to carry in the rental, in case I did get caught by weather. Winter traveling I stop and get gas more often. Carry water, some food, a blanket. Landscape is what I notice, on a trip like this. The terrain is different and I'm constantly surprised. At Janitor College, there was an optional course in wall damage. I signed up because I heard the professor was really good, a progressive dude, into change, cool; but it turned out this progressive dude was actually a Republican, in leathers, with a whip. Nonetheless, he knew his wall damage. Dr. Wally Jitters, always raving eschatology, final things, death, judgment. He died my senior year. Had built an out-door wall that he repeatedly brutalized and repaired in his famous open-air seminars. He was buried alive, and killed, when the wall was struck by a meteor during one of his classes. The students suspected a trick, some Houdini thing where he'd struggle from the wreckage and rebuild the wall. But he was well and truly dead. Final things indeed. Don't know why I thought of that, but this could well and truly be the last time my daughters see my parents. Talked to Mom this morning, and she's thrilled we're doing a non-typical Thanksgiving. My sister, bless her heart, took their pass and shopped at the commissary on the Naval Base, NAS Jacksonville is huge, and thinks she got almost everything I'll need to cook for x number of people for 5 days. Mom has been collecting tins of premium crabmeat and I can't wait to introduce her to my stripped down crab-cake: enough mashed boiled red potato to hold the crab together, salt and pepper, a squeeze of lime juice. Cooked in butter; butter, and a little cream added to the potatoes. These are on my life-list. I'd love to have a crab boil while we're down there, maybe Kevin can arrange it. Live Blue Crabs, boiled with a strong spice mix, spread out on a table covered with newspapers, everyone with their own hammer and pick. A primal meal, where there isn't much talk, mostly grunting. A tray of roasted vegetables in the middle of the table, some beer. I've gotta go. Pack, check my list, last posting for eight days. Doesn't mean I don't love you.