I’ve seen many of you so you already know, and for those of you that don’t, I’m Baaaaack!!! I left Florida this past Thursday and won’t return until November. So much for the warm days.

My plan was to leave Hudson at around 6 AM on Thursday and stop somewhere between Nashville, TN and Louisville, KY. I woke up at 3:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep, so at 4:08 AM I was driving out of Club Wildwood. Unlike the trips when Jean is along, I stop fewer times and for shorter duration.

The first leg was to Lake City, about 3 hours into the trip, and I stopped at a Waffle House. Jean doesn’t like to stop at them because she says they’re too smoky. Since you can’t smoke in restaurants in Florida, and she still doesn’t like to stop at them, I think that she’s just being snooty. She doesn’t like a bunch of rednecks in a greasy spoon restaurant. This one was exactly that way.

The waitresses look like they had hair styles from the late fifties-early sixties and could have worked at Mel’s Diner (you young people don’t remember that sitcom but one of the waitresses in that show coined the phrase “Kiss my grits!!”) Anyway, since I was alone, I sat at the counter on a stool. While my waitress finished waiting on a table full of rednecks just getting off third shift, I looked around to see what was going on and was trying to take in “Americana”.

In a Waffle House, they cook the food right in front of you, so I watched that scene. The cook looked like he could have been just released from prison. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I was afraid to look to see if he was wearing the Martha Stewart Model 851 ankle tether, in case he caught me staring. He was about 6′ 3″, went around 250 pounds of solid muscle, had his hair covered in a black bandana (a “doo rag”), and sported a bad attitude. His shift was just getting over and his replacement was running a little late. He caught a glimpse of the day cook in the back room and I heard him say “Tell that little weasel to get his a@# out here”. The day cook stood about 5′ 8″ and couldn’t weigh over 135 pounds. Why he would cross the night cook, especially that guy, is beyond me.

In the middle of all this I had ordered a pecan waffle (the only reason I like to eat there…I love pecan waffles) and two eggs over easy with coffee and a glass of ice water. The “escapee from Folsom” started the waffle along with two others, and then the day cook took over. He cooked the eggs and set them on a plate ready to be served. My waitress took the three waffles out, gave me one and served the other two to a couple in a booth at the end of the restaurant. When she came back, she served the eggs and I had to ask her for syrup. I also told her my waffle was plain and wasn’t the pecan waffle I ordered and would she please take the extra 15 cents off my bill. I never did get my ice water. She was probably miffed that I didn’t leave a better tip.

About 150 miles up the road I stopped for gas and went in to get something to drink. There were two women at the counter when I got there. I spent a couple of minutes finding what I wanted, and when I got to the counter, the two women were still there. The first one finally left after two minutes searching for, and finding a nickel so she wouldn’t have to break a $1 bill.

The second one asked for a pack of Newport 100s. The clerk asked whether she wanted a soft pack or box. You would have thought she had asked a question like “What is the meaning of life”? The girl froze and couldn’t respond so, after a couple of minutes, the clerk said “You don’t know what you want so you’re getting a box”. The girl said fine, started to walk away, then came back and wanted an instant lottery ticket. There were about 10 different kinds and she took a couple of minutes trying to decide which one she wanted. I pay at the pump for the gas so I don’t have to waste a lot of time waiting to pay inside so my patience had worn a little thin.

That evening I stopped at a motel just South of Indianapolis and got a room, a single, non-smoking. I was at the end of the hall and went in. The room was nice and clean. When I looked in the bathroom, it was as big as our living room in the mobe and I realized I was in a handicapped room. The toilet was high enough that my feet didn’t touch the floor and when I took a shower in the walk-in handicapped shower, there was water all over the bathroom floor since there wasn’t a lip to step over. I slipped and slid all the way to the door holding onto the wall. I didn’t want to fall and have the motel maid walk in the next day to find a 59 year old naked man on the floor bleeding from another bump on a battered head.

I called Jean, went to dinner and figured I would go to bed early. I ate at a Bob Evans restaurant. I hate eating alone since you don’t have anyone to talk to and you stare at the table in front of you, but I didn’t want a McDonalds Happy Meal, so I was forced to eat out in the open. You can’t help but overhear the people at the table next to you and I heard the woman say “Have you ever tried Matchmaker.com?” I could tell they were on a set-up match date and I didn’t want to intrude, but I couldn’t block the sound out, so I heard all about how he and his ex-wife had split up after 18 years (he was at least my age if not older) and all the sordid details about how she “did him wrong” and I heard her talk about how her ex shafted her during the divorce and what each of her 4 children thought about the whole mess (she looked to be 10 years older than me, but maybe was just showing the ravages of a nasty breakup).

I ate as quickly as I could and got out of there, filled the car with gas, and went to the motel to go to bed. I zonked out at about 9:30, woke up at 4:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep. So I left there at 5 AM, was eating breakfast at a Bob Evens in Coldwater at 8, and was at the cottage at 9:30. I opened the garage door and, to my surprise, there was a dead raccoon in the trap I had set for red squirrels. My friend, Ron is a real estate agent, has the place listed for sale and said he caught one a week before that, also in the garage. The only way in, since the house is closed up, is through the attic. So what I thought was a couple of red squirrels is a family of raccoons.

One the plus side, raccoons are dumb and should be easy to catch. On the minus side, they make a mess and I’ll have to open the access to the attic to clean up. I spent at least an hour and a half trying to get my Dish Network back on line with three different technical support guys to find out that the receivers work fine, but there may be a break in the line from the dish to the receivers. So my first thought is that the raccoons may have chewed through the cable ‘cuz it was in their way. Tomorrow I’ll have to get in there and see if that’s what happened. I have fears of crawling in there, having a raccoon jump on my back and start biting me, me thrashing around and falling through the ceiling into the living room. Anyone want to buy a cottage?

Ta Ta,

Just (It Really Is Good To Be Home) Jack