22 December 2018 "Facing A Watery Death"
I have moved into the Gallia County Farmhouse to live with my paternal grandmother, Mabel (1908 - 1997), and my paternal step-grandfather, Clarence (1916 - 1993). Although they do not care that I am not working right now, I reflect that I do at least have some income from Social Security which is enough to live on.
When I stand in the kitchen and look through the large picture-windows down the back of the hill on which the Farmhouse sits, I see much junk lying around at the bottom, and I think we need to clean up the place. The place looks good since much of the junk has already been cleared out, but I still see a few pieces of junk down at the bottom of the hill, among which is the front part of a semi-truck. I ask my grandparents about the truck. They look down at the bottom of the hill, but at first they do not see the truck because it is sitting behind something. I think the truck belongs to my nephew, David, and I think he should haul the truck away.
Some other junk such as old refrigerators and appliances are also sitting at the bottom of the hill. They need to also be hauled away and I think maybe my grandparents know someone who can haul them.
At first I think I may haul everything away myself and try to sell it for scrap metal, even though I do not think I could make much money at it. At least I could get rid of the junk, especially if my grandparents already know someone who could haul the stuff away.
My grandparents and I decide to go somewhere and we board a pickup truck. Clarence is in the driver's seat. I am in the middle and Mabel is sitting in the passenger seat on my right.
I start cleaning up some stuff which is piled on the front dash. When I see a sugar packet lying on the dash, I pick it up and say that we need some kind of sugar shaker into which we could pour the sugar from the packet. I start to ask my grandparents whether they have such a shaker, when Clarence rebuffs me and referring to the sugar's simply lying on the dash, he says something like, "Well, it's worked that way."
Insinuating that the packet has been lying on the dash a long time, I somewhat critically retort something like, "Yea, it has worked for fifty years this way."
I reflect that Clarence is used to the disorder on the dash, and that that is the way they have always liked it. Clarence is not wild about my straightening things up like this.
Just as I set the sugar packet back on the dash, we pass over a small bridge about two kilometers from the Farm, then we pass around a curve in the gravel road (in the area where Turkey Evans lived many years ago) and are immediately met with muddy, brown water from the flooded creek which is covering the road.
I had not expected to see this water here. Clarence does not have time to stop and plows right into the dark, brown water. I yell, "Oh no!"
The water quickly reaches the window and starts flowing inside the cabin of the truck. It looks as if the truck may even turn over on its right side into the water.
I have time to reflect that everything was going just fine, and now suddenly, we may die out here.
Commentary of 30 December 2018
The well-lived life is a long preparation for death.
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