I was ‘greeted’ by a rifle (shotgun?) and a handgun as I pulled into Area 51. Not the security guys in plain white Ford Raptors, you might see on a Youtube video regarding the real Area 51. This patrol, I would later learn, would be Wendy.
Since no weapon was pointed at me, I questioned the situation I found myself smack in. Next to my new space in lot 52 was an abandoned RV awaiting some love from the owner. Wheels were lying about, and it appeared that wheels were not the only need on this rig. Wendy shared that the RV was remarkably unlocked for some unknown reason (me?), and she was concerned (me, again) that I had parked next to the violated rig. I shared that the RV I would be living in would be arriving soon. Sorry to raise an extreme level of concern. I would realize that it was a solid thought that the caretaker of the RV park was on top of what was going on there. We were situated in a somewhat shady part of town.
After the exit from selling my mother’s home and the ensuing estate sale, I needed a place to live and a job. Cedric had provided an RV, and I had chosen #51 to reside in. It seemed to be the best of the available slots, and it worked well. Not quite what I expected after leaving a spectacular home with a superb view and lots of storage for Dave’s gear and assorted stuff, I became somewhat dismantled, loading almost everything into storage.
After a month at the RV, I scurried on to a casita of a neighbor from the days I was a caregiver for my parents. I look back on how well the RV worked and had become home. I adapt with some hesitation, but I seem to adapt well to a world gone a bit crazy and unusual.
This explosion happened in the middle of the night. I evidently was fried by circumstances of live and I did not hear it. I normally wake up easily but the need for sleep won this battle.