Stiff hands

It is 6:15 a.m. The sun has not made it to the horizon, but the eastern sky south of Smith Rock is that delicious creamcicle orange and vanilla, fading quickly through blue and violet to dark. I can still see stars but barely.

I didn’t think about it last night but of course I ran out of water this morning. I had not filled up because Rod the Plumber was setting up the house, replacing with some real plumbing the funky standpipe I had cobbled together. So at 5:45 I was out there in my slippers unhooking the sprinkler, attaching the hose to the new bib, and filling the trailer so the girls can wash their faces, cold stiffening my fingers.

The girls go back to their mom today and I miss’em though they ain’t out the door.

I don’t think I am going to Seattle this morning to race. It is too far, my racing buddy has bagged out, the weather is iffy on Saturday and I may be coming down with a cold, I didn’t sleep well from 2:30. It’s about six hours each way, a lot of fuel to burn in XSSUV, Auburn, Washington is not a town to enjoy by myself and Seattle proper is too far from the track.

I’ll hunker down here with a book instead, I think, and review the divorce papers. We may, finally, be seeing the end of this. I don’t quite know what I am going to do for a living. My wife will end up with our business, she is set for life, and that is all to the good. But I am going to be scrambling, for a while. Anybody need a writer?

The girls are packing. It’s time to make breakfast.