Transition

I pack suitcases with three telephones on the bedroom dresser: personal, business, and cell. Before the suitcases are full, all three have rung.  I answer.  Tomorrow, someone else will.

I tell Write Place staffer Kathie Evenhouse the domestic  secrets  of the home-based office I share with her.  If you need to wash a load of mugs, the dishwasher soap is under the sink. Leave the bathroom door open so pipes don’t freeze.   If you smell sewer after a few weeks, run water in basement shower. Unused too long, the plumbing trap empties and smells invade.

I look around. How will I view my house on my return? Will it look different to me?

I have emptied the refrigerator one meal  too soon. So we eat a last meal at George’s Pizza.

Afterwards, bags packed, house in order, I pull out my Nicaragua resources. I begin to remember the pre-dawn bird calls, the eight-foot poinsettias,  the diesel smell, and  the speed-of-light Spanish.

I turn my face toward Nicaragua. I am eager to head out.