Stuck in Kudzu Country, Dreaming of Lei Country

Badger and I walked over to the school this morning. 
We figured the yard sale would be in the little gym or maybe the cafeteria, but they had it in the big gym. 
That meant a longer walk than we planned and more traffic on the road while we were walking along the side of it.

The building isn’t connected to the main school, so we had to walk up the hill to get to it. 
It’s right on the highway. 
They had plenty of stuff, but Badger glanced once and said, “Forget it.” 
It was mostly kids’ clothes and toys, and she didn’t even want to bother digging through them.
On the way back, we slipped past the PTO people and took the steps to the main building instead, skipping the hill and the traffic.

When I got home, Cowboy was awake with his phone in his hand.
I walked in and he said, “You walk too slow,” and gave me a number. 
He said I was moving about 20 steps a minute, slow as molasses.

The tables turned, and he was tracking me with my own app. 
I’d put it on our phones to keep track of Cowboy, just to make sure he didn’t drive off the road and hit the river. 
With his age, vision, and long shifts, I worry about his driving. 
The stretch of road he drives at night is very dark, shaded by kudzu-covered trees. 
The river runs from where you turn off for home down past the abandoned house and a tiny bridge before the streetlights finally come on.

Badger went to her room, and I got on my computer. 

Cowboy ate his breakfast, put the weed‑trimmer battery on to charge, and then went to sleep. 

The morning went by slowly.

The quiet broke when Badger came out of her room with her arms full of bedding. 
She snapped the crate back together and put a very bewildered Smudge inside.
 Smudgey’s still mending from her dental work. 
There’s a slow ooze, nothing scary, just messy. 
One tooth was difficult, so healing will take time. 
Cats aren’t like people; you can’t tell them to bite down on gauze and keep it there. 
So she stays crated another week while we wait and see how things go.

Cowboy finally woke up, grabbed the new mailbox, and headed out to the car. 
I stepped onto the porch and asked if he was heading out. 
He grumbled, and I told him that without me and the receipt, he and the mailbox were no good.

I called out to Badger that we were leaving, and we headed back to Lowe’s. 
The first mailbox was too long, sticking too far out into the road. 
Returning it was easy, and Cowboy picked out a smaller one.
 It’s only a touch bigger than the original box, but maybe the books won’t get jammed in so tight. 
At least we remembered the stencil and paint this time. 

Last stop was Walmart for worms.

Tomorrow is Cowboy’s church homecoming, and there’s no evening service, so I’m sure he’ll end up at the river.

We got home, and Cowboy opened the new mailbox, carried it to the road, and checked that it fit. 
Then he covered it with newspaper, taped down the letters, and took it out to the carport driveway to spray-paint it. 
When Cowboy does something, it always looks like a professional did it. 
He’s probably been doing the same kind of work at the plant for the last 40 years.

We picked up orange spray paint. 
I told Cowboy I was done with stick-on numbers falling off and done fighting with the post office. 
If my address is in neon orange, with my last name a foot high in neon orange, I don’t want to hear it’s not your fault when my mail gets delivered to the wrong house.

When we got home, I saw he’d put the duck back on the mailbox. 
We still don’t know where those ducks came from or why they showed up. 
One day they were just there, and our row of mailboxes is the only one that got them. 
Badger swears I’ve complained to the post office so much they marked ours with ducks. 
If that’s their way of warning the mail carriers, then fine, duck on.

The mail has been better lately. 
Maybe they finally got tired of me calling all the time. 
But it’s still ridiculous to drop off a letter for Judy Jones on Candle Street at my house on Marble Street, and then keep shoving it in all week after being told it’s wrong. 
They’d even leave my mail at the abandoned house down the street sometimes, and the number wasn’t anywhere close to mine.
The place was half torn apart for remodeling, with boards over the windows and piles of construction junk in the yard. 
It was obvious nobody lived there.
What really got me calling them was when they delivered a box of medical supplies, and I hauled it back to the post office four times telling them it was the wrong house. 
And still, they delivered it again. 
That time, I just walked it to the darn person myself.
Luckily, Cowboy goes to church with them, and they were only three streets over.

When he finished with the mailbox, he stenciled the address onto the carport, putting our number back where the stickers had peeled away. 
The trouble is, orange doesn’t stand out much against a rust-red, barn-red carport. 
Eh, if you squint, you can see it.

One of the post office’s excuses was that our address wasn’t clear. 
Well, don’t get an old country boy mad. 
We already had our address on the house and the mailbox. 
But Cowboy went out, made a giant metal sign, and in huge letters put our name and address. 
Then he put it above the porch, up on that upper front part of the house under the roof peak, where you can see it from the road.

We’ve added bright orange now. 
If they still can’t tell which house is ours, they’re blind, can’t read, or just plain ornery.

When he finished with the mailbox, Cowboy put up the new motion‑detector light. 
He didn’t put it on the she‑shed; he put it on the post by Heron’s RV. 
After dark, Badger and I went out to see if it worked. 
Heron’s at work, so he won’t know about it until he gets home after midnight.
 It clicks, blinks red, and then throws a bright light across the yard. 
It lights up the space between my she‑shed and Cowboy’s old tool shed. 
Heron’s in for a surprise., but at least he’ll be able to see when he comes in at night.

Badger and I are still wondering what Cowboy ran into out there around 2 a.m. 
I’ve always been afraid of something coming out of that dark tool shed. 
Maybe Cowboy just couldn’t see well in the dark. 
He might’ve hit the RV without even realizing it.

Badger braved the mosquitoes, took the dogs, and stayed outside with her dad until dark. 
We either need to sell the stock tank pool or flip it over so it won’t hold water. 
That thing is breeding mosquitoes. 
We didn’t use it at all this year, and barely used it last year, so it’s time to sell it before it rusts out.

Me? 
Go outside? 
Are you nuts?
I stayed in with a book, the TV, and the computer. 
According to Badger, my freckles are perfect bullseyes for every mosquito in the county.

I think we’re all settled back in the house now, and I’m back to my Hawaii real estate shows. 
I’m not leaving Tennessee.
 I might as well experience paradise through HGTV. 
I can pretend I feel the waves lapping at my toes and smell plumeria blossoms.