Time to go Get the Ashes

I intended to post this yesterday.

My guests are gone.

I invited people to come on Saturday and remember my dad. Most people could not make it. The ones that made it didn’t fare well. One friend, and one of her sons, got sick. Another friend had a one-person wreck in her own yard, totaling her husband’s pickup truck and requiring x-rays. My neighbors had the strangest story of all. They went to Valdosta to see their granddaughter play in a college soccer game. When they arrived, she told them the game was on Sunday. When they tried to come home, the road was jammed, and it delayed them for an hour. To make matters worse, the wife stepped in a hole and sprained her ankle.

Sometimes it’s obvious when Satan wants to prevent something from occurring. When things started happening, I began praying for the safety of my guests.

In the end, the sick lady, her sons, the lady who wrecked the truck, her husband, and my two closest neighbors made it. This was the best we could do.

The neighbors brought food, and I made brownies and cookies. I used to take brownies and cookies to the ALF where my dad lived, so I thought I should make them for the event.

I spent about half an hour relating my dad’s amazing testimony, and people were very impressed by what God had done. It was very hard to speak at times, but I managed to push it out.

The lady who wrecked the truck is named Leah. Her husband is Scott. I’ve known them for quite a while. They drove from the Pensacola area. Leah got to know me back when I was on Facebook. She was interested in prayer in tongues. She got the baptism, and she even drove to Miami more than once to visit my church.

Scott and Leah stayed two days, and that was helpful. Had everyone simply left, there would have been a very abrupt transition, and the house would have felt very empty.

I am still working on getting my dad buried. My expectation is that I will have another grueling week, and then things will taper off. I have to travel to Kentucky, and then I have to drive back. Then I have to get to work on the estate.

Ordinarily, I don’t write about traveling until I’m finished. It’s like inviting people to rob your house. This time I’m making an exception, because before I go, I will be taking measures to protect my property.

I decided to drive. I can drive to Gainesville and then fly to Kentucky, but it’s expensive, and the drive to the airport is long. Taking a firearm will be a hassle, and the airline may make me jump through hoops in order to take my dad’s ashes. Also, I would like to see the South one more time, and I can’t do that through a plane window.

If I drive, I’ll be able to carry in every state I visit. I can also pick up whatever small items remain from my mother’s estate. My aunt is holding some things.

I carry my dad’s 9mm Glock now. Have I written about that? Years ago, I bought him a Glock for his birthday or Fathers’ Day or something. Later, I put a Crimson Trace laser on it. He hardly ever carried it. The pocket holster I got for him looks nearly new. I have been getting tired of my heavy 10mm, and I was considering carrying my own 9mm. One day after my dad died, I thought about his gun, and it seemed natural to start carrying it.

The gun was already my property. He gave me everything he owned, without exception, before he died. You don’t need a will to give someone a watch, a gun, or any other item of household personalty.

The 10mm is a far superior weapon. It fires a 180-grain Speer Gold Dot hollowpoint at 1250 FPS. I’ve been thinking about it, though. Being shot with a 9mm may not be quite the same, but it’s very bad indeed, and the reduced weight will be an improvement.

I like the laser. I used to think it was hinky because it couldn’t possibly line up with the barrel as well as a guide-rod Lasermax, but that was totally untrue. Also, a Crimson Trace turns on automatically when you grab the gun.

While my friends were here, we talked a great deal. We exchanged bits of Christian info. We prayed together, and that was pleasant, not to mention important.

There isn’t a whole lot left to do with regard to transferring stuff from my dad to me. The banks and so on only require a couple of simple forms, plus death certificates. I have to get myself appointed as the estate’s personal representative, and then I should have the authority to put his car in my name. I guess after that, I pay off his credit cards and close the estate.

I can only do so much per day, so I am not really on top of the court process yet, but I do know where to find the rules.

I now live in “my dad’s bedroom.” That’s what I’m trying not to call it. Everything here is mine now. I keep trying not to say “my dad’s” and “we.”

Having weekend guests gave me a good reason to start sleeping in the master suite. It’s not bad at all. I’m learning about the problems with the bedroom. I had to get on a ladder late at night to fix a blinking LED on a smoke alarm, and the next night, I learned that the dishwasher beeps for about half an hour when it stops running, so I had to make an adjustment for that. My dad had the ability to sleep through things like major hurricanes, so he never complained when he lived in that room.

Pretty soon I’ll be sleeping near Chattanooga, and not long after that, Winchester, Kentucky, home of Ale-9-One, the world’s finest soft drink. Then I’ll get my dad buried and head home. I may drive through the Smokies for no reason at all. I loved Gatlinburg and Cherokee when I was a kid. It will add two hours to the trip, but when will I see Appalachia again? It should be worth it.

The town where my dad will be buried (where my mother grew up) has a hotel now. As I could have predicted, their Hotels.com reviews say they have bedbugs and a bad attitude. Eastern Kentucky isn’t poor because we don’t send them enough money. It’s poor because the people make it poor. They have what I would call a “can’t-do attitude” about everything, and Lyndon Johnson wiped out their work ethic with the War on Poverty. A local humorist named Clennie Hollon called it “the War on Progress,” and he was right.

The hotel where I’m staying is part of a national chain, and it gets good reviews, so I should survive.