Jiggety-Jig

Patrick drove me home after White Earth, giving me a chance to spend a night in my own bed. It was pretty surreal suddenly being home. There was no "break" with the previous schedule -- heck, the previous LIFE I had been living. One minute I was on my knees by the feet of a presenter, frantically trying to rewire their microphone so their voice stopped distorting; the next I was in my living room. It was surprisingly jarring.

Tigger had been buried the previous day. I went out and looked at the spot for a while, although there was little to see: just some disturbed earth, no different from the half-dozen holes dug by our puppy in the front lawn. Oorto seems skittish and hides from imaginary threats by crawling under furniture. Mom suggests that she misses the sense of security her physically much-larger brother provided. Poor Oorto. She seemed to appreciate any attention I could give her.

A week or so back, Patrick had offered to join the Journey as we passed through Minnesota. He would be a volunteer, and would even pay his own way with lodgings and meals. Well, lodgings shouldn't be a problem, as I had double beds to myself most nights, anyways. His goal would be to help me drive and keep an eye on the sound quality. When it was first brought up to the group, it was dismissed out-of-hand. Everyone was exhausted and overworked, and I think the thought of even a tiny increase in coordination was overwhelming. I passed the information on to Patrick, and he made other plans.

At White Earth, he helped out with photography and clean-up, and must have done something impressive because the issue was suddenly brought up again. In fact, he received a formal invitation to join. Now back home, he's on-the-fence about what to do. He's got about 24 hours to decide before we're gone again. I think he's smarting a little from the first rebuff, plus he's scheduled his new job to start and planned a weekend getaway with his girlfriend. To use Mom's pun: he'd go in a second if not for those reservations.

Hehe... good one, Mom.

Unfortunately, there's no sign of the tapes I ordered or the tripod I left in Anadarko which was supposed to be mailed to me. The rest of the Journey is going to have to be without a microphone stand; and I'll have $400 worth of tapes sitting in my room when I get back, plus I'll have to buy another $400 worth on-the-road. Grumble, grumble...