Image above, last forty eight hours of readership data.

Waiting until later to post. Waiting until later to post this. Waiting for the rain to stop or begin? I am definitely waiting for something. I can feel it.  Waiting until the next time you see someone in person.  Wait until I see you in person? What does that mean?

When I was young I was told that letter writing was lost art. I remember learning that at my Great Grandma Boyd’s house in Tennessee; though honestly that is so fuzzy it could be entirely misplaced. I certainly remember the Three Stooges there.  Oh My Lord in Heaven, I rolled across the floor with deep belly laughs for as long as it was on.  If I calmed I need only look back at the screen. Ha.

The cube. The size of a small sofa in a wooden case like an end table today. Size perspective of a six year old though, or was I seven, eight on that trip? I think it was a trip before the one with my step-mom and siblings, I was thirteen or fourteen then. Maybe there was only one trip.

Maybe it was a visit with my mom and step-dad on our way to Florida or something. I never get the details right, and I normally refer to my sister or mother to fill me in. Birthdays? I remember a few maybe, my sister knows them all; and the corresponding ages by rattling off a list of near aged family members that sounds like the first chapter of Matthew.

I did have few pen pals, or tried to I suppose – I don’t recall any going on for long. I can’t even imagine what I might have written then. I don’t remember if waiting for a reply bothered me then.  I don’t recall if I remembered my own previous words when the reply came. Though perhaps in a way I did.  I remember anxiously replying to some, scribling down my next thoughts based on theirs.

Others I had to think about. I wasn’t sure how to respond if their reply didn’t feel to match my message sent.  I know some people had a lot of pen pals.  My sister did – at least in my recollection, you should probably ask her. Yet I only had a few and sometimes I thought maybe that had sent a letter to the wrong address.  I think my sister told me, or maybe she did it too, that some people would write the same thing to all their friends, a form letter of sorts.

Simply to manage the content creation aspect of communicating by letter with dozens of people or more; that’s how I would typify it now.  After a while, it wasn’t much fun.  Writing letters was what I had to do in school, doing it at home lost its appeal. Likely as quickly as I picked it up, I never really did stay with anything for long.  Writing did easier, well at least typing did.  Three years of changing schools and being.. lucky.. enough to have three years of keyboarding in seventh, eight, and ninth grades.

The semester in seventh started with a quarter on the old manual typewriters. So we would appreciate the electronic ones.  My left pinky just twinged. z z z q q q.

Woke up a little early, it wasn’t quite daylight yet, so I stayed in the tent on my phone until it was. Spent an hour or two around the camp picking up and cleaning up after the coons.  Last night they decided to try some tea.  It’s been safe for weeks, and by now they should know I don’t leave food out. Yet, they are curious and maybe they were hungrier than average.

Well, and sometimes I do forget to put the garbage away.  Twice just after I’ve lay down, I’ve had to get back up to put it away in the car. Tonight I was working on the car as dusk approached (more on that later) and was alerted that the critters were out with the crinkle crinkle of the garbage bag.  Honestly, I don’t mind feeding coons or any wildlife, yet I despise cleaning, especially cleaning up after animals that want to scatter a bag of garbage.

From my drivers seat out and around my car as quick as I could with a ‘rarrrr’ and then a ‘not tonight mr coon’.  Dusk was approaching and I didn’t want to stop working and clean up garbage.  With just a hint of light in the air I changed course immediately just past my bumper. It’s all yours Mr. Skunk, have as much as you want I said, as I slowly backpedaled while looking at my toes and just peeking at him.  In case I needed to dive for life.

Ha, for life?  Maybe.. Maybe I couldn’t get the stink off for a while, ended up stranded and couldn’t get a ride smelling skunky?  Okay, it’s stretch, but you never know. He took off into the brush and I tied up the garbage and put it on top of the car.  That won’t work all night, yet I’d rather not sit in here with a bag of garbage.  I am being more choosy with my guests.  I can help, a little.

I can help move a conversation forward, I can usually help to find a silver lining, sometimes I can help others find things too.  Especially if they’re looking for something I’ve seen. That last part is easier, it’s just like giving directions.  Well, depending on who you’re giving them to and depending on how committed you are to them finding their target; then sometimes it is much more difficult.  Actually that applies to the first things too.  I can help, yet it sure is hard to help some people.

Looking around at the site this morning, the garbage was all picked up, yet my things are still strewn about.  I suppose I never did finish ‘setting up camp’ this time, rather I got out the necessities and starting cleaning the car, sorting as I went. This is almost becoming a routine.  I brought a lot of things that I haven’t been using yet, a lot of tools namely.  I also brought two five gallon buckets of my best electronics I could pack in.  Well, more precise, my best electronic components.

I’ll rarely buy electronics in their completed forms anymore.  A weather station? Yes, there are some great ones for an under two hundred dollars, yet for a little bit more and lots of your time, you can build one yourself. Yes, that was the sales pitch, you should try it, it’s fun.  If it isn’t put all the pieces in a shoebox and try again on the next rainy day.  Eventually, you’ll have a weather station, or maybe not.

I spent all day on the car.  The power collection was done at the beach, all three panels in their final mounted positions.  Now it was time to complete the inside power storage and distribution. Inside full time are four radios: the standard commercial band radio, a citizens band radio, my ftm-400dxr, and the ft-2980 for the digipeater.  Add one iPhone and soon a raspberry pi and it’s dual HDMI displays (ten and six inches,) and their is a lot of juice flowing just in standby.

The priority for the solar is just the fridge, yet after redoing the measurements on its usage when wired DC without the inverter, I now seem to have.a surplus. Enough that I’m rewiring everything in the vehicle to the solar system, and moving and mounting the system in the trunk where it should be. And I moved the fridge behind the drivers seat.  Also, while was all cleaned out, I found that yes, there is plenty of space to lay down on the the passenger side if I put my legs in the trunk.

I may end up taking the rear seat of its hinge and just place it there to be removed easily (just folding it down leaves quite a bump.)  Looking around, I realized a lot of the tools and parts I’ve been carrying have been to do this installation.  My own.  Actually setting up my ride the way I would like it to be.  Everything connected and ready to be activated with the flip of a switch.

Cloudy day? Take a drive and flip Engine to Solar switch;  run down the car battery with the door dings and dome light? Flip the switch the other way to turn on the starter battery charger, fueled from the solar batteries.  A lot of the stuff I’m carrying, as I look and think about it, has been waiting for this.  A weekend at a campground?  The chance, the opportunity?  I don’t know, I guess I was waiting for now.

Now, when I didn’t care if I had a better idea tomorrow.  Now, when the idea came to me?  Now, when it was my next best step forward.  I can’t sort the tools until I figure out which ones still have value.

I not like waiting for replies or receiving hallmark cards in response to heartfelt letters.  Some things that I wait on are my choice.  I waited for this project, it could wait.  My story can’t.  There were some people that I checked with.  Just a few before I really decided to do this.  With each, it wasn’t about if I would write my story, yet they could have asked me to censor the parts including them.  Not censor, I gave some people the chance to fill me in on any details that might be relevant.

Relevant to my story, my recollection and interpretation of my story, and the choices I make going forward every day.

At a certain point I say to myself, okay, that was the reply, that is the response.  Hallmark.  Message received.

Evaluate, Choose, Execute, Re-evaluate.

More sorting.  More chains to cut.

Time to rest.






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