Home again, home again

From ninety degree weather to forty degrees is a dramatic change. That was the difference between the temperature on the cruise ship and the temperature inside my dad's fishing cabin. I have been living in the shack for three years, but it was still his cabin. Where ever he is I hope he knows that it is being used by me. He would like the fact that I finally came to enjoy the old place. I had hated it as a kid, but kids hate everything their parents love. It's a law of nature like getting old, I guess.

I was almost surprised to see the place standing. Then again I always was after a trip of any length, especially during the winter. I was never too sure of the shack's wiring, but I had to leave the power turned on during the winter months even when I was away. If I didn't leave it on, the water pump at the well head would freeze. Then I would really be screwed. My dad had used a light bulb in the well house to keep it warm. I wrapped the pump in a heat tape with thermostat. Nonetheless the power had to be left on to keep it working. That seemed to be a risk but an unavoidable one.

When I left for a trip, I turned the water off at the pump. In the winter I would then have to drain the water from the pipes to keep them from freezing. A burst pipe was no fun at all. I had made a few improvements in the shack, but I kept them to a minimum. I underpinned the shack with fake rock like those used for mobile homes. The shack had only eight windows, so installing storm windows was a snap. During my forced vacation of three years, I installed those and a couple of storm doors.

I could have insulated the walls, but then I would have had to replace the siding. I liked the old weathered board and battens. It made the place look like the shack it was. I did spray ground up old newspaper into the ceilings from the outside. The metal roof got painted as well. The place was still only about forty percent fuel efficient but even that much helped.

The only heat had been a wood stove when I moved in. I lived with that for all of my parolee days, but during the last six months I had been traveling more. As a consequence I had less time to do chores, so I found an antique coal stove. I knew I was on the EPA hit list, but I really didn't care since they have the worst assassins. It would be years before they got around to me.

I liked the coal much better than wood. I could get more heat from a much a lower volume of fuel. Not only that it was easier to store the fuel and the stove gave me better control of the heat levels. At the same time the stove was installed, I had a metal liner installed inside the chimney. My dad's idea of a chimney had been an unlined concrete prefab block kind of thing. The liner would be easier to clean and much safer the chimney sweep assured me.

So that day, I turned on the water and lit a fire in the stove before I did anything else. The shack was just one big room, so the one stove seemed to work pretty well. It did take a while to heat the large volume of air that had been twenty degrees over night.

While it heated up, I drove to the diner about five miles away. The diner had started life as the two car work bay of a service station. The service station was no longer pumping gas, but it was still a pump your own location. The warning, 'credit cards only', was posted in big letters.

I ordered breakfast at five in the afternoon from a window booth. I had promised myself that I would eat no more than one meal a day at the diner. I also promised myself it would be breakfast, so no matter the time of day, I ordered breakfast.

I watched a middle aged man pull his fancy car up to the pump, remove the nozzle, stick it into his gas tank opening only to find that nothing happened. I was pretty sure that the drive of the big shiny new car could read, he just hadn't bothered. He seemed to be really upset as he walked to the diner.

"Can anyone here make that damn pump work. I am almost out of gas." He was a big man and menacingly angry.

The teenaged girl behind the counter was intimidate, but there was nothing she could do. "I'm sorry sir, it is credit or debit card only."

"Obviously I don't have a credit card," he replied in a still angry voice.

"I'm sorry sir, there is nothing I can do. I have nothing to do with the pumps, I work here in the grill."

I noticed that the cook didn't come to her rescue, but then why should the older lady get involved, there was nothing she could do either. I knew I should have stayed out of it, but the diner was the only thing standing between me and my lousing cooking. Therefore it was defuse the situation woth the stranger, or take the change that he might just decide to break the place up.

"Tell you what friend, Give me twenty bucks and I'll swipe my card for you," I suggested. "You can pump the twenty and be on your way."

"And if it won't hold twenty?" he replied angrily.

"Never mind," I said standing. I walked over to him as I said, "Tell you what friend, why don't you just drive to the next station. It's only about ten miles into Gulf." Gulf was the name of the closest town.

He was bigger, but he didn't have that hard look about him. He just looked angry. Being angry just might get him killed, if he couldn't get past it.

"I don't know if I can make it that far." he said more reasonably.

"Well you should have thought of that two minutes ago. Now your only choice is to pray." He looked at me and got the message. Most people did since they tell me I have dead eyes, whatever that means.

The man wasn't overtly angry when he left the diner, he was just seething. I did hope he wouldn't have a heart attack. Actually I think the waitress wished him a quick death. Teenager's emotions seem to run wide open all the time.

My breakfast came while I was having my discussion with the angry stranger. Deloris the teenager placed it on my table, then refilled my coffee. I found it all waiting for me. She had rushed to do it since it got her away from the angry stranger.

"Thanks," she said unenthusiastically when I sat down. She didn't have any real understanding of what might have happened. To her I just said a few words and it all went away, no biggy. What she didn't know was that it might have escalated into violence, if I had been in the place. Even with me interceding he might still have been a drunk or a bad assed redneck. In either case there could have been violence. Things like that happen everyday. They usually end just like that incident had. Then on a different day the guy pulls out a pistol and kills everyone. Life is a crap shoot, but the teenager didn't have a clue what might have happened. Unfortunately I did and it did not make me a better man for it.