Where There’s a Will…

Most people would plan, in advance, not to tax themselves in the ways we have upon return from Brazil.   However, we’re not most people.

Friday morning at 9:00 a.m. Mountain Time, we touched down at DIA and dialed up my Grandmother waiting in the traffic queue to come pick us up (thank you, thank you, thank you!).   We’ve been so jet lagged and travel worn these past few months that it’s more a permanent state of being for us rather than something to recover from.   So, in the highest spirits possible, we grabbed breakfast at the most American breakfast spot we can find and finally had some familiar chow.   After gathering all our belongings and spending a last-minute-hour on the internet making sure there wasn’t a to-die-for four-door on the Denver market that should be immediately purchased by yours-truly (I’m in the market for a car for those of you who didn’t know.   Long story.), we began our six-hour zombie drive up to Gillette in time to arrive early enough to shower and still get dinner at Humphrey’s.   Mmmm!!

For some reason, I guess it’s that we grew up with most of these people and also that Patch and I are outgoing individuals, we know a bartender at almost all the main haunts in Gillette.   Nice when you look 17 and forget your I.D., which of course, I did.   So, we plopped down at the bar to order the first round, and before we know it, our man Preston is serving up the celebration shots and we’ve committed to hanging around the bar after dinner with the fam.   As is common for Gillette, mecca of energy production and construction, we meet a few traveling businessmen at the bar and start waxing poetic about the nostalgia that accompanies a Gillette-upbringing.   We’re telling them about the fantastic Karaoke when we realize, “Oh. my. god.   Tonight is Friday Karaoke at Eastside!”   Of course we’re going, so we invite them along with us, and they do the cool thing and come!   Other high-school pals home for the summer join in, and before we know it, too many rounds are coming our way.   C’est la vie!

We danced the night away, sang our hearts out, and returned home to crash.   This was our first night in a completely dark room (usually there are city lights or yard lights or hallway lights sneaking in the windows) and the heat from the day had settled in the room.   We woke up in the middle of the night sweating, frantic, and confused in a room full of towers of half-packed boxes and stuff waiting to be packed.

Me (somewhat upset): “Pat!   Where are we!?”

Pat:   “I don’t know.   I’m trying to find the light, but I keep bumping into stuff.”

Me:   “Where are we?!   Turn the light on right now!”

Pat:   “I’m trying.   I can’t find it.”

Me: (almost crying and confused by my raging fever):   “It’s so hot.   I have to get out of here!”

Pat: (turns on the light)

Jema: (stumbles to door and bursts into the living room welcoming the cool air)

Unfortunately, we greeted the next morning with hangovers and big plans full of the necessary banking errands, etc.   By afternoon we’d done everything except load the Uhaul, so when the family started showing up for the goodbye-barbecue, we enlisted their help.   Many hands make light work, so we had the Uhaul loaded and locked about fifteen minutes before one of the typical, raging, Wyoming afternoon thunderstorms rolled through and soaked everything.

We did the smart thing that night.   We stayed home and let our friends drink most the beer, so getting up at seven to finish loading bits and pieces wasn’t as much of a challenge as the previous day.   Thanks only to Paul (Pat’s dad), we were ready to leave in time to make our lunch date in Casper with my sister, nephew, and grandparents.   We said sad goodbyes and set out across the prairie.

Goodbye little hometown! I will miss you when I’m gone. See you at Christmas!

Lunch at a Mexican restaurant (a ethnic food that, sadly, is virtually non-existent in Brazil) was heaven with great company and good conversation.   We made Salt Lake by 9:00, and Reno shortly after sun-up.   The mountains we had to cross in Northern California are gorgeous, and a real pain-in-the-rear with a huge, long-bed pick-up and Uhaul combo.   We rolled into Arcata in the mid-afternoon glad to be well on our way to consistent, and somewhat predictable daily lives!