You must go to Dagobah

Last night while I was sleeping, I heard a voice. It said, "Nate ..."

I was groggy and tired, it was an unclear voice.

"Nate, you must go to Dagobah. There you will find Yoda."

Since Friday, someone has fired a shotgun twice on my street, about a house away. Both times were just before 9pm. Last night, Yvonne heard it again around 1:30am, but I was dreaming of the voice and missed it. She said when she woke me up, I jumped out of bed, like I had heard it.

When the two times at 9pm happened, we found shells on the street. I looked this morning for more, but there were none.

Now, I'm going to admit one of the dumbest things I've ever done. Last night, around 9:30pm, after calling 911. I went outside to look for the shells. Granted no one was there, but it was a bad call, Ripley.

Mr. Kerry called while I was out there.

"Nate's outside," Yvonne told him.

"I hope he's armed," he said back. I think Mr. Kerry is a retired deputy. I know for a fact he's armed with at least a .357 Magnum in his house.

While Warlord and I were outside shooting photos of the shells before putting them in a baggie (he has a collection going), a car drove up slowly. We went inside and waited. I doubt it was a threat, but we had just enough adrenaline to head indoors.

Yvonne wonders if the perp saw us taking photos and picked up the shells last night at 1:30am.

OK, I admitted my bad judgment of going outside, but I want to explain my logic.

First, I wanted those shells collected. Already, Warlord can say without a doubt, it's the same gun. We know more.

Second, I was angry. It makes me mad to think I can't go in my front yard---the one I bust MY ASS to maintain and improve---at 9pm at night.

Lesson learned, not going outside next time. But, I can feel safer. I can help Yvonne feel safer. There are steps I can take.

I guess, like it or not, we're hostage to this person until they stop or those steps are taken.

You see, I need a Yoda.

Back at the Coral

We had a crazy storm last Thursday and more flooding. Fortunately again, it never really threatened to enter the house, but the back porch is covered in gook. There is a drain there, but it was clogged, causing more flood. So drainage solutions are something on my mind.

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I wrote the above on Friday with full intentions of finishing it. But, I didn't. Mainly because I had a lot to do preparing for a trip to Midland. It was a good trip and we had a great time.

Now I'm home, cleaning and posting entries that weren't complete.

Day in the sun

This weekend was packed with outdoor projects, that included a mild heat stroke on Saturday. I wasn't right the rest of the day--I felt like I was brittle, if that makes sense. The backyard is almost ready for After shots ... but I'll probably wait until after a trip to Midland this coming weekend.

I recovered completely by Sunday morning and was ready to help Warlord lay crushed granite and flagstone. It was a brutal 5-hour project and we are almost half-way complete. When I came home, I found out the high temp was 95 degrees. When we were hauling, digging and trudging, the mercury was rising. At one point, my ears were dripping sweat.

95 degrees on Easter. Two years ago, they had two inches of snow on Easter. Dallas is odd, yo

Oh yeah, I don't do Easter. Long story, I'll spare you. But a day of hard labor is the perfect Easter for me.

Life

Today, Mr. Kerry across the way raked his leaves. On Monday, he buried his wife.

I have been over there several times for various reasons. I've met them both, but only recently did I get to know her. You see, after her second stroke, they gave her new meds that made her sleepy in the afternoon. The doctors corrected that and one afternoon, I helped wrangle their dogs and sat down for a coke. We talked about family, the neighborhood and a lot more.

Last week, the ambulance showed up at their house and carried her away in a gurney, all in the view of my work window. Two days later, I was working on the sod when he and his daughter came home.

I'm covered in dirt, sweat and exhaustion.

"How are you?" I ask.

"Well, my mother just passed," the daughter replied looking at the ground. I looked over at Mr. Kerry getting out of the driver's side of their luxury car. He stops, rests his head on his hand on the car door. He doesn't move.

"I'm so sorry," I said. I think I said it three times.

They walk inside without being able to speak.

A couple days later, Yvonne and I walked across the street when we saw Mr. Kerry watering his hedges. He began weeping when he saw us crossing the street. We said hello and he took about 30 seconds to gain composure--something I suspected he's been struggling to do for two days.

"I wasn't in the room when she passed," he said. "She always gave me a hard time for not hearing her call. I wonder if I didn't hear her."

He began to cry again. Yvonne hugged him and he whispered to her, "Sixty years."

Today, Mr. Kerry raked his leaves.

A new thang

I have a strong post to do, but I first wanted to get comments up and running. I'm trying this new format out. what do you think?