Six Hours to Go…

I was sitting in the rocking chair last night reading to Eva when the phone rang. “Schile, George,” my talking caller i.d. announced.


I’d tried to call George’s cell phone over the last couple of days because  he was driving the boat home from Alaska, where he recently wrapped up his halibut and blackcod season, and I thought he might have time to talk and catch up. When his phone went straight to voice mail, it became clear to me that he’d chosen to “go around” on the open ocean instead of traveling home through the Inside Passage.

We talked for a minute–rather, I talked for a minute–about the usual: kids, dogs, Jazzercise.

“So, where are you?” I finally asked. I knew George would be getting close, as he was due home on June 11th.

“I’m in Campbell River,” he said.

Hold on. 

“Wow, that’s really close,” I said slowly.

“I’ll be in tomorrow afternoon,” he announced.

George said something next about good planning and cooperative tides, but I was only half-listening because I’d already gone to the place I’m now very used to going–panic!

“Wow,” I said again. “I wasn’t expecting you until late Wednesday. But that’s great! That’s exciting!”

“Didn’t I say it’d be Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning?”

Actually, no.

My head spun with the adjustments that I (as someone who has each day of the week planned and accounted for before the week even begins) would be making the next day.

Cancel Vincent’s daycare reservations at the gym. Get to the bathrooms, which I’d been saving until Wednesday. Clean the microwave. Get the laundry folded and put away. Finish that assignment and send it off. Beg for an extension on part two of the assignment. Call Mom and move our pre-arranged babysitting up by three hours.

“Okay,” I said, laughing. “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

I better get going. I’ve got a lot to get done before the celebration begins!


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