PSA: The below is a rerun from This Date in 2025 (with adjustments to bring it current to today). It should answer questions generated by the post I made last evening.
On October 4, 1988, an orange-and-white UHaul truck with a governor on the accelerator, closely followed by a black Chevrolet Beretta, entered Maine via Routes 2 and 4 in Farmington and made their way to Skowhegan.
In the UHaul was Steve Miller, PIC, copilot Arwen deGrey, and what was left of the Miller and Lee Household — records and books; a stereo system; an old wooden Philco cabinet radio that didn’t work, but served as our mantle; kitchen supplies, and an almost-new microwave oven; two Kaypro computers; a 9-pin printer; and two so-called computer desks, brand-new and still unassembled in their boxes.
Piloting the Beretta was Sharon Lee, copilot Archie McGee, and passenger Brandee Whitchin. In the trunk was a copy of a manuscript entitled Carpe Diem, the Important Life Records of both pilots and cats, a dictionary, a Scrabble set, two suitcases, and cat supplies. In the back seat were a few small boxes of this ‘n that, and the cat carrier occupied by our passenger.
We arrived in Skowhegan and went to the address that had been given us five days prior, to pick up the key to the rental house. Instead, we came away with our deposit, in cash, because the daughter of the gentleman who had rented us the house by phone had left her husband during the time the happy caravan was climbing slowly north from Maryland, and needed a place to live.
We then went downtown, to let the editor at the Skowhegan Reporter know that Mr. Miller, whom he had hired after two extensive phone interviews, was in town and ready for work. Unfortunately, in a game of Editorial Spin the Bottle indulged in by the owner of the syndicate, the Skowhegan editor had been reassigned, and the new editor had neither news of, nor desire for, a spanking new reporter who didn’t know the beat.
Considerably let down, the Plan in shambles, but still determined to continue, the pilots drove out to the edge of town, where they found a campground motel that was in the process of being shut down for the winter. The combination of Steve’s golden tongue and the kindness of the campkeepers saw us in possession of both a very tiny cabin, and a promise that they would tell the crew to winterize that cabin last, so we could have time to find a more permanent solution.
That done, we drove to the other edge of town, rented a storage unit, stashed our stuff, went to the local Hannaford, got salads from the salad bar, and the big bottle of Gallo, returned to our cabin, and the cats. We ate, played a couple games of Scrabble, and went to bed.
The next morning, there was snow on the ground, and, after breakfasting at the Burger King around the corner from the campground, the pilots drove to Augusta to return the UHaul truck, then went back to the cabin in Skowhegan, and sat down to make a New Plan.
. . . we stayed in the camp for two weeks while we looked for someplace to live in Skowhegan and in Waterville. For some reason, nobody wanted to rent to a pair of scruffy writers from Away, with three cats and no visible means of support. We finally lucked in to a “two bedroom” apartment in a converted barn, where we lived for the next year-and-a-half. After we got the apartment, we went down to the post office to rent a PO Box, and across to the bank to open a checking account. We had phone service installed, and called our agent, who wanted our address, because she had a revision letter from Del Rey to send to us.
While we were waiting for the revision letter, we put together the computer desks and fired up the Kaypros, then we looked for jobs. For some reason, nobody wanted to hire a high-falutin’ executive secretary from Away, so I signed up with Kelly Services, who found me a cushy job inside the Number Two Paper Machine at Scott Paper. My shift started at 5 a.m. Steve picked up the Adult Ed Writing Course that had been being taught by the now-relocated editor, and started work as the midnight manager at the Cumberland Farms.
The letter from Del Rey arrived and the revisions were . . . massive, requiring a lot of rewriting. Steve worked on those before he was due at work. When I got home, I’d start typing where he’d left off.
The question that is not answered in this is — how old were the children when they started on this adventure? Answer One: Old Enough to Know Better. Answer Two: Steve was 38; I was 36.
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Sunday, October 4, 2026. Got up at six. Made a video, which is really stretching my skillset. It’s probably not long enough, but here we are.
Started writing/revising at 9, working through til 1:30, broke for lunch and a run at FB, then back to the office with the intent to do more work, but my eyes have voted otherwise, so! One’s duty the cats has not yet been accomplished, and there are dishes to wash, so it’s not like I’ll be idle. I’m trying not to be grumpy about the fact that I used to be able to Screen for 8 hours at the day-job, come home and do another 4 hours at the home computer, while simultaneously ignoring the other fact — which is that — yeah, that’s very likely why I can’t do that any more.
Tomorrow, I am due in Augusta at 7:15 A! M! for car inspection, oil change, &c, &c. I will byerlady go to City Hall and pay the excise tax on that same car before I come home to, hopefully, write.
I’m really missing Tali, who had Very Strong Opinions about when Stoopid Humans ought to sit down and Make a Lap, and wasn’t shy about making them known. The other cats miss her, too — this my guess by the fact that they’re still working a three-sided schedule. I was unsupervised for several hours this morning, and Firefly actually looked shocked when she arrived for her shift and found me alone. Also, Firefly is not wanting to sleep on the bed without backup, which is sad, and I hope she’ll get over it, though, thinking back, I believe she has always had back-up for bed-sleeping. Belle, Sprite, and Trooper certainly slept with us/me, and Tali overlapped Trooper . . .
For the curious, Rook will sleep with me, but his schedule is freeform. He’ll arrive at some point midnightish, and curl up on my hip. I don’t usually feel him leave, but I do note his arrival around 6, when I’ll either get up, or go back to sleep for an hour.
Sigh.
Cat chess.
And! Chores
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