October 23, 2020 - Friday morning
41 degrees/rain/more rain
Galesburg, Illinois
We put Pentoga Road in our rearview mirror Thursday morning around 10:30. I'd just arrived home from my morning walk and Sargie was almost ready to go.
The skies were cloudy, but not threatening. We'd just crossed the northern Wisconsin border when heavy snow began falling. That continued to north of Green Bay where we encountered heavy rain, not showers, but HEAVY rain.
You know it was bad when I tried pulling into an outlet mall in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, and Sargie said she'd rather just keep going, that it was raining way too hard.
So, you're all witnesses. Sargie voluntarily skipped an outlet mall. I never thought I'd live long enough to see the day.
Eventually driving out of the heavy rain, we stopped at another outlet mall in Johnson Creek, Wisconsin, where Sargie found a bargain or two that she couldn't live without. I visited the Tool Outlet and purchased a small, nine inch, band saw, one that will be used to cut out the carved names and crafts that seem to occcupy more and more of my time. With Christmas coming and puzzles to make for the little ones, it will be pressed into service sooner rather than later.
Nothing's wrong with my large 14 inch band saw, but for more intricate cuts, I'm continually changing blades, something that takes several minutes. This smaller saw should alleviate that problem.
It was around the northern Illinois border that the clouds began to clear and we noticed the temperature soaring to an eventual high of 77 degrees. It's been many years since I've seen such a dramatic swing in the weather in such a short time.
We'd left in below freezing conditions and heavy snow. By day's end, we were enjoying clear skies and summer like conditions.
How's that work?
Last night was a quiet one. Sargie watched the debate while I fell sound asleep. As is our usual pattern, I was up bright and early this morning while she continues to slumber.
Opposites really do attract, don't they.
Strange, the breakfast room is empty, I guess due to the Covid virus. There are a few wrapped muffins that taste like soggy, sugared, cardboard. It looks like an IHOP day for brunch.
We're in no hurry this morning as check out isn't until noon. Our plans are to make our way to the cemetery to visit Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa. Thankfully, we brought umbrellas as the rain is falling as fast as the temperature. Today's forecast high in Galesburg is 43 degrees.
I'm unsure how my emotions will be when we stand at the foot of Mom and Dad's grave. Dad and I were close, especially in his final years. We were fishing buddies and occasional confidants. I never felt so badly for anyone as I did for Dad as he wasted away and eventually died of cancer way too early in life.
Mom and I were really close. I don't think I was a Mama's boy, but, she was my mom. Other than a man and his wife, no bond should or could be any closer. We wrote emails each and every day and I made it a point to call her at least twice a week after Dad passed away. Though hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles separated us, we saw each other several times a year, even when I lived in Alaska.
As I said, she was Mom.
Both Mom and Dad supported me through good times and bad and for a few years, I had plenty of bad times. Thankfully, through example, each taught me how to give unconditional love, even from afar.
Today may be the day that being an orphan finally comes home to roost. Boy, I miss Mom and Dad. It will be good to visit with each later today, if only in memory.
So with that, it's time to get this day started. I'm uncertain if we'll be heading over to Iowa today or stay another night locally. I'll let Sargie make that executive decision. I'm just along for the ride.
No doubt, we'll do a drive by of Grandma and Grandpa's old house at 828 N. Cherry Street, maybe to the old farm out on the Lake Story Road, possibly try to find the old farmhouse where we lived when I was very young.
Otherwise, the sky's the limit and the road, west, to Morse, Iowa, is calling.
After all, a man's work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road...
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