Well, Monday did not go as planned.
I was about a mile and a half from my house when I was stopped by a line of other stopped cars. A member of the local volunteer fire department (not my brother) informed me that the road was closed due to a huge propane* leak, and it might not be open for “several hours, or maybe overnight.”
This was unwelcome news to someone who had left the house 11 hours earlier. There was nothing to do but turn the car around and drive back the way I’d just come. I parked off the road and called Megan, to let her know that she had the opposite problem: she couldn’t get to work.
Megan said she’d get the cats in, feed them, and close the doors which I always leave open for them when their doorman is absent. At least that was one less thing to worry about. Ever the worrier, I was wondering if I’d have to sleep in my car and go to work in the same clothes without benefit of make-up, toothbrush, or shower, an almost unthinkable proposition (even though I thought it).
I called my friend Erin, who lives nearby, and asked if she was up for an unexpected guest for an unspecified period of time.
Fortunately, she was, so I headed to her place, where I was warmly welcomed . I hung out with her son while Erin made dinner and her husband helped to deal with the propane situation (he is also on the fire department). We had a happy dinner together in her lovely, redwood-paneled dining room. We were just considering sorbet when Megan texted me to let me know that the coast was clear.
I thanked my gracious hosts and headed home in the dark. I was so happy that I could actually go home that I didn’t even worry about the horror of night driving. I got home about 14 hours after I left it, and got into my PJs and went straight to bed without passing Go or collecting $200.
When I left the house in the early morning darkness a few hours later, I had this strange feeling of déjà vu…
A YEAR AGO: I was having a lot more fun, having both my ‘do and my ‘tude refreshed with a visit to the wonderful Angelica.
*Surely the bane of the country dweller’s existence. So expensive! Those hideous tanks! The icky smell! And now this. To paraphrase Eric Clapton, “She don’t like, she don’t like, she don’t like…propane.”