Well, not quite, but we’re into our second week at Camp Parking Lot, and we’re learning a bit about our capabilities. I think The Barge will outlast this more than we will. Most ships will.
Propane lasts two weeks, black tank lasts two weeks, grey tank lasts until someone decides the lawn needs watering, and fresh tank lasts four to five days.
It started sucking air so Mom decided that we’d fill it via bucket. As in I tote the bucket and Mom holds the funnel. It worked fine; four buckets equals one-quarter tank plus at least a half-gallon down Mom’s armpit for having such a half-assed idea. But I must admit it did work. And then we were too lazy or inebriated to actually take hot showers.
Something happened today; a bunch of plastic containers were moved out of the shop. Recon showed that they were labeled “Allison” and “ATL” so I reasoned that the truck that came to pick them up might leave a present for us. We’ll see tomorrow.
This sojourn has been striking in its lack of conflict. In any normal couple there would’ve been huge arguments, blame and complaining; we’ve only had a moment of frustration. In a past life I was stuck at the dock with a busted rudder for several months so I’m familiar with impatiently waiting. Mom and I are in tune; if we’re not on fire there’s no excitement. But we’d like to get fixed and move on.
Please!