Two days before Halloween. I was at my desk working on some reports when the computer dinged, signifying an incoming email.
Click.
The boss. Invitation to an online meeting. We all know what it's about. The weather has been a common topic this morning. An unheard of tropical storm in the Gulf. Well, it's not exactly unheard of, but this late in the year, three days before the end of October, it certainly meets the definition of 'rare'.
"The latest track has it dead-centered in our office." Boss's remark.
"It's a Category One," someone added. "Diddly squat."
"Uh," I said, "our weather service thinks maybe a Two..."
"Minimal Two," was the reply.
"Regardless," the boss responded, "y'all are cut free. Go take care of your homes and family. Make sure you update the location roster online. Pay attention to your phones. We'll choose as to when we can show up here again."
"Day after tomorrow," came an anonymous remark.
"Make sure all your devices are off the floor. Take your computers, yadda, yadda..."
Hardly a year goes by that we don't receive this speech.
Meeting over. In my corporate vehicle, driving home. Thirty-five minutes, skirting the town around to the north side, down a rural road, there's the home.
Was Mom and Dad's residence. They're gone. I bought my brother's part out, yielding to him a few acres next door that had three slots for mobile homes.
Don't get me wrong - mobile home parks don't have to be nasty. You establish rules, make sure they're obeyed, and things remain lovely. I know some. My brother didn't do that. Three shabby trailers, two of them he owned and leased, and he wasn't too fussy about who he rented to.
Between the trailer park and my home is an eight-foot privacy fence. I have no clue what goes on in that trailer park and I'm pleased that way.
