The Final Salmon Run.

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The Last Push

When this house closes, which I suspect is imminent. I will be loading up my SUV with two of my little “squeezles” and heading across the country to my final resting place, Arizona.

The deal was, when we came back it would only be for 7 years, tops. It’s been 14.

As Joe Cocker would say, “Ain’t it High Time We Went?”

I have a pod full of equipment that does not include clothes, furniture or any of the prescription meds I was prescribed by my very helpful internal medicine doc to keep me under control.

Her version of house arrest or “patient retention.”

Susan has built up a pretty healthy equestrian business here, so she’s going to stay put. Where we land out there and how we get there? Clue none.

I’m in perfect health (physically) and don’t know exactly what I will do but I have developed a pretty healthy creative skill set so let’s throw them in the blender and see what pours out.

Like the salmon swimming furiously to get up stream, such will be my mission. Maybe take Route 66. Kingston, Barstow, San Bernardino maybe even Winslow, Arizona. Who knows? Who cares? Just. Not. Here.

I might film it and do my own road show. Never shot a camera on peyote before, so there’s that to look forward to.

If I do kick the bucket out there, I won’t even have to pay cremation fees. Just leave me out back of the casita for a couple hours in the sun. Ashes to ashes.

Like that salmon, I’ll be swimming upstream to get back to where I once belonged. And, like the salmon, I’ll be laying plenty of eggs but they won’t be of the salmon variety. All bets are off.

I’m gonna get my kicks all over Route 66. Send bail money.

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

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