The Farmhouse

Today I drove the 250 miles to Dixon, Illinois to be with Gary, whom I hadn't seen in three weeks. That is a five hour drive and I won't do it weekly, but since he is likely to be here for much of the winter, we are trying to work out how to do this.

We are on the farm his family has owned for 140 years. His aunt Shirley, now 92, is in a nursing home recovering from a fall. It is unlikely the family will let her live here alone again, so someone must be on hand to run things and that someone is to be Gary who is a young 69.

Gary's family claims they are collectors, but it sure seems like hoarding to me. When her cans of tuna were way past the expiration date, she simply marked them “old” and put them back in the cupboard. The house is full of stuff like that: cottage cheese containers, Kleenex boxes stuffed with used Kleenex, bins of rags, and on and on.

I am enjoying myself here in the farmhouse which is much like the one I grew up in. The wainscoting is original as are the woodwork an doors. The furniture is a hodgepodge of epochs. There are Victorian dressers, arts and crafts rocking chairs, overstuffed chairs from the 1950s, and an Eames chair.

Tonight we read and listen to music. It is a vacation from the “real world”. I'll be here until Tuesday.

We've agreed that we will take turns making the trek to the other's domicile during the winter.. He thinks he will be in Seymour over Christmas and I will return here for New Year's and again when I am en route to the Gulf of Mexico for a tour at the end of January. Somehow we will work this out.

I tell Gary we now have two homes, only one short of the Romneys (or maybe two). What luxury!