The Seven Year Visit

My father arrived at my house one pretty November day for a visit.  It lasted for seven years.

We didn't realize when he showed up that it was anything more than another of his "wandering" week-ends.  In another age he would have been right at home with the pioneers who always wanted to see what was on the other side of the mountain.  Every so often he would get the urge to get out and wander the roads wherever they took him.  When my mother was alive he would often walk in on a Friday evening and tell her that if she could be ready in 30 minutes she could go with him.   Never one to miss an adventure, she kept a small bag packed with extra make-up, underwear and necessities.  Together they would go wherever their fancy would take them.  Sometimes they would have great surprises of out of the way diners and cozy motels and sometimes they would have hilarious tales of "Ptomaine Willie's Cafe" or picnics in downpours on lonely roads.  Whatever the adventure they always had fun and thoroughly enjoyed their rambles.

Now sixteen years into his second marriage he often rambled the back roads with a buddy of his, so his stopping by on the way home wasn't a real shock.  We added another plate to the table and enjoyed his tales of his week-end.  The night grew late and we suggested that he just spend the night and go home the next day.  We should have been a little suspicious when he carried in two large suitcases.  However, the kids were delighted to bunk in together so he could have our son's room, in exchange for the fun of having Granddaddy around. 

The next day he pottered happily around, fixing this or that, telling tales to the kids, and just in general enjoying our company.  He said that since he was now retired and had no job to hurry home to, he would just stay another day.  Three days later, hubby pulled me into the bedroom and shut the door.  "What is going on?  When is he going home?  He's intruding on my bath time!!"  (with one bathroom, slotting one more into the morning schedule was a little hairy)  It was time for a little talk.

We settled down at the table for a cup of coffee.  With a little gentle prodding the story came out.  He was getting a divorce and he needed to move out of his house until everything was settled.  With a sigh, we realized we now were a family of five.  Our son and daughter survived sharing a room longer than I would have thought, before finally coming to blows.  It finally became apparent that we would have to make more permanent arrangements. 

Daddy, who had cheerfully settled into the small town routine, checked with his coffee buddies and located a mobile home for sale.  He toyed with moving it to various places in the county where he could live "close to nature".  That translated into living back a rural road where it would take me 30-45 minutes to get to him.  Looking into the future and seeing a time when I would need to be able to reach him more quickly than that, we suggested something a little closer.  With glee, he replied that he thought he could live on our farm just fine. (That was a little closer than I had meant, but it was too late.)

Which is how I wound up with a trailer in my back yard (and another adolescent to keep up with, but that's another story)