I’m back in the saddle again,
Out where a friend is a friend.
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly jimsonweed.
Back in the saddle again.

Ridin’ the range once more.
Totin’ my old .44.
Where you sleep out every night
And the only law is right.
Back in the saddle again. – Gene Autry

After a drive through the Navaho Nation, trying like the devil to hold our breath, we made it home to Denver Saturday afternoon. Every time we drive from one home to the other, I always think we won’t bring much. We have made a concerted effort to duplicate things to avoid lots of hauling back and forth. Alas, it never works out that way. For one thing, when we drive to AZ in November, we are bringing all of our summer clothes. We won’t need them anymore in Colorado, and then they are there awaiting us when we arrive Christmas Day. Conversely, when we drive back to Denver, we are bringing all of those same summer clothes with us. Plus any we added and we’ve always added some.

Bill has work-related stuff to haul. I have hobby-related stuff to haul. This year I also brought back lots and lots of canned goods that I had purchased and didn’t use. During those first days of the quarantine — you know, the days of ehe Purell and Toilet Paper crisis– one never knew what would be on the grocery shelves. So if I saw something that hadn’t been there for a while, I would grab one, not remembering if I had some at home. Because of this, I ended up with four cans of diced tomatoes, three boxes of chicken broth, one box of beef broth, and four cans of cream of mushroom soup. All of these items — and more — rode with us in the back of the car.

We unpacked the car first thing. And then we began settling in. Changing clocks. Turning on the water. Opening windows to let out the smell of must. Getting the ice maker going. Putting away all of the perishables. Calling Dish Network to change the location of our satellite service because we have what’s called a Snowbird Account.

A full two hours and two phone calls later, it still wasn’t changed. We have had this account for 10 years. For 10 years, all we’ve ever had to do was call Dish, and explain that we have a snowbird account and that we’re changing locations. They always understood completely, and in the 10 minutes it took them to make the change, I listened to them try to sell me something-or-other, which I always declined. But then, voila! our local stations were back in service.

This time, I simply couldn’t get to the right person. Nor could I get to anyone that I could understand. I’m not trying to be negative, but I simply didn’t know what they were saying and they simply didn’t understand what I wanted them to do. Finally, after a total of three people in three separate telephone conversations, someone did something that involved Bill crawling behind the television and pushing buttons and pulling out computer cards and lots of praying to the patron saint of technology (who happens to be St. Isidore of Seville for reasons I don’t quite understand). But it now works.

And as I write this post, Dagny is once again mowing our back yard and Bill is washing windows. So, nothing ever really changes.