A Moveable Target - Kit’s Version

I realize that I left you all with a giant, “But what happened?” after my recent post so let me try and fill you in.

When I last wrote, I was at El Capitan State Beach where the wind had just blown Wurzig’s door into the back of my legs causing me to spill drinking water down my shirt.  That, after my lovely morning in the campground shower.  I am happy to say, life has turned around nicely since then.

As usual, I came to enjoy my spot at El Capitan:  The pitch was at the top of a hill, Beagle’s nose faced south-west down the coastline and the front door opened to a grassy field drawing your eye out to the sparkling ocean.  It was delightful.  The campground was almost empty and so on Day 2 I cranked up the music while doing the dishes.  When Uptown Funk came on, I took my speaker outside and danced for the squirrels and dolphins atop the sun-filled grass, cooled by the ocean breeze.

Being gone only two nights I had plenty of water for a shower at the end of Day 2.  I heated up the hot water and, when finished with the dishes, climbed into Beagle’s shower.  After the campground showers, it is nice to climb into Beagle's; although small, it is perfectly clean and when I step out I am stepping onto my cute navy bathmat and not some barely-clean (if you are lucky) tile  floor.  So I was well prepared for an enjoyable experience.  Even enough water to shave my legs (and you know how important that is to me.)

So I hopped in, washed my hair and began to shave my legs.  Decided I should start with the opposite leg than the other day.  That proved wise as I had only completed one when, yep, I ran out of hot water.  (I had forgotten that I had run it while doing the dishes.)

And so, to answer your burning question, that is how my other leg came to be shaved.

***

After my nights in El Capitan, I pulled Beagle up to El Charro, a county park outside of San Luis Obispo, and into a full hook up site.  I took everything out of Beagle, vacuumed, washed, cleaned, felt like a new person, and then moved the following day back to my dry pitch (no hook ups) at Morro Bay State Park. 

Here Beagle sat alone for two nights while the noses and I enjoyed the Skyview Motel in Los Alamos where I took at least five token-free showers.  If you are ever in the area, make a trip to stay there:  You feel like a movie star walking around it is so low-profile elegant.  A delightful place to stay and, if in town, visit Bob’s Well Bread Bakery where you will likely meet Bob himself working the register.  I went there three times in one day; after the first time, with a twinkle in his eye, he refused to turn the terminal toward me, thwarting my ability to leave a tip.  People like that make life fun and a mere twenty-four hours later I met two more.

Two nights in a hotel was just what I needed and I was happy as can be driving back up into Morro Bay.  As I saw the Highway 1 sign directing me off the 101, I had an overwhelming feeling of coming home.  I drove to my favorite coffee place, and thought, “This could be my coffee place.”  Almond latte in hand, I headed to the dog park so Opus and River could run; they are great hotel dogs, but didn’t get a lot of exercise so I knew they needed some freedom to race.

While at the dog park I felt the calendar alarm buzz on my phone and looked down; a reminder of an open house.  About a week ago while hiking along the coast (picture above) I thought to myself, Who in their right mind wouldn't live here if they possibly could?  Maybe I should see what houses cost.  

That day, a week ago, I did a preliminary run through Zillow.  Knowing that I was headed out of town for a few days, I felt safe from any kind of impulsive purchase.  Surprisingly, Zillow showed a few houses that I could afford but one that jumped out at me:  Angular Frank Lloyd Wright-ish, cerulean blue, fenced yard, parking for Beagle, open house on the 18th; the event to which my calendar was directing me.

Gathering the noses, I drove the one mile and parked at the curb.  It started at 11:00, I drove up at 11:10 and knew it was my home before I walked in.   

The house was for sale by owner and, when I entered, there was one man talking to a lady; I had no idea who was who so just introduced myself to them both.  Turns out Kat was the owner’s daughter (and running the sale) and Tim was my competition.

Finally, finally, Tim left and it was just Kat and myself.  Then a cat walked through the room.

               “If you are Kat, then what is the cat’s name?”

               “Oh, that is Kiki”, Kat replied, then, pushing her palms up toward the ceiling (like the old-school raising the roof dance) she said, “Kit, Kat and Kiki in the house!”

I trusted her implicitly at that point, five minutes later we had negotiated a price.

During our earlier conversation she had learned of my travels in Beagle and, as we were working on dates for closing, she said, “Why don’t you just pull Beagle into the backyard and use the efficiency apartment while we are going through escrow?  The dogs will love the yard.”

I have said it before but my life reads better than any fiction I could write.  Plus, if this were fiction, my editor would draw a thin red line under that last paragraph, continuing the line out to a note in the margin:  Too obvious.  Unbelievable to the reader.

The reader would not be alone; it was unbelievable to me as well.  I had to pinch myself all day and walked through Morro with a shit-eating grin on my face.  We met at 4:30 for wine and document signing and I was able to meet Darlene, the owner, who is selling her precious home of thirty years so she can move closer to Kat in Oregon.  

When I walked into the house, Darlene said, “Welcome home.”

Excuse me, I am going to get a Kleenex.

The three of us shared wine and snacks then walked to the beach for the sunset.  Upon our return, Darlene and I sat on the front patio. 

               “Darlene, I promise I will take good care of your house.  I adore it.”

               “I know you will,” she replied with tears in her eyes, “I told Kat that price doesn’t matter, I want someone who will love the house like I do.”

It is a good thing price didn’t matter because they were offered more money all day long. 

The three of us met last night at a bar to hear a local band and, as they took turns telling me about all the places to visit, they would say, “Just go out your front door, turn left…”, or “It’s about two miles from your house.” 

Geez, I need another Kleenex. 

That really catches you up now:  Both legs shaved and house purchased.  I am headed to San Diego (with noses and without Beagle) for Christmas and then will move Beagle into my soon-to-be new backyard on December 28^th.     Full possession happens the end of January.

-K

PS:  Stay tuned for Opus’ version of A Moveable Target