Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I took my penultimate evening bike ride for this stay in South Carolina. (I’ve been dying to use that word in a story – one of my favorite words!) Tomorrow night, after my evening ride, I’ll be taking the bike back down to Chris’ place in Debordieu, to make room in the back of my van for packing my stuff up on Monday. Brother Jim comes in on Monday afternoon, then I am homeward-bound on Tuesday. We’ll be back down for a long weekend in a couple weeks, then I’ll be back down here for a week in early September.

    It feels like it is time to go home. I miss my home. I miss Kathy terribly and I know she feels the same (even though it’s only been 4 ½ days since she left here). I miss my dog. She knows my ring when I call each evening. Really. When I called last night, Kathy said she’d had 2 previous calls right before mine, and Cajun just laid there, but as soon as the phone rang when I called, she jumped up and got all excited. Kathy puts her out when I call.

    I actually miss D.C., and work! Even though I’ve been working a couple hours a day from down here, it’s not the same. I very much feel like I’m out of the loop. I get all funky when I get away from my regular work rhythm for more than a couple weeks. I know, that sounds like workaholism, and maybe it is, but that’s been my M.O. my whole life. That’s just how I’m made up. I have had my hardest times in life when I have not worked regularly, when I’ve had too much time on my hands. Two weeks away is good, but this has been close to a month and a half.

    I’m a real mess. I’ve just been away from home for too long. I just figured that out today, that’s what’s really going on with me. I need to get back to work, back to my life. I need to be getting up at 4 in the morning, get my quiet time and cowbird time in, leave at 6:30 for the office, and go back to work. There’s a girl working at the desk right outside my office up there, who’s been there since the middle of June, a summer intern. She has the same last name as mine, Bridgeman (no relation), but has yet to meet me. Her first week I was at an off-site in Beltsville, then when I was back for a couple of days in early July, she was at a conference in Minneapolis. She must wander if I really even exist!

    The bike ride, by the way, was great, a beautiful night, great clouds in the sky, I rode the golf course then out by the salt marshes, got some more cool pictures. I’m just tired of it all, though. Bored out of my skull, to be truthful.

    I wouldn’t trade this time that I’ve had with Mom for anything in the world. I’m really glad I’ve had it. But, for me, it’s time to get back to my life. Thankfully, my siblings are stepping up and we’re sharing this experience. I’ll miss Mom, but I’ll be back in a little while.
    Home At Last, by Donald Fagen and Walter Becker
    I know this super highway, this bright familiar sun,
    I guess that I'm the lucky one who wrote that tired sea song,
    Set on this peaceful shore, you think you've heard this one before…

    Well the danger on the rocks is surely past,
    Still I remain tied to the mast;
    Could it be that I have found my home at last?
    Home at last!

    She serves the smooth retsina, she keeps me safe and warm.
    It's just the calm before the storm; call in my reservation,
    So long, hey thanks my friend! I guess I'll try my luck again…

    Well the danger on the rocks is surely past,
    Still I remain tied to the mast…
    Could it be that I have found my home at last?
    Home at last!

    Lyrics courtesy of:
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.