I am out the door shortly to head north for the placid little village of Shippensburg, where generations of Socotra lie at their rest under the central monument of the muse Hope, who drags an anchor.

I intend to work with my Cousin and his plat of the plot to determine where Mom and Dad will go- the half of their remains that I have retained, anyway, and then talk to the local stone-cutter and order a stone. Then figure out a likely restaurant and reserve for a modest reception, and a motel that might agree to reserve a block of rooms for the night before the service, currently scheduled for the 16th of June.

If I can get that done, I will feel a sense of accomplishment. It is vaguely comforting to know that all one has to do to complete a long and unpleasant task is continue to plug away at the list of things to be done and do them.

When I get back tonight, I can go back to completing the second-to-last set of taxes for them, and continue to shuffle through the list of Things To Be Done.

(Boris and Natasha at Willow. Natasha has dealt with the KGB in her life, which accounts for her pictorial shyness. Boris is an American and has fewer qualms.)

At Willow last night, I was sitting with Old Jim when the Russians arrived. I had heard that they were going to look at the property next to mine, and that Boris and Natasha toured the place last Sunday and are putting an offer in this week on The Farm Next Door to the Refuge down in Culpeper. It will be good to have acquaintances on the other side of the fence, and I may get a little breathing room from some rednecks or ATV operators. They hare happy I am heavily armed on my side of the fence, and are looking into the construction of a small bunker on their side, just in case.

It will mean a little less seclusion, but also allies in the country, and access to the 27 acres of the property. Natasha’s daughter may come from Moscow with her horse to use the property. They are of the same view of what is to come- there is going to be trouble, and when it does, it is nice to be away from the heavily populated city. You could not discount the dour view of a Russian whose family was trapped by the Reds in Crimea, and who participated in the (mandatory) Young Pioneer program up through her university education.

She knows the old Soviet Union well, and was one of its citizens.

These are interesting times.

Gotta shower and go.

Vic