Okay...just a bit of background is needed for the following to make a bit of sense. I send emails to my two daughters several times a day. I am semi-retired and I believe that I have a droll sense of humor. Family and friends cut to the chase and proclaim that I am just a smart ass. To be truthful, my basic interaction with others tends to be profane.

My ‘sig other’, the man of my dreams for well over forty years and the father of our three grown spawn, and I relocated from Southern California to a very white, sparsely populated, wooded forest in the Upper Valley of New Hampshire about a year ago. I am one of the very few dark skinned transplants living here. We are one of two bi-racial couples living in the village. And yes, I said village.

We live in the middle of 47forested acres by choice. No sirens, no door-to-door solicitors hawking steaks or seafood or even those who consider themselves to be God’s chosen. That is, until today.

So my email to my youngest, a twenty-five year old medical student, was sent to give my daily “hellos” and “how are yous” but also to convey my sense of complete desperation and awe with our unscheduled visitors.

We gots to move!!!! 

I was up until 4:00 AM. Why oh why do I earn a living by tutoring MBA students?

Anyway, after watching something mindless on HBO…Hung, I decided I should just go to bed. Perhaps I’ll fall asleep quickly while pondering how this show became popular. Falling to sleep can be a challenge because of the unrequested nightly symphony, the melodic snoring of your father and Keelo (our resident pit) on either side of me.  It's really quite interesting to attempt sleep between the two of them as they strive to harmonize the pitch and tenor of their nightly operas, and of course, they do so regularly. “Oh God, please take me now!”

Anyway, when I woke-up, four hours later, gurl… I was tore down...I mean real tore down....no teeth, hair in curlers and sitting in front of the computer trying to make sure Ms. MBA Thang had not sent one more "help, heeelllppp" messages, since the last one she sent at 3:00 AM.

Suddenly, the door to the office flies open. Daddy headed to the front door.  He thought that I was still asleep on the couch; he was attempting to stop whoever it was from ringing the bell or knocking on the front door, an action that would have roused Sir Keelo and automatically conjure Keelo’s threatening, saliva ridden bark.

A car zoomed up the driveway and parked in front of the garage. We were not expecting visitors and it was too early for the gardeners.  Dad rushed out the door, unaware that I was sitting at the computer, dazed. Being unaware of one’s environment is an effect of old age or perhaps it’s because your dad is the embodiment of the XY gene! Oh those “Y’s!” A lifetime of observation has not provided me with the tools to circumvent the affects of the Y.

I was still dazed, my brain unable to form a cohesive thought. And as daylight began to filter into my little grey cells, I was able to ascertain who decided to pay us an uninvited visit. Why two Jehovah Witnesses.... I swear to God. Just who are these people that woke-up up early in the morning and decided to leave the safety of civilization to come out here before ten in the morning to peddle their idea of "soul saving?"  

Gurl, we gots to move. it's almost Halloween and we lives near the original Salem  and from the looks of the surrounding topography, they might have burned a witch or two right here. The natives still have bonfires and such to celebrate, they say, the changes of the seasons.  We live  in the middle of nowhere, by choice,  and these religious zealots think that they can save our souls? What the hell?

So, since we are convinced that they believe that they are protected by their faith, I decided to test that faith. I step outside the door in my curlers, no teeth, and grab your dad suggestively from behind. Here stands your very handsome, white father and I, clearly a loose, lost pickaninny says, "I's  done worked to fore in da morning” (as I suggestively hug your dad from the rear)! It’s important to note that the two women did not abandon their mission to convert even though it was clear that they were imposing on our privacy. The one, a very tall, physically awkward, dark-haired, young girl, probably not yet 20, almost hopped off the front porch, although she did not bolt for the car. It was clear that her faith was not as strong as the older woman’s because she clearly thought that it was much safer to stand behind her rather than beside her. The older, more zealous of the two was probably close to forty and undaunted by my appearance, age or apparent exhaustion. I retreated and decided it was best for me to allow those two women to deal with the “Y.” Dada was all-fired up and ready to verbally fence with the two. His first volley;  "who’s to say which God is the correct one?"  I left as the older one shot back; “why our God of course!” Me, I just wanted them to go away and to never, ever return.

What I need from you, oh educated one, is the assurance that some guys on bicycles wearing starched white shirts and black slacks and bike helmets won't be next? There's a city just on the other side of Hwy. 120...so why come up a dirt road and drive up a dark and scary driveway, even during the day, that could lead to nowhere and witch covens?

Mumsie thought that you might enjoy our adventure with the weird this cold and grey morning! And I thought that once we left LA, all of life would become ordered and not surreal like the one I thought we had left behind.