I was going to depart Slab City today and start drifting eastward, through the area between Tucson and the border, then work my way northward through New Mexico.
I figured it was a good idea to get my paperwork sent to my tax guy before I hit the road again. But I couldn't find the documents from the sale of my house. I thought I had them with me. I was wrong. I couldn't even remember the name of the escrow company so I could contact them about duplicates. It was part of my homeowner life my brain didn't want to waste any more time on.
Okay, then the papers must be in the box of documents I left in the attic of my ex-wife, but excellent friend, Ceebs. In Los Angeles. Two hundred miles to the west instead of east. At least the box in question wasn't with my buddy in South Carolina.
How about a visit?
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