Last night I received a phone call from George, a former neighbor who lives across the street from my longtime home in Miami, Fla. that I sold in 2003.  He read the previous post on this website and expressed his deep concern.

As we feasted on pizza in our respective abodes, George compared the sticky situation in which Alice and I find ourselves with a similar incident unique to him.  George reminded me of the considerable emotional and tangible value of our stuff, and strongly advised that if $1,512 gets the Pod container to its intended destination, that’s the way to go.

I appreciate his advice, and that of others.  By exposing our plight here, I heard from friends and family, and their opinions help form the decisions I make.  Should I max out my credit cards and pony up the money to an account that doesn’t have my name on it, therefore out of my control?  Or should I go the legal route and visit whatever nastiness I can summon from a distance?

The former option offers no assurance that the transfer from Pennsylvania to Oregon will happen, while going the legal route gives up hope altogether and suggests a final solution cannot happen if or unless we return to Pennsylvania.

One family member says we should contact his probation officer.  What to do?

At the Sunday service of Hillsboro Unitarian Universalist Church, I bore witness to this demon afflicting me and how I think of our Man Friday.  Do I want to live in a world where I have to consider any trusted person to be a potential threat?  I must decide by Wednesday.  Otherwise, the container’s scheduled shipping date out West on Friday, November 7, will not happen.

I’m between the devil on the East Coast and Oregon’s welcome wagon.