I've clocked up 16 months in this apartment - much of which has been self imposed solitary confinement barring a couple of stateside trip-hops and I havent seen hide nor hair of them in my neighbourhood once. Good, I say.
Yeah, so say I. I was being generous with that time estimate. The most recent time was a sheparding call/return visit about a year ago. "So how you been? Good, you? Good thanks." nervous pause..."So, how's so and so...good, I'll tell him you asked. Great. Umm, you still living in the same place? Yea. Wife and kids ok? Yea. Well guys, thanks for stopping by. Oh sure, you stay in touch. Oh, I will."
My hair is halfway down to my arse, I usually have some oddball music playing in the background. I haven't moved since 1979. I was never df'ed. I'm semi-retired. So I'm rarely not home. The only time I see Witnesses is when I happen to drive by the local hall and some are milling about.
I haven't spoken to Dogpatch/Randy in a few years until recently. We just had a chat about some of the folks from our "first" congregation. It brought back a lot of old memories. One of those for me was how often we worked our territory in the early '70's. We were hitting the houses once every 2 weeks in Canoga Park, 4 weeks for those hard to hit areas. I remember because I was the territory servant and a pioneer. Up here in N California it can't be any more often than once a year in a comparable urban environment. Things have changed. I think for the better. I don't mind if a witness knocks on my door, except that I'm sorry they are still caught in that horrid treadmill.