Autumn Adventure: Part 2, Hot Springs, Arkansas

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The primary reason for stopping in Hot Springs was so that Dave could go down to the family homestead in Kingsland, just 83 miles south, and take care of a few things. The town’s claim to fame is that it’s where Johnny Cash was born. With a population of only 414, it’s the smallest town I’ve ever spent any time in. When given a choice of whether to go or not, I choose “not.” I saw this as a good opportunity to give Felix’s insides a good cleaning and to schedule an oil change for its generator.

The day before Dave was to leave happened to be our 40th wedding anniversary and we wanted to do something special. On one of our trips into town we’d seen that this week was the 27th annual Hot Springs Documentary Film Festival, https://www.hsdfi.org/.

It is the longest running all-documentary film festival in North America, and it was being held at the iconic Arlington Hotel & Spa, the largest hotel in Arkansas with 500 rooms and suites. Built in 1875, the stately building anchors Central Avenue and the National Park’s famed Bathhouse Row, and it even has its own thermal bathhouse, where guests can bathe in the famous mineral waters of the ‘hot springs.’

Of all the movie genres, I like documentaries the most because they are true stories about real people. I checked the schedule for Sunday afternoon and saw that there was a film about Bethany Hamilton who, at 13, was already a rising star in the surfing world. In 2003, she lost her left arm to a tiger shark. “Unstoppable” was the story of a fearless athlete whose resilience against all odds molded her into one of the most competitive surfers of our time. It’s the movie I chose for us to see.

“Unstoppable” chronicled her incredible uphill struggle, not only on the surfboard, but with the avalanche of media attention she received as a result of her shark encounter. The physical and emotional hurdles she faced were tremendous–particularly in light of the fact that she was just a child when her life changed forever. But today, at the age of 28, she is back at the top of her game, as well as being a wife and the mother of two young children.

I pretty much expected that movie to be good–and it was–but another documentary, “Zion,” shown right before “Unstoppable” proved to be just as inspirational, if not more so. This 12- minute short documentary was the story of Zion Clark who was born without legs, the result of caudal regressive syndrome, a congenital disorder affecting the development of the spine.

Zion was given up for adoption at birth and shuffled from one foster home to another–six or seven, he thought–where he was often abused, starved, and beaten. He began wrestling against his able-bodied peers in second grade, and that was the only constant in his life throughout his multiple relocations. The movie focuses on his final wrestling season of high school–and in particular the district finals–where Zion finished with a 33-15 record.

Because “Zion” can now be seen on Netflix, I don’t want to give away too many details. But this exceptional short about an exceptional teen is compelling and unforgettable, and it left the quote, “I complained I had no shoes until I met a man with no feet,” resounding in my head. I thought I had a grateful heart before, but this movie really made me take stock of all the things I really do have to be thankful for.

While researching the Internet for this blog, I came across Zion’s Facebook page. He is currently enrolled at Kent State University where he is pursuing a degree in business management. He’s ranked eighth in the National Collegiate Wrestling Association and has aspirations for national championships and even a spot on a future Olympics team. This young man is truly amazing.

He posted that he raising money to buy a truck because he’s tired of asking people for rides. It’s another step towards his independence. Here’s the link to his fund-raising site if you feel inspired to contribute: https://www.gofundme.com/6a9hcxs

Tomorrow we head to Texarkana. Our stay in Arkansas was just one short week, but it was packed with a ton of memories. Thanks for taking the time to read my blog and allowing me to share them with you. Until next time…

Autumn Adventure 2018, Part 1

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It’s been three weeks since we left Kentucky in our RV, Felix, and I figure it’s about time to report on how the trip’s gone so far. Here are the numbers:

Days out: 22

Miles driven: 806

Nights in an RV park: 5

Nights in a state park: 13

Nights in a truck stop: 4

Diesel used: 91.4 gallons (This translates into 8.82 mpg, and that includes 4 days of running the generator non-stop while we were at the truck stop AND driving in the Ozark mountains. So, not bad!)

The first leg of the trip was from Hopkinsville to St. Louis. There were a couple of family events we didn’t want to miss. We’d planned to leave around 10:00 that morning, but when I woke up at 5, I checked the weather and rain was predicted to start around 9.

Felix is 40′ long, and its front wheels were not on the concrete pad but instead, sitting in mud because it had been raining off and on most of the week before. We didn’t want to chance getting stuck, so we upped the departure time and had the RV buttoned up, disconnected, and all four wheels on the asphalt road there at the mobile home park by 8:20. The rain actually began earlier than expected, falling steadily around 8. We got soaked connecting the car trailer and getting the car all strapped in and secured, but we were on the road by 8:45.

I learned a big lesson that first day, and that is to research the roads of the GPS directions PRIOR to heading out. If I had done that, we wouldn’t have driven on the yellow-coded roads of the road atlas, which are narrow, 2-lane county roads with no shoulder room, all the way from Paducah, KY, all along the southern tip of Illinois, to Cairo, where it finally linked up with the bridge that took us across the Mississippi River and into Missouri. Dave called it a “pucker factor of 8.” I was never so happy to see an interstate as I was when we got to I-55 in Cape Girardeau!

After four fun days with family we opted to head southwest on I-44, aka Route 66, to Meramec State Park. Mondays are a great time to arrive because all the weekenders have left, and we were able to get a site with full hook-ups (electricity, water and sewer) for a discounted senior citizen rate. We’d never been to this park before and overshot the campsite, going down a dead end road where there was no room to turn our 60′ rig around without a lot of back and forth. It was about a 6- or 7-point turn. Without going into lengthy detail, let’s just say Felix has a slight boo-boo on its rear right corner.

Someone must have seen our predicament, because just as we got all straightened out again, one of the volunteer workers rode up in his golf cart. Our car hauler is 20′ long and our campsite wasn’t long enough for it, and Felix, and the car, so he helped us find a place to disconnect and park it for the time we were going to be there. We were grateful to get the trailer disconnected and relieved to finally get set up at our campsite. I felt terrible about leading Dave down a dead end road and what ended up happening to Felix, but it was an accident and luckily for me, Dave doesn’t hold grudges.

Our 4-day stay there was uneventful (that’s always a good thing.) We went into the closest town (Sullivan) only once to get supplies and mail something at the post office; otherwise, we remained at the park and Biscuit and I hiked a couple of trails. We were astonished to learn that firewood could be ordered off the Internet and delivered to one’s campsite because that’s exactly what our neighbor did.

Large, mature hickory trees grew all over the park and shaded the campsites. One day a front came through and the wind and rain caused a deluge of hickory nuts to fall. When they hit Felix’s roof, they sounded like bowling balls! Ah, the joys of camping.

Turns out October is a very popular time to camp in state parks, what with fall breaks from school and the leaves beginning their annual showy pageant. Other campers began arriving in droves on Thursday and we were grateful to be leaving the next day. We pulled out of our site around 9 in the morning and headed to the boat ramp parking lot where we’d left the trailer.

The process of hooking up the trailer and getting the car on it isn’t hard, but it is rather involved. And by this time the jack, which had gotten buggered when we first got the trailer, was even worse. It was getting harder and harder to crank it up and down; getting it fixed would have to be sooner rather than later.

The hooking up process seemed to go smoothly, nevertheless. The two ramps had been pulled out for the car to drive up on, but instead of me being ON the trailer directing Dave like I usually was, I remained alongside it, making sure the car’s wheels were centered on the ramps. Was I glad I wasn’t on the trailer! For when the front wheels cleared the ramp and started on the trailer, the back of it tilted, hit the ground with a thud, and the trailer coupler lifted off the ball. We’d forgotten to put the in the safety pin! It sure was embarrassing! Thank goodness there were no witnesses. That was another lesson learned early on in this adventure.

Sheepishly we went on our way, silently admonishing ourselves for being so stupid, and then stopped in Sullivan to top off the fuel before heading to our next stop, Springfield, where we’d located both a trailer repair facility and a Flying J where we’d wait while the trailer jack was being fixed.

Believe it or not, I was looking forward to staying at a truck stop. We are on somewhat of a budget, and this saves us about $25 a night. It’s well-lit and safe, and this particular Flying J had several yummy eateries (Cinnabon, Aunt Annie’s pretzels and a Wendy’s), great coffee, and a place to do laundry. At truck stops we can’t put out the slides and we don’t have utility hook-ups, but those are minor inconveniences. We ran the generator for the four days and nights we were there, and that 16-year-old work horse performed beautifully.

The following Tuesday we picked up the trailer, now outfitted with an electric jack and drove an hour south to Table Rock State Park near Branson. My brother and sister-in-law were coming down to meet us for a few days.

We’d never been to this state park either and it turned out to be the best possible place to stay in the Branson area. It’s close enough to be convenient, but far enough removed to be peaceful. Our campsite had electricity but no water or sewer, so we were dependent on the shower house, which fortunately was right next to us. One of the hiking trails was right alongside the campground, so Biscuit and I had a nice 2-mile walk nearly every day we were there (which turned out to be 8.) We wanted to stay longer because the fall foliage hadn’t come anywhere close to reaching its peak, but someone else reserved our spot so we had to leave yesterday.

Hot Springs was our destination, and we crossed the state line into Arkansas just a few minutes after leaving Table Rock; it’s that close. 200 miles, mostly on State Highway 65 was a leisurely ride and it took a little more than five hours to get to Cloud 9 RV Park, which really refers more to its elevation (812′) than a comparison to heaven.

We signed on to spend a week here so that Dave can drive down to Kingsland, less than 90 miles south, and take care of family business. The pups and I will be fine. Campers are mighty friendly people and there’s always something to be learned in conversation.

On a walk yesterday afternoon I met a new friend, Beth. She is a single woman who’s rather new to full-time RV living. She’s traveling with a group of other single RVers. Her story of how she decided to get into RVing intrigued me, and we had a pleasant conversation about the lifestyle, particularly the minimizing part. She said she still had too many clothes; I said I still had too many shoes. Her eyes lit up as she told me about a footstool she bought that holds six pairs of shoes. Really?!

Yep, already this trip has revealed lessons and I’m certain there are more in store. Even at our age, we’re discovering we’re never too old to learn. Until next time…!

Happy. Joyous. Free.

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I’m not a poet, and believe me I know it. But 10/4 is a special day for me. In many ways, this is my personal “Independence Day,” but ironically is more like “in dependence,” as explained further in this piece.

Under the category of “Is that odd, or is that God?” is the fact that 10-4 in CB radio terms means, “Yes, I understand your message.” When I reached my bottom on 10/4/2011, I finally understood…

For a few days now I’ve been thinking about the past seven years. Ideas in my head seemed to rhyme and, well, you can probably guess the rest. So here goes…☺️

Today is a special day for me.

It marks seven years of being alcohol-free.

It wasn’t as hard to stop as one might think

once I met others like me who were unable to drink.

Turns out I was attempting too hard to fit in

when in reality I was uncomfortable in my own skin.

It was such a Godsend to at last find my tribe.

I was accepted as I was; no one had to be bribed.

Sobriety is much more than just refusing to drink.

It’s learning an entirely new way of how I should think.

It’s keeping my hyper-emotions under control,

And remaining humble, especially when I’m on a roll.

It’s turning my will over to a Power beyond me.

It’s quieting my ego and just letting people be.

It’s learning to accept things I don’t really like.

It’s telling my resentments to go take a hike.

I’m learning loads of helpful stuff,

Like one is too many and a lot’s not enough.

And working with others is good, but it really helps me.

I never have to be alone again. This program’s a “we.”

It’s trusting a Power much bigger than me.

It’s trusting in a Power I can’t really see.

This new way of living is really sublime.

It’s learning to live one day at a time.

*****

Of all the things I’d thought I’d be when I grew up, in my wildest dreams I never imagined I would be an alcoholic…and once I realized I was, I sure never thought I’d be grateful!

But recovery has enriched my life in ways I never thought possible–like replacing desperation with hope. As messy as it was, and as much as I wish it wasn’t so, it’s part of my story.

My journey has taught me so much about myself and there’s so much yet to be discovered. Seven years of not drinking might sound like a lot, but the way I figure it (thanks to my friend Shane), 7 years x 365 days = 1 day at a time.

So is 10-4 odd or is that God? I think I know that answer.

Leaving Again

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Just yesterday we got some news that influenced our date of departure (which heretofore was cast in Jell-o), and we made the decision to leave Hopkinsville next Thursday, September 27. Even though we’ve been talking about leaving for weeks and doing the necessary projects that would make it a reality, knowing that we’re going to be here for only seven more days is kind of shocking.

It’s hard to believe we’ve been in this mobile home park for six months already. Save for just a few short trips that took us away for maybe a total of two weeks, we’ve stayed put. Our neighbors are nice enough, but everyone stays to themselves, which is fine with me. I really don’t have anything in common with anyone here.

While I’m blessed with a whole lot of good friends here in Hoptown, the majority of them can’t relate to our nomadic way of life. I almost feel like I did in St. Louis so long ago when we sold everything in order to live on a boat. Normal people who live traditional lifestyles just don’t get it. I certainly don’t blame them…it just makes me feel like an outsider, especially as the time here winds down. That is, until I find “my (other) people.”

That probably won’t be until December, when we get to where we’ll spend the winter, Bandera…same place as last year. Until then, it’ll just be Dave and me taking our sweet ol’ time getting to Texas.

Usually I have most, if not all, of our stays planned out ahead of time and we know exactly where we’re going and when we’ll get there. This time, though, we thought we’d play it by ear and not make any arrangements too far ahead of time. It really isn’t until we actually get someplace that we are able to make a wise decision as to how long we’d like to stay. We’ve made the costly mistake of reserving a spot for several days, only to find out that we didn’t like it as much as we thought we would…and then we just have to bide our time, waiting to leave.

We fully expect to stay in truck stops from time to time, and THAT ought to give me fodder to write about! We’ve done it before, so the idea isn’t too outlandish. We’re fully self-contained with a well-functioning generator, so it’s not like we’ll be roughing it. Doing that will cut down the expenses, and for us, that’s half the fun and a big part of the adventure.

Next month we’ll celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary and we’re playing around with the idea of renewing our wedding vows. Since we don’t know where we’ll be, we can’t invite anyone, but it’ll be perfect however it turns out. I am very blessed to have the partner I do. He’s my best friend, and I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather go through life with. He puts up with all of my crazy, and I put up with his. I think we were truly made for one another.

I’ll be sure to chronicle our trip, the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s therapeutic. Even now as I write this, I’m beginning to get a little excited. For the past 24 hours I’ve been dwelling on everyone here I’m going to miss, especially Kate and our grandkids, but writing this swan song has lifted me up a lot. I’ve got to think positive: The best is yet to be!

Repaired and Ready to Roll!

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The busted motor home saga has finally been resolved. Two weeks ago Wednesday, we got a call from Final Finish, the repair facility chosen by Camping World, and told to have Felix there the next day, so we packed up and took off for Morgantown, about 70 miles from Hopkinsville. It was one of those trips where midway you think, “we are NOT taking this way back!” because the nav-queen routed us to State Highway 79 which is a 30 mile, windy, two-lane road going from Russellville through Butler County. Dave drove Felix and the two pups and I went by car so that we’d have transportation during however long it took for the repair.

I had researched Final Finish ahead of time and was relieved to read quite a number of 5-star reviews that included work they had done for the National Corvette Museum, so we were confident taking Felix there and even more so after we met Brandon, the manager. He was a pleasant, young man who was courteous and assured us, after appraising the damage, that it was ‘minimal’ and would be an easy repair.

He asked us where we were going to stay in the meantime and we said we hadn’t decided, but that we had two pets so that would probably narrow things down considerably. At first he suggested staying in Bowling Green because there’s just not much to do in Morgantown (population 2,543), but that was 30 miles away and we preferred to be someplace local. I said that I had called Morgantown Suites, but he shook his head disapprovingly and said we might want to try the Green River Lodge instead. He admitted to not knowing much about it except that some new cabins had recently been built there.

Morgantown is a small town with a lot of hills and we could easily spot the cabins Brandon spoke of as we made our way through town. I parked the car and Dave waited with the pups while I made the inquiry of vacancy and whether or not pets were allowed. An older, gray-haired man wearing a t-shirt that said “Grandpa…Official Referee for Grandkids” shooed away a tiny, barking chihuahua and opened door to the office, which was emblazoned with all kinds of NASCAR memorabilia.

After answering affirmatively to both of my questions re: vacancy and pets, he had me fill out a 4 x 5 registration card with my name, address, drivers license number and make/model of vehicle. Upon completion, I opened my purse to get my credit card since that’s typical hotel registration protocol, but he waved his hand and said, “Oh no, I don’t need that.” He must’ve sensed my confusion because he quickly followed with “You can just pay when you leave.” And with that he handed me the key to cabin number 7 where, he proudly announced that a NASCAR driver, whose name escapes me, stayed the weekend before.

Well, for six days and six nights we stayed in the little cabin that turned out to be simply perfect. It had everything we could have possibly needed, plus a porch that was just right for sitting and watching life go by. Most nights we watched old TV shows like Andy Griffith, Gomer Pyle USMC, MASH and WKRP in Cincinnati. One day we ventured into Bowling Green, but the heavy traffic that seemed to be everywhere made us want to get back to Morgantown where life was more relaxed, even though it was a touch boring.

Even so, it was quite impressive. The city park had a huge public pool, a couple of soccer fields and four baseball and softball fields with enough bleachers to accommodate most of the town. There were a couple of good restaurants with extensive menus and inexpensive prices, and two pizza joints that were quite good. For a little entertainment, there’s a free ferry that travels back and forth across the Green River from sun up to sundown.

Brandon did the body work over the weekend, and called to invite us to come take a look at it before it was to be painted on Monday. We couldn’t believe how quickly the work had been done and how good it looked!

Supposedly everything happens for a reason, and even though we may never find out what that reason is, we’re pleased that everything worked out as well as it did. We probably won’t have anything done at Camping World ever again if we can help it, but if we do I know one thing for sure: there WILL BE a spotter helping the driver who’s backing our RV out of the work bay!

When everything goes to hell in a hand basket

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Did you ever have one of those days that begins beautifully, only to end in utter upset? Tuesday was one of those days. I’m glad they don’t happen very often.

On Monday, at Dave’s insistence, I’d had my first go at piloting Felix in the now defunct K-Mart shopping center parking lot. It wasn’t nearly as frightening or intimidating as I imagined it might be thanks to the YouTube videos I’d watched. The worst part was making right-hand turns. Felix is 40 feet long and I didn’t want to take out a stop sign or a fire hydrant by accident. But with no vehicles to avoid or audience to watch, the lesson went well. I even drove it all the way home on the parkway which really surprised Dave. He was impressed. I was relieved.

He’d made an 8:30 a.m. appointment for Tuesday at Camping World in Bowling Green to have a brake controller installed. Since our car has all-wheel drive it has to be towed behind Felix on a trailer. The purpose of the brake controller is to slow down the trailer when the brakes on the motor home are applied. Without it, the trailer and the car–with a combined weight of more than 5,000 pounds–are uncontrollable and a potentially dangerous projectile.

Camping World is about 65 miles from Hopkinsville with most of it on scenic Hwy. 68 and only the last few miles on the interstate, so it’s a relatively easy drive. No irate drivers honked at me, I didn’t cut any turns too short, and we arrived with ten minutes to spare.

The install took much longer than expected due to unforeseen issues with Felix’s wiring. Finally at 4 o’clock, the tech came into the waiting room and announced that the installation was complete. She’d worked on it all day and was grimy and exhausted. Even so, she volunteered to bring Felix around to the front of the store and we accepted. It had been a long day and we were anxious to get on the road and head home.

Shortly afterwards we saw her race into the manager’s office, her face as white as a sheet. We knew something must have gone wrong. After waiting for what seemed forever they came back and judging by the looks on their faces–hers sullen, his incensed–we braced ourselves.

Our hearts sank upon hearing the news that she had hit a concrete pole backing out of the bay.

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Granted, at 16 years old, Felix was not completely flawless but she was brand new to us and besides, she was in pristine condition. Whatever elation I’d felt that morning was blotted out by the calamity that had just occurred. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Neither Dave nor I have bad tempers, but we were angry and resentful nevertheless. We didn’t create a scene, but our body language transmitted our feelings clearly. The tech apologized profusely and the manager assured us that their insurance would make it right. Initially that didn’t help matters, but eventually we simmered down.

Felix was bandaged up and we were finally able to leave. Not much was said on the drive home except to voice the disbelief that someone there didn’t think to have a spotter at the rear of the motor home to guide it out of the bay. Besides being safer, it seems like common sense. I bet they’ll have one in the future.

I couldn’t help but realize what a difference being in recovery made in my reaction to this incident, both immediate and subsequent. Not once did I consider drinking over this (like I’m sure I would’ve in the past) but I honestly thought of drowning my sorrows with about three or four chocolate cake donuts and a tall glass of milk, which I thought was pretty funny.

More importantly, I know this was an accident and there’s no point in harboring a resentment. The truth is that Felix will eventually get fixed and that week-long ordeal will no doubt give me more fodder to write about. Looking at the bright side of situations such as this is not just better, it’s healthier. And like Dave said, the silver lining is that at least it wasn’t our fault!

Welcome to Our Home!

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The past three weeks have been a blur, not just moving everything we owned from one RV into another, but dealing with the learning curve that goes along with exchanging one kind (a 5th wheel) for another (a motor home.)

We’ve taken Felix on a couple of trips totaling about 850 miles and have discovered things we wouldn’t have otherwise–like finding out that the generator performs better when the fuel tank is full and that it quits abruptly when the tank is half empty. That an incessant, obnoxious beeping is really a signal that the hydraulic fluid is low. And that the slides won’t retract when the engine’s running. For being as old as it is though (16 years), all the important systems are in good working order, and that’s what really matters. All in all, it’s been a change for the better. And wow, how things have changed in just a year!

I’ve always believed that God works in strange ways, but I never would have suspected that our daughter’s traumatic divorce would have been the driving force behind the change in our lifestyle. A year ago everything was in turmoil and each day brought with it more inconceivable truths about an individual we thought we knew so well. Our sole focus then was to help her and our grandchildren however we could, so when they had to move out of their house, we didn’t think twice about offering ours for them to move into. It was a blessing that we still had the RV we’d gotten as a result of being wiped out by a hurricane 13 years earlier, but as I wrote in a previous blog, we wanted something different. After all, both of us are now in our 60’s and setting up a 5th wheel is no easy task.

Now we’re living in about 320 square feet. It doesn’t sound like much space, but it is if you have everything you really need. And we do.

Learning to have gratitude for what I have has completely shifted my perception of what I thought I needed. It’s something that has come neither naturally nor easily. I realized that I’ve lived most of my life taking things (and especially people) for granted, and I thank God I’m learning a different way of viewing ‘wants’ and ‘needs.’ Granted, I’m still hanging on to about 15 pairs of shoes, but I really do plan on thinning them out someday.

What makes living in a small space doable is that most of the furnishings have a dual use. Both driver and passenger seats swivel around, becoming part of the living area. Both couches make into beds, as does the dinette. There’s storage galore and we have a screen that zips on the awning that gives us a nice, shady “patio.”

Of course, getting along well with one’s partner is paramount. I’ve known couples that couldn’t get along, no matter what the size of their house was. I’ve been blessed with the most patient and wonderful man to share my life with, and now we have the perfect means of living life on the road while we’re still healthy and mobile.

One of my most vivid recollections of living on a boat was about 25 years ago. We were anchored in a creek near Georgetown, South Carolina. That evening, near sunset, a sailboat slowly made its way towards the fixed wooden docks. An older couple–60’s, maybe 70’s–was aboard. He was the captain and steered the boat from the stern; she was the first mate and was stationed at the bow. Her job was to lasso one of the wooden pilings with the bowline and tie it off at the cleat. Numerous times she heaved the line, but she just couldn’t toss the rope high enough to clear the top of the piling.

The tide was going out and the captain did his best to maneuver the boat and keep the stern from swinging around. It was painful to watch, and I remember thinking then that we were NOT going to be like some older people who wait for that arbitrary “someday” to do the things they want to do once the kids are older and are out of the house. We would do it while we still had our health, vitality, and stamina. And we are.

Most people who read this probably won’t be able to understand my wanderlust, but those who really know me will. And those will be the ones who “get” how Dave and I can be happy living in 320 square feet. It certainly isn’t for everybody, but if you care to travel along with us vicariously, you are certainly welcome to come aboard!

We’ve moved, kind of.

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It’s been quite a month. I never thought that what was my home on the first day of the month would not be my home on the last, but such is the case. In retrospect, I realize that the series of events–including those that happened years ago–were entirely divinely orchestrated and that all I had to do was just let go, be open-minded and be astounded in watching things come together. It’s been amazing.

Most people reading this already know that my life has been anything but conventional. Within a year of getting married almost 40 years ago, Dave and I were living on a sailboat in the Florida Keys. A few years later, it was on a trawler with our two kids. When we finally bought a house, Hurricane Katrina destroyed it and we ended up in a FEMA trailer. And when it looked like it was going to take Bay St. Louis, Mississippi a long time to rebuild, we decided to buy a 5th wheel, which we’ve had since 2006. It came in handy last year when we moved into it full-time to allow our daughter and grandkids to move into our house after her divorce.

The 5th wheel has served us well and we’ve covered thousands of miles in it–from Washington state to Washington, DC, mountains, deserts, national parks, and even Mexico. As a home, it’s been roomy and comfortable. The only downside is that connecting it to the truck is complicated and trailering it has gotten more cumbersome as we’ve gotten older.

While in the upper elevations of western Texas this past winter, it was obvious that Dave was having a hard enough time trying to breathe, let alone hook up the trailer. It seemed that the day we’d talked about for at least a couple of years had finally arrived. We were getting older, and it was time for the next step: a motorhome. We’re not done traveling.

After all this time living aboard, we knew what we wanted as well what we didn’t. Must have’s included a diesel engine, enough room to sleep 6, and washer/dryer hook-ups. We were looking for something used, but that had been well taken care of. We weren’t exactly in a hurry, but we were keeping our eyes open.

Somewhere in that first week of the month, I happened upon a website for an RV dealership in Ringgold, Georgia, about 200 miles from here. I scrolled past one motor home after another, and about half a dozen of them looked promising. It appeared that a trip to Ringgold might be in order, if only just “to look.” If you know what you’re looking for, you’ll know it when you see it.

We drove down early in the second week of the month, and it was a pleasant day-trip: east on I-24 to Chattanooga, and south another 15 miles or so. The massive lot containing all types and sizes of RVs would’ve been overwhelming had it not been so well organized and user-friendly. It was lowest-pressured buying experience we’ve ever had. All of the units were unlocked, and we were told to just take our time and look at whatever we wanted. Within a couple of hours, we found our next set of wheels: a 2002 Holiday Rambler 40′ Endeavor.

That started the next step, purging the 5th wheel of all of our earthly belongings and loading them into a cargo trailer, which coincidentally, we also got in the aftermath of Katrina. Last Thursday we got the call saying that our motor home would be ready for pick up on the Tuesday after Memorial Day. The holiday weekend was anything but relaxing, and the anticipation of taking delivery on our new digs was a great motivator to empty and clean the RV.

We were on the road by 6 a.m. Tuesday, and less than 12 hours later, we had our new home, home. Since then I’ve been cleaning and Dave’s been figuring out the different systems. We found all of the original owner’s manuals and maintenance records in one of the cabinets, which are a real godsend! It’ll take a little while to learn everything there is to learn about this rig–especially driving it–but we’ll figure it out.

I’d love to post pics of Felix (what we’ve named the motor home…to be explained in a later blog), but it’s in disarray while being scoured and spruced up, so those will have to wait. It won’t be too long…we’re excited to have you see her (yes, Felix is a she!)

Stretched. Not stressed.

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As if I needed a reminder, an approaching birthday signals the harsh reality that both feet are now firmly ensconced in what some call the Golden Years. While it could very well be psychosomatic, I can actually feel myself getting older, not just physically, but mentally. Because my dad had Alzheimers, I am very sensitive about losing my memory, so I’m always on the lookout for mind-stimulating things to do or hobbies that don’t require much in the way of materials or equipment, since we live in an RV.

God’s timing amazes me. Two weeks ago, I accidentally stumbled upon a pop-up registration for a writing program I’ve been interested in, called COMPEL. This particular program only holds enrollment once in a blue moon, and that particular day must’ve been the day. The fee was very affordable–$25 a month–and could be cancelled anytime. I signed up and dove right in.

After two weeks of completing at least one writing lesson a day, I’m glad I took the leap. It’s already obvious that there is so much I don’t know, but I don’t care. Time takes time. This isn’t a race, and I’m competing with no one. I’m in this to learn, and in two short weeks I have already learned a lot.

Just yesterday, I spent what easily amounted to four hours, maybe more, designing a graphic combining a photo and the text of one of my favorite verses. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Maybe for someone who’s more computer savvy than me! Picking out a photo was easy; adding text was the hard part.

My eyes were crossed after looking at one font style after another after another; I had no idea there were so many! I also wasn’t aware that such a thing as “font psychology” exists because certain font styles elicit certain emotional reactions. Who knew there was so much to know about fonts?

As frustrated as I sometimes got, the whole process was compelling. My mind struggled at times to understand the graphics software and my patience was tested, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It just took some time. Little by little, I witnessed the metamorphosis of parts combining to make the idea I originally envisioned:

What surprised me the most was that I felt that my mind was stretched, but it was not stressed. There’s a big difference; one feels good and the other doesn’t. Learning something new actually was invigorating!

Very often, “life” infringes on our time and energy, and we have to put our desire on hold until we have time to devote to it. For example, American folk-artist Grandma Moses did not begin her career until the age of 78, although she dabbled in painting all her life. Colonel Sanders didn’t franchise his first Kentucky Fried Chicken until he was 62. And Laura Ingalls Wilder didn’t begin publishing her Little House on the Prairie collection until age 65.

Then there is Priscilla Sitience from Kenya, who’s believed to be one of the world’s oldest primary school students. She enrolled in school in 2010 when she was 85 years old, after having spent 65 years as a midwife. Even the Bible indicates that Noah, Moses, and Abraham were all senior citizens when they had their adventures. Clearly, the love of learning can last a lifetime.

Benjamin Franklin once remarked, “When you’re finished changing, you’re finished,” and I believe that wholeheartedly. If ever there was a time that seniors could stay current and young at heart, this is it. Area senior citizen centers and libraries offer classes–many of them free–in a variety of subjects, plus fitness and wellness programs, and arts and crafts. Online classes and YouTube videos on just about any topic imaginable puts learning at your fingertips anytime, anywhere.

Getting older is inevitable, but becoming stagnant is optional. It’s never too late to learn. 😌

Vulnerable

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Yesterday I unintentionally posted something on Facebook that was meant for one of the closed group pages I belong to, one that I try to contribute to daily–a page where one’s ‘gratitude’ is posted for all to see. It’s called Gratitude 365, and it’s a good reminder to stop sometimes, and just say ‘thank you.’

On the average, gratitude posts (mine or others), get a couple or three “likes.” It’s no big deal. The point is to be grateful every day. There is always something to be grateful for! And the process can be life-changing.

Yesterday though, my post got liked by friends I knew not to be in the closed group, and that’s how I discovered that I had posted on the public side. I was embarrassed. My feelings were exposed, and I didn’t like it much.

My initial knee jerk reaction was to cut-and-paste it onto the correct page, Gratitude 365. But for some reason, I didn’t. I decided to sit with that uncomfortable feeling awhile. I felt there might be a lesson here I needed to learn.

Vulnerable…susceptible to being wounded or criticized. The old feeling of “I wonder what others will think?” resurfaced, a sentiment that was often used by my mother during my childhood and adolescence in conjunction with some bonehead thing I’d done. I hated the feeling, and yet I hadn’t posted anything that wasn’t true.

“Good morning, Friends. I’m grateful for sunshine, strong coffee, a furnace that’s working, enough propane, food in the fridge, and good friends. Life is good. God is great. I am thankful.”

The word “God” was used, and I briefly wondered if that was a put-off for some. Or if I’d be judged a religious zealot or holy roller. It really didn’t matter. Today’s another day and yesterday’s post is just a memory.

The uneasy feeling of vulnerability eventually subsided, and I even became comfortable with the feeling of who-cares-what-people-think? I’m on a lifelong journey where I’m trying to find the ‘lesson’ in uncomfortable situations such as this. It’s okay to be open. It’s okay to reveal some things; it’s who I am.

I’m vulnerable, and I am grateful.