We made it to California

I can't believe we've actually been here a week. WoooHooo. After a few days of rain, today is sunny and warm...well warm for King and I anyway.

We left Friday, December 16 in the frigid cold, trying to keep ahead of a predicted snow storm. Not wanting to stick close to the lake (Lake Michigan for the uninformed) and to avoid lake effect snow, we opted to head to Indianapolis and hang a right. Googlemaps kept telling us there was a faster, shorter route and we kept telling her we were very happy with the route we were on, thank you very much. This became a recurring theme throughout the trip here.

We ended up camping the first night in a small state park geared for equestrians near Pickneyville, Ill. Having camped many, many, many years with horses I pretty much knew what type of campground to expect, and I was not disappointed.  It was easily the

View from our campsite near Pickneyville, Ill.

campground furthest off the beaten path. Turns out Googlemaps took us in the back way of the campground and we had to hunt for the campground office on the way out Saturday morning to pay the $8 fee. We had the entire park to ourselves and saw lots of deer. Our camping spot was next to a small pond. Very peaceful and quiet.

The ride to the campground was interesting. We passed through lots of little towns each with their own high school and Quick Stop. Americana at its best. Lovely.

Saturday morning we discovered someone had forgotten to pack King's shaving kit with all his medication in it so we spent a lot of time on the phone with our insurance company trying to get them to pay for the hundreds of dollars worth of medication he takes. They were most unhelpful. Thanks BCBS. We love you too. Not. I guess that's why we pay the big bucks in premiums so you can not help us when we need it. The pharmacist at Walgreens, however, was most helpful and we were able to get a half order of his prescriptions. When these run out we are hopeful our insurance will pick up where we left off when we left home. We had been assured before we left they would. Not holding our collective breath on that one.

We hit warm weather Saturday as we were traveling west on US 40. But the weatherman was, once again, predicting inclement weather and we decided to stick to the main roads as much as possible, as we were worried that freezing rain on backroads to state parks might be treacherous on Sunday morning. We ended up sleeping in a truck stop outside Fort Smith, Arkansas. Not so peaceful and quiet but we were exhausted and fell asleep with no problems.

The young couple from North Carolina
who camped next to us decorated their
trailer with Christmas lights. They were
fairly upbeat despite the fact the water
pipes in their trailer burst because of
the bitter cold.

We were on the road early Sunday morning and by the time the sun came up, the temperature rose to a whopping 19 degrees. It was a day of driving, punctuated by various stops looking for wifi as my "smart phone" isn't always so smart. We ended up stopping for the night in a small city park in Elk City, Oklahoma. There were five free campsites located next to a small lake. Lots of ducks and geese on the water. The water in the camper froze but fortunately the pipes did not burst.
The young couple from North Carolina in the trailer next to us (we were the only two campers in the park) were not so lucky as their pipes burst. They were on the end of a five month trip and were heading for relatives in eastern Oklahoma -- planning to spend the Christmas holiday with them. They seemed pretty un-phased by their luck. They simply went out to eat and were back later in the evening. They even took the time to outline their trailer with Christmas lights.

At this point we realized if we drove like crazy people and took no scenic detours we could arrive in San Diego earlier than anticipated. It sounded like a good plan. And when we got up Monday morning to temperatures of nine degrees, we decided to head south and then hang another right to head west -- so we took US 70/380 south to Ruidoso, NM. Once again we stopped at a variety of places to find decent wifi connections ... McDonald's being the stop of choice. We decided that rather than looking for out of the way places to camp we would look for places not so far off the beaten path. I read about a small county roadside park where camping was allowed right next to the highway. We arrived sometime in the late afternoon and pulled into what amounted to a driveway with a picnic shelter. When a dog from the neighboring junk yard came out and barked at us -- while we were still sitting in the running truck deciding if this place was safe -- we decided to move on. Several miles down the road we pulled into a casino parking lot outside Ruidoso, New Mexico and King asked if they allowed overnight camping. They did, so we stayed put for the evening. We were on the road again by 5 a.m., but not before King stopped into the casino to lose $10 on the Wheel of Fortune slot machine.

There is a whole lot of nothing between Ruidoso, NM and Tucson, Arizona. But sticking with US 70 and US 10 we made it to Tucson in fairly good time. We found a campsite at a county park just outside Saguaro National Park. We had great desert views and the weather was warm (for us

The view from our campsite near Tucson.

anyway). Wednesday morning we left before the sun came up. Googlemaps wanted us to take the back roads out of the park. We declined. We came to a fork in the road that directed us to US 10 -- either straight or to the left. We choose left. We should have chosen straight. As we were cruising through the mountains in the dark King pointed out to a trail of headlights on a switchback in the distance. "Wow, take a look at that."

Ummmm, "That's the road we are on honey." I have to confess, it was pretty scary. Six days of pulling the trailer does not an expert make. We made it through and are still married. I am quite amazed to be honest. I should also mention here that King does ALL of the driving. Sitting in the passenger seat navigating is not something he likes to do. I do have a few more years on him in the parking department -- I spent 10 years pulling a horse trailer around the state. (However, a gooseneck horse trailer does park differently than a bumper pull trailer, but I get the concept more readily). At any rate, parking is my domain. Driving is his.

Sometime Wednesday afternoon we arrived in/near San Diego.

Last spring when I was visiting our daughter she and I scouted a few camping spots in the San Diego area. The campground we chose was picked for its convenience to her home. The fact that it is perched on the side of a mountain with great views didn't hurt. It will be the most expensive place we

The view from the back of our trailer.

stay while on our adventure. And I must confess the park rules and regulations are a pain in the backside. We wanted to stay 21 days. The plan is to babysit while our daughter and son-in-law are ringing in the New Year at a winery north of here (a two night adventure for them) and then babysit again while they are on a getaway vacation to Hawaii. At this particular park (Lake Jennings Recreation Area) short-term camping is 14 days. You can stay 14 days and then must leave for 14 days before you can return. Long-term stays are 30 days or longer. No in between. None. Nada. Nothing. No exceptions. No nothing. So phooey on them. We found a county park WITH electricity for the same price. Their loss. No good reviews from us. We paid them through January 4th and is all the longer we will stay. Had we known their inflexibility ahead of time we would not have stayed one day, despite the lovely views and clean restrooms. We will not be back. Ever.

Other than that one aggravating hiccup it has been a great visit. Christmas with the grandsons and two sets of grandparents has been a lot of fun. King and our daughter are rebuilding her fence in their backyard. They share the fence with the neighbor. The fence was leaning precariously and was pretty rotted. King has a project and the neighbors and our daughter are delighted. A win-win for everyone.

In a few days we will visit the San Diego Zoo and stay late enough to see the Christmas lights. The boys are coming to our campsite some evening to roast marshmallows and make s'mores. Once everyone returns from various vacations, King and I will hit the road again and be off for more adventures.

Happy New Year everyone.

Just do it

It was six months ago today King and I brought home our travel trailer -- complete with soft spots in the floor, sketchy wiring, cardboard covering a hole in the back wall and questionable tires. It was a rather tense trip home, but we made it unscathed.

After watching countless YouTube trailer rehabilitation videos followed by a lot of sawing, nailing, caulking, cleaning, arguing and trips to the trailer parts store, we are eight days away from taking off on our new adventure. Probably one of the happiest days in this rehab escapade was the day we got new tires and the tire dealer confirmed my assertions the axles and bearings were sound. (Up until that point my bravado regarding their soundness was much more of an act rather than true belief).

King and I have pared down our belongings. Some have been boxed up for safekeeping and the rest have been distributed to our children -- or given away. Change is scary. Saying goodbye to my younger sister was difficult. Hugging the children and grandchildren goodbye left a lump in my throat. We will be back, but  our lives will have changed. We won't be the traditional Grandma and Grandpa in a little house next to the river. Those realizations are a little sobering.

But if we don't do this we will have regrets.

Last spring, when my sister was sick with cancer she said several times, "I should have retired last year."  She was under the notion she had to have a  certain amount of money before she could retire. She scrimped and saved and decided one more year of work would help make her life more comfortable. She never lived to see her retirement.

King and I have nowhere near any type of magical sum that will make life easier. We have barely enough to be comfortable. But that is the way we have always lived and when one lives that way one learns "things" do not make happiness. Being together. Having (cheap) fun. Adventure. Doing what one can with what one has. Going out for dinner often means fast food or a greasy diner. King is just as content with boiled hot dogs at home. I am the one who wants a break from the kitchen.

One of my last days of working my retail job, a customer from out of town asked me about winters along the lakeshore. I was asked that often. I told her about winters past when the daily commute to St. Joe or Holland was treacherous. I explained about the work we did as caretakers and the amount of work entailed in cutting wood and feeding critters while battling snow. I told her some winters are snowy, some are not, but this year I would not be around to see what it would be like and talked a bit about heading out for parts unknown.

"Oh, I've always wanted to try something like that, but never had enough money," she said.

"You don't need money. You just do it," was my reply. Obviously she thought King and I have a lot of money. I wish.

I read a travel blog written by a retired executive from somewhere who advised that one needed an annual income of $60,000 in order to travel by RV comfortably. I suppose some might need that amount when luxury sites cost $50 or more per night. We plan to "dry camp" or "boondock." National parks have senior citizen passes at a lifetime cost of $10. Without electric hookups and water camping is free or cheap.

After years of tenting, our 40 year old travel trailer feels like the Taj Mahal -- minus the mausoleum. There are many RV parks that won't allow us to camp with our little travel trailer because it is "too old." Blatant age discrimination. Their loss.

In eight short days we will be heading out west. In eight short days we will be starting a new chapter in our lives. In 10 short days we may find ourselves stranded in Kansas. That's okay. It is an adventure. We've planned as much as we can plan. The rest will be by trial, error and sheer dumb luck.

Anyone can do this. Just. Do It.

What I learned on my summer vacation

It has been an interesting summer.

I believe in one of my previous blogs I mentioned King and I decided I would look for seasonal employment so we could pay cash for the renovations on our travel trailer. We decided he would continued to work the farm -- cutting wood and tending the 50 acres of lawn and woods -- as we completed our caretaker gig. I garden. I don't cut and stack wood. At least not to King's liking.

Cutting wood for the winter is a never ending job. I have not been able to stack wood to King's liking. I don't believe he has figured out my lack of stacking ability is not entirely accidental.

There were a few bumps along to road to finding a job. I believe I mentioned being dismissed from a job while job shadowing because I am a former reporter and the fear was I might sell the "trade secrets" of the business. As if after 40 years of reporting, several Michigan Press Association awards, and just generally working my butt off at my chosen field, I would destroy my reputation by selling my soul to the highest bidder. Despite what people say about the media, most of us do have integrity.

Anyway, I eventually got a job at a small clothing store in the tourist town where King and I live. The shop sells t-shirts and other touristy apparel as well as several lines of women's clothing --  mostly for the more mature female.

And despite negative comments some people may say about tourists and visitors who flock to the lakeshore for the summer, I found most of the customers to be pleasant, friendly, happy to be on vacation and generally in a good mood. After all, who does not love to be on vacation? And in a few short months King and I will be on semi-permanent vacation as well, so I feel a certain kinship with these people. (Although I must confess, we probably won't be buying many t-shirts along the way).

I have often heard local residents complain that the tourism industry does not affect them positively  and only serves to create more traffic downtown and deplete limited parking availability.

Are they right? Yes and no.

In our small community many large industries left the area long ago. Good paying jobs disappeared. And yes I will agree, minimum wage jobs provided by the tourism industry don't come close to the pay of factory jobs. Families can not survive on minimum wage. Seasonal jobs such as mine make a monthly truck payment, or pay for the latest addition to our travel trailer, but we could not live on my income. We never expected to. But tourists do bring thousands of dollars to the community. Roads, schools, parks and other public spaces all benefit from the money brought to the area via the tourism industry. Think about it, hotels, motels, bed and breakfasts, restaurants, t-shirt shops, marinas, charter fishing boats ... all these businesses pay taxes and keep things running in the community. Embrace the crowds folks. I have lived in ghost towns with more boarded up businesses than open businesses. Trust me. It does make a difference to the well-being of the entire community.

So I spent the last half of the summer hawking t-shirts. To be honest -- and it probably sounds hokey -- working a quiet retail job in a sometimes sleepy, sometimes busy little town is something I always wanted to try. I can't say it was on my bucket list, but I have to admit, it was more fun than attending countless staff meetings as I did when I worked for a university and was certainly more fun than covering a county board of commissioners meeting as I did when I was a reporter.

Of course, being in the interviewing business, as I was for so many years, I asked a lot of questions. "Do you live in the area? Where are you from? Have you been here before? Where are you staying? How many summers have you been coming here?"

People love to talk about themselves. If you show a genuine interest in them, they will tell you a lot of things. They will also ask questions of their own: "Have you always worked here?  Where is the nearest bathroom? What do you recommend as a good place to eat? How do I find ______? Where is the lighthouse?"

I was surprised by the number of times I was asked "What do you do here in the winter?" Ummm, dress warm and generally find parking spaces in front of the stores we want to visit downtown. Yes, it becomes much quieter during the winter months. And yes, not all the shops remain open year-round. Yes, this one does. No, I am not the owner.

And I had the privilege of meeting all kinds of ... aahhh ... interesting people. There was an older couple who came into the store and asked to use our restroom. (We don't have a public restroom, but if a customer looks as though they are in dire need of the facilities, we take them through the storage area to our private restroom in the back of the store). As  I was taking the woman to the back she told me they had been at a restaurant and refused to use the facilities there because the sign on the door read, "Unisex." After she was finished using our facility I told her since all the employees in our store used the same facility I supposed our restroom was "Unisex" as well. (I can be snarky).

It's been fun. It's been an education. And despite the days when I was counting the hours until it was time to go home --15 minutes after starting my shift -- it was good.Will I do it again? Probably not.

We told the person who owns the hobby farm where we work we would come back next summer for one last season. Unless things change drastically we will keep our word. Rather than find another seasonal job, I will probably give in and learn to stack wood correctly.


Travel Trailer update: Work is going well on the trailer renovation. I decided to name our future home "The Tree House," because as kids the tree houses we built were made of leftover lumber and other scraps that we could scrounge. And we did our renovations on the cheap with whatever supplies we had on hand, purchasing things only as we really, really needed them.  However, that being said, I am pretty pleased with our progress and I think she looks pretty good.  We have the propane water heater installed and King is waiting for help to make certain it's hooked up correctly. We'd rather not asphyxiate ourselves on the road. After that, all that is needed is a little more paint, some curtains, re-covering cushions and we are done.

The couch in back has been replaced with a permanent bed. We still need to add storage underneath
and I need to recover the former couch cushions, add throw pillows and sew curtains.
(And yes, there is a door to access the water tank under the bed).

The ceiling with the AC unit. We still need to paint everything. Although it is hard to see,
there is a fold-down bunk bed in the back above the regular bed.
We can pull it down (and also convert the eating area) for additional sleeping space
when the grandchildren spend the night with us.

Dirty little secrets

I have a confession to make. I am tired of gardening. Or more correctly, I am tired of weeding. I am tired of preserving food. I'm ready for a break.

I still love to plant seeds and watch them grow. I still love playing in the greenhouse and still love transplanting plants. I just can't keep up.

This afternoon I went out into the garden to pick tomatoes. The plants were loaded down. I picked a  half a bushel. Red, meaty, juicy, really nice-looking tomatoes. There are plenty more still on the vine. The green beans also needed to be picked and the broccoli has bolted. Sigh. I did pick green peppers, pulled a few onions, added a few hot peppers and herbs to my basked and headed into the house. It was hot and sticky outside. The rain of the past few days has brought out the mosquitoes in droves.

By 2 p.m. I was cleaning and sorting tomatoes. I sliced those that are going to be dried in the dehydrator (that's easy) and scalded the rest to loosen their skins. Then they were dumped into cold water and the skins were removed. The canner was pulled out and the jars, lids and rings were placed in boiling water to sterilize them. In the meantime, green peppers, hot peppers, cilantro, onions, a little vinegar, garlic, some lime juice and whatever dried herbs I had on hand from last summer were added to the tomato mixture.

Viola! I had sorta salsa.  Sounds easy, right? All this took until 6 p.m. and then stray tomato juice and skins had to be washed off the kitchen floor. I am a messy cook. What can I say?

Seven pints (yes, seven pints for a half bushel of tomatoes and four hours work) of Sorta Salsa. Mostly it tastes like tomatoes with herbs. If one wants salsa that tastes like salsa, Newman's Own is pretty good. I use my home canned stuff to add to chili or other tomato based food. Chips and Salsa? Not so much.

Sometimes I make tomato juice as well. It takes even more tomatoes to make a quart of tomato juice. Sigh.

Confession time. I'm not certain it's all worth it.

Now I still enjoy making jams and jellies. King likes them too. Who would not like something with a bazillion cups of sugar? I've made low sugar stuff. It's gross as far as I'm concerned and its grossness is one of the few things King and I actually agree upon. He likes my dill pickles and one of our sons likes my bread and butter pickles. I rather like bread and butter pickles as well and why not? They too have a lot of sugar.

So in a few months we will hit the road. Gardening will be a distant memory. We have agreed to come back to work on the farm as caretakers one last summer.

I'm thinking of turning my garden into a soccer field for the grandchildren.

Sorta Salsa

And we keep working and working and ...

Apparently when people renovate their trailers they also give them names.

I suggested to King we paint "Love Shack" on the back of our trailer. He didn't go for it. "How about Carmen," I suggested. King was watching COPS and gave me a sideways glance that said, "You must be some kind of crazy," but all he said was, "We are not going to name the trailer."

Ok. I can live with calling it "The Trailer." I may even paint "The Trailer" on the back somewhere, inconspicuously, of course, right next to the rainbow colored peace symbol.

This week we got the floors repaired and fixed the gaping space in the back where the side seam meets the back seam. I have to admit, I was pretty proud of our work. King is not a carpenter. The work involved taxed his talents. But it looks pretty good. I just have to learn to leave him alone when he is working on projects. While my father preferred we stand around waiting for him to ask for a hammer or nails, King wants to be left alone. If I hide in the house it suits him just fine.

Anyway, King fixed the structure part of the trailer and it was my job to seal the seam.

After watching countless YouTube videos on how to seal seams I chose to follow one that I thought I might be able to imitate. It required the purchase of a special tape that joins the two sides of the trailer, forming a watertight seam which is then closed with a regular trailer seal. I ordered the tape a few weeks ago

King wanted to know why I ordered the tape long before we needed it. He makes me crazy that way.

"Because I will have it on hand when we need it," I told him. I received another eye roll and sideways glance for my effort. But today, when he decided the seam was ready to be sealed I had the equipment I needed to do it. Who is rolling their eyes now?

This is the finished seal (waiting for the butyl tape) on the back of the trailer. The gaping seam was so bad I never took a "before" photo for fear someone would say, "What were  you thinking when you bought this thing." Oh, wait. Someone did.

This is the front of the trailer that still needs to have the seam repaired. It was the lesser of the repair work needed.

I am also making him crazy looking for a floor covering.

"We are weeks away from that point," King argued. "We need to do the wiring, we need to fix the front seams, we need to get new tires, we need to insulate, THEN we can worry about paint and floors."

Fine. I get it. But I'm ready to get to the fun stuff now. Can't hurt to look.

In the meantime, the gardens still need to be tended. This is the first year I put down shade cloth in the garden. I still have to weed every week, but it is not nearly so time consuming.

Our tomato/green bean/broccoli garden.

Several years ago the gentleman we work for on the hobby farm ordered several cases of lilies. We planted and planted and planted and we still had several boxes of bulbs leftover. In desperation,  I finally planted a bunch around the perimeter of the tomato garden. They have been going strong for years now.

Is this discrimination?

Not sure if this is humiliating or just plain stupid.

After three hours at my new job I was let go. Before coming in I was told to to purchase specific clothes to wear at work. I was told to bring ID and a social security card (preferably my own I would surmise) I was told I was to come in and job shadow/train for a few days. And then, after three hours, I was told I was not going to make it at their store. How does one fail at job shadowing/training?  Seriously. How does one manage that?

Obviously we were not a good fit. It happens. Sometimes people simply do not click.

I wrote about what was to be my next adventure in my last blog: a job at the gourmet food shop in the tourist town where King and I currently live. I mentioned how the operations manager didn't want to hire me (because I am a former reporter and might sell their trade secrets to the highest bidder) but that she told the store manager to "do whatever you want."

After that warm welcome I knew going in I would have a lot to prove. I realized on my first (and only) day when I saw I was scheduled to work just one day that week that things were pretty much predestined.My name was not even on the following week's schedule. Additional staff was not scheduled for my training time, and according to the store manager, that was done purposefully by the operations manager so I would not have the undivided attention of the manager. I didn't know I would have less than three hours to prove myself.

I watched as the manager spoke with customers. I learned how to "suggestive" sell different products. I learned how to take inventory and stock shelves. I helped put parking cones out in the employee parking lot. I re-stocked crackers for samples. I made small-talk to a few customers. However, three hours in I was told I was not going to work out. Apparently the operations manager could tell this by watching me job shadow via a closed circuit camera from a remote location.

To be honest, I am relieved. Who wants to have to prove themselves over and over and over again?

Three hours in and I am glad I escaped with only wounded pride. I am obviously not cut out for gourmet food espionage. I do wish I had drained several bottles of olive oil on the floor and yelled, "Mazola Party!" at some point during my short tenure. It would have been a better reason for being canned.

Wounded pride or not, life goes on and I will pick myself up and dust myself off. I have already picked up a few more applications but it's a small town and once word is out that I am a spy who will sell her soul to the highest bidder, my odds are slim to none that someone will hire me.

And that is a shame because I am the employee who will work extra hours. I am the employee who will take shifts no one else wants. I am the employee who, after years of interviewing people, can make small talk with almost anyone. I am the employee who knows how to make people feel at ease.

But when all is said and done and I take time to step back and review the events of my gourmet food shop tenure, I have to ask myself: Is this what it feels like to be discriminated against?  For the simple fact that I worked as a reporter I am suspect?  Think about it. Think long and hard about it.

Yes, today I am hurt and bitter. Today I want to press my face against their plate glass windows and blow raspberries all over them (the windows, not the employees). But I am a grownup. I am a better person than the operations manager. I will move on. I will wish them well. Because frankly, they are not worth the effort for anything else. I also realize I don't need to work for a company that is so negative. Rather than dwell on the fact that I could have been a food spy, they could have thought, "Hey, someone with training to write our press releases."

P.S. I learned today the operations manager is blaming the store manager and denying ever having concerns over my previous job. And the store manager already did blame the operations manager. Denial and blame. Kind of like politics.

But I escaped with my life.

Life goes on and rather than participate in gourmet food espionage
I went back to work in my gardens. This is the tomato/broccoli/green bean garden.
 I've never done the weed cover before, I think I'm going to like it.

Cucumber plants. I keep experimenting with dill
pickle recipes.

First time we've been able to get cherries. In the past, when
I worked at the newspaper (where I was NOT a gourmet food spy),
I never got to them in time and the
birds always had a feast.

Young pepper plants.

Raised bed with lettuce.

I love infusing olive oil and vinegar
with basil.

Be careful for what you wish

I start a new part-time job on Tuesday. Hmmmm. Be careful for what you wish.

In my last post I said I would take a part-time job (maybe) if one were offered to me. Well, believe it or not, one was offered.

Earlier this spring I had applied for a job at a gourmet food shop in our little tourist town. I even had an interview/coffee with the store manager at the coffee shop across the street from the food shop. The manager seemed genuinely interested and said they were looking for someone to start before the Memorial holiday weekend. ... And then I never heard from her again.

"Oh well," I said to King. "Guess I'm too old, my reference phone numbers were wrong, or maybe they just went with someone else."

I suppose I could have made more of an effort, but having been in a managerial role many times before it really bothered me when people were annoyingly persistent. So I dropped it. The bulldog reporter in me disappeared with retirement.

Yesterday my cousin and I were shopping in town and she wanted to visit that same little gourmet food shop. The manager recognized me immediately and said she really had wanted to  hire me. Really? Uh huh, sure.

"Our production manager didn't want to hire you because you are a reporter and she thought you might sell our secrets to someone. We had a store just like ours open in South Carolina and our owner had to sue them."

I am flattered. I am offended.

Here is the reality folks: I worked hard to earn the reputation of being a reputable writer. I have won awards that I earned, not by selling myself to the highest bidder, but by working for those awards and reputation. Besides, I cook a little bit. I can go into your shop, look at the ingredient list on your wares and pretty much figure out how to copy what you have. Anyone can. It does not take a special talent. And I do not have the wherewithal  for espionage.  That Dutch Reformed guilt would kill me.

Anyway, the manager said she still wanted to hire me and the production manager happened to be there at that very moment and maybe I could talk to her? Um, no, I am here shopping with my cousin.

"Just let me bring her out here to meet you."

Okay. My honest face is going to win her over, right?

So I met the production manager who shook my hand, turned, and as she walked away said to the manager, "Do whatever you want."

And with that warm welcome I have a job that starts on Tuesday. Yea?

Hey, it's a seasonal job. In my original interview I was up-front and said I would be leaving in December for parts unknown. I was told January through March were slow times, so it worked well with their schedule.

I can now pay for our trailer renovation with cash instead of credit. That works.

A brand new beginning

After my sister passed away in April my focus began to change.

The night before she went into the hospital I stayed with Donna at her apartment. She was in a lot of pain, but we had  opportunity to talk. She knew her prognosis was not good. Two things she said have stayed with me. The first was: I should have had a colonoscopy. (Mine is scheduled for a few days from now). The second was: I should have retired last year.

Ahhh regrets. We all have them. The coulda, shoulda, woulda game. It gets us nowhere.

So King and I are moving forward and making changes. Some may be good. Some may be bad. But it seems to be better than doing nothing and maintaining the status quo.

Our decision to make changes started long before Donna was diagnosed with cancer. Sometime this winter King and I decided enough was enough and I left my job.

I had been working as a page designer at a newspaper hub. (For the uninformed, a newspaper hub is a place where many newspapers are designed and laid out. For example, a newspaper in Marion, Indiana is actually put together in St. Joseph, Michigan. It saves money and makes the bottom line look good. Personally, I think it is a bad idea. But I should not say much because for three years it paid our extra bills. And it seems to be the way things are going in the newspaper industry. Today very few newspapers are actually put together by the reporters and editors who covered the meetings, attended the sporting events or took the photos of the house fire).

Although newspaper hubs are Satan's spawn, it was not a bad job. It was simply a job. I took it because after working years as a reporter and editor we needed to move to the west side of the state to be near my parents. It was very much an entry level position. I knew going in I would miss reporting. But it was a job. In the newspaper industry. The people I worked with, for the most part, were a fun group. I truly had no complaints.

But I am not a copy editor. I am a writer. The two are not necessarily related. I don't see type-os ... at least not until they are in print. I am not technologically savvy. I am not a page designer. I don't have an eye for layout. I don't know how to make fancy illustrations. I can barely Photoshop a photo. I am a writer. Period.The reality is just because one can write does not mean one can design newspapers or edit other people's copy, or turn 40 word headlines into succinct five word headlines. I was a warm body in a chair with an extensive newspaper background. That is why I was hired. Experience. Just not the right kind. The young, recent graduates I worked with could out-design me on my best day.

I am also grandmother. Because of work I missed out on countless soccer games, family picnics, choir concerts, dance recitals, t-ball games and Christmas gathering. Newspapers don't take holidays. Readers don't care if someone has to work Thanksgiving, Mother's Day and Easter. They simply want their newspapers delivered to their doorstep. (And as an old reporter, I can attest even THAT is changing).

Through no fault of the company or the people I worked with, I was miserable. It was simply a job because we thought we needed the extra income. In reality, we have been broke most of our marriage. We make do. We adjust. So when King suggested I retire in February rather than the following December I jumped at the opportunity. It was time to go. I was already counting down the days. The journalism I embraced in 1974 as a stary-eyed college Freshman is long gone. I am old(er) and change is difficult. Besides, King was tired of my whining and bitchiness.

If a part-time job were to fall into my lap, I might take it. Maybe.

So it is on to a new chapter in our lives. And this blog is taking a new turn.

In early June King and I purchased an old... very old... travel trailer. It needs a tremendous amount of work. But when one pays only slightly north of $500 for a trailer, one should expect a lot renovations.  And oh my goodness is there a lot of work to be done -- and a slightly large learning curve to go with it. With the help of Google and You Tube we will figure it out. So far we are taking the selective learning route. If there is something that seems to be inordinately difficult we pretend it does not need to be done. I am certain there will be do-overs. And I am certain any savvy renovators out there who are reading this are rolling their eyes.

For us, there is nothing like diving in without testing the water. No regrets.

Our 1978 Shasta travel trailer. Built the year our second oldest son was born. It will need new
tires. The frame is good. We will either remove the awning or replace it.
I'm thinking I'd rather have a separate screen house than an awning.

Our dining room before. You can see some of the water damage on the ceiling.

Our living room before.

Our dining room during demolition. There is quite a bit of wood that needs to be replaced.

We removed the peel and stick tiles to see how much
damage there was to the floor. A lot.
Notice the cardboard in the upper left corner? The previous owner
said he had replaced the back panel. We neglected to ask what type of material
he used. Ahhh. Live and learn.

This is the back of the trailer where the living room was. That is a water tank that was under
the bench. After we pull it out to replace the floor we will see if it can be salvaged
or if we need to replace it. As it is, the only thing keeping that
tank from falling through the floor is somebody's imagination.
Obviously more wood framing needs to be replaced.

Another heartbreaking goodbye

Last month our family said our final goodbye to one of our sisters. I seldom put real names into my blog, but today I will.

Donna passed away at the end of April after being diagnosed with colon cancer three weeks prior to her passing. Although the original prognosis was "treatable but not curable," no one thought she leave us so quickly.

Donna was a good and kind and generous soul. She was probably one of the most loving persons I know. She will be missed more than words can express.

It was so sudden. She went into the hospital for a cancer-related surgery. The news was grim, but we were still planning her release from the hospital. We were getting things in order for Hospice care one day and the very next day we were holding her hands as she died. There are so many things one thinks they will say as they watch death approach but those words will not come and one watches helplessly and prays her pain will end soon.


We all knew her time was limited. Her son and our older sister were flying in to stay with her, but she started slipping away before they could arrive and my younger sister and I held the phone to her ear as she told them she love them one last time.

"Don't cry," she said to her son. "It is what it is. I love you."

Donna, who had watched far too many John Wayne death scenes, remained with us to the very end. She did not simply slip into a coma and fade away. Her last words were "Hold my hands." And then she  spoke some more words of wisdom known only to her. Her hands grew cold and then she was gone.

Donna's instructions for her funeral were fairly straightforward ... there was to be none. The night before she went into the the hospital she gave me specific instructions. I think she knew she would not be coming home. "I want to be cremated. No funeral. No visitation. No memorial service. Call Digger O'Dell for the arrangements. And call Social Security right away... I should have retired last year."

That was Donna. Very pragmatic. Very succinct. Very anal retentive. She had her ducks in a row and from a final arrangement standpoint things were easy.

But they are not easy. The realization she is gone hits at the most inappropriate moments. Some silly little thing will happen during the day and I will think to myself, "I will have to tell Donna about that." And the memories come flooding in and the tears start to flow.

King has been very supportive through all of this. He doesn't tell me to "snap out of it" when I mope around the house. We go for walks together. He watches as I pace restlessly, looking for something, someone, or some solace.

The other night he and I were lying together in bed and the tears started again.

"No one wants to get cancer," he said. "She didn't deserve to go that fast. But she DID have cancer and if she hadn't died in the hospital she would be lying in a hospital bed in her apartment right now. I don't think anyone would have wanted that. Least of all her."

We will always miss our sister. There will always be that empty space that will no longer be filled by Donna. But King, in his infuriating pragmatic way, is absolutely right. One can not change the past. One should not wonder what might have been (if only she had had the colonoscopy the doctor told her over and over again she needed) as it does no good. We can only move on. Miss her incredibly. Celebrate her life. And learn this life lesson...Life is too short to not do the things we want to do.

Nothing says love like something from the kitchen

There is a Dutch law that says when one visits the home of another person a good host or hostess will serve coffee and some type of baked good.

I do not know where this law is written, but it is a law nonetheless and I never knew our Mother to break this law.

No one, not ever, could pop into our parents' home without Mom turning on the coffee pot and finding some type of baked good to serve them. She often had a supply of something stashed in the freezer for an unexpected visitor. Mom even served coffee and cookies to people who came to purchase our horses.

I am surprised she did not insist the milkman (yes, we had our milk delivered to our home twice a week) stop in for coffee. I know she served coffee and cookies to the dry cleaner delivery person. (And yes, the local dry cleaners would deliver to homes).

Mom had a "go to" list of recipes that she would use for baking. The list changed over the years as she experimented and food fads changed. She went through a phase of "health food" when I was in grade school. In the 1960s "health food" meant cookies filled with dates and nuts. It was not met with much enthusiasm from the family.

I never truly appreciated how much work went into baking until I had to do it myself. I did not feel the need to follow the Dutch law to the letter and slowly the law faded into oblivion in our household.
But it it did leave its mark on my sisters and me.

Even after Mom moved into the nursing home our visits with her usually ended with our either taking her out for coffee or later -- when it became impossible to get her in and out of a car safely -- a trip to the lounge area where a coffee pot and cookies were available for residents and their guests.

When we were dividing up Mom's things I ended up with Mom's cookbooks. Or some of them at least. There were several from the local churches Mom and Dad attended -- recipes contributed by members and compiled into a cookbook. It was easy to find Mom's favorites, they were the ones with grease and chocolate stains on the pages. Mom also loved to look at recipes in magazines and newspapers, cutting out her favorites and making a file of things she wanted to try.

I went through them all and pulled out her favorites. Most of them were desserts. There were many pages that included appetizers and a surprising number of casserole dishes.

I would love to be able to keep all of her cookbooks but King and I will be moving on within the year and not everything can be taken into a travel trailer. So I pulled her favorites, scanned them, saved them to my computer and created a "Mom Cookbook."

There is another reason for my madness...

I have been asked -- often -- to turn my blog into a book. I am going to do that. And, because the publishing industry being what it is, (meaning the odds of my finding a publisher who will actually purchase my book are slim to none) I will be going the self-publishing route.

Amazon will publish books for free... printing books "on demand" as the requests come in and/or offering a digital version. However I need an editor. And editors are not free. So... I will be selling a pdf copy Mom's Cookbook for $2.50 each in the hope I will sell enough to hire an editor/proofreader. It will also be a test to see if there truly is enough interest in a book to warrant the work it is going to take to turn my blog into a book.

If you are interested in purchasing a digital copy of  Mom's high-fat, sugar laden recipes, you can send $2.50 via paypal.

The cookbook will be emailed as a pdf. You can save it to your computer or print it out. It's 47 pages of scanned in copies of Mom's recipes. It's not fancy. It's not pretty. It's a memento of Mom with some of her notations included, and little notes from me.

Hope to hear from some of you soon.

Retirement

As far as I am concerned I am officially retired. King thinks differently. That is okay. He may have his delusions.

My "retirement" was fairly unspectacular. I had been telling the "powers that be" at work for months I was going to be done at the end of 2016. I am not quite to social security age, but by the end of 2016 King will have reached that magical age and  his pension and social security would even things out. (Yeah, I know, if we were smart I would keep working until I reached official social security age, but we are impatient to get on with the next chapter in our lives). At any rate, life has a way of moving in strange ways and one day as I was leaving for work King looked at me and said, "Why don't you give your notice early?" And then added, "If we need extra money you can look for something part-time." I choose to ignore the part-time part.

I needed no further encouragement. I have been working since my first summer babysitting job in 1970. That's a lot of years to be working. King has a pension. I don't.We will be doing a lot of belt-tightening. I happen to like hot dogs and macaroni and cheese.

Mom's retirement was as unspectacular as mine. Mom had been working in the lab at Dog Life, the dog food factory Dad managed, and both Mom and Dad decided it was time for her to be through working. I believe Mom had come to that decision many years before, but for some reason Dad didn't see it that way. Apparently she and Dad had discussed her retirement extensively and Dad told her he would begin looking for a replacement. I guess it was easier said than done. He brought her an inexpensive piece of jewelry one day -- a very large gold locket -- and told her he was sorry but it finding a replacement was more difficult than he imagined and she would have to work a little longer. Or at least that is the way Mom tells it. Dad probably would have had a different version.

At any rate at some point Mom did get to leave the job and the two of them moved into their "retirement" home along Lake Michigan. Dad continued to work for a few more years until he decided he, too, had had enough and he left. After 30-plus years working at the same place he came home with a cast-iron ashtray with a dog bone logo and a family portrait. The same portrait that someone pooped on when they broke into his office in the mid-1970s. And yes, we know who did it. It was the same modus operandi several other business owners had the pleasure of dealing with, but small towns being what they are no one ever call the police. Dad eventually gave the ashtray to King who has a propensity to smoke too many cigars, and when King decided he was going to cut back on cigars we passed it along to my sister who thinks no one knows she still smokes.

So now, for the first time in a long, long time, I find myself with a plethora of extra time and not a definitive way to spend it. Before there was this nagging, "I have to get xxxx done before I leave for work," and now project xxxx does not seem so pressing.

I am grateful for rainy days so I can postpone working on getting my garden beds ready. King and I have been caretakers on a hobby farm for the past five years so juggling gardening and employment was always a chore. Not so much now. I am still working on my tote bags to list in my Etsy shop, but even that can be done at a leisurely pace. Ahhhh the life of the unencumbered.

So King and I have started getting ready for our next chapter in life. At some point -- probably when he is eligible for social security in a few months -- we will be traveling cross country in a small, still-to-be-purchased travel trailer. That is a lot of togetherness.I will be encouraging the exploration of a lot of golf courses.He will be encouraging my exploring flora and fauna with camera in hand.

After 40 years together we know our limits and don't test them.

Generations

The first piece of furniture Mom ever purchased was a bentwood rocking chair. Although much of Mom and Dad's possessions have been dispersed, none of us could part with the chair. My next older sister currently has custody of it.

One of my earliest memories of Mom is her rocking my younger sister and I in that chair. Every day after lunch we would read books and then Mom would rock and rock and rock and sing to us. Mom was tone deaf. In later years we realized just how horrible a singer she was, but it never bothered us she did not come close to a perfect pitch, when we were in her arms and she sang to us nothing else mattered.

I rocked our own children. We had our routines that changed a little as we added to our brood. But for each child Mom's lullabies were pulled out and sung, and occasionally replaced by Bob Dylan. But we rocked and sang all the same. I did the same for our grandchildren. One must be careful what one sings to children as they will often pull out inappropriate songs at inappropriate times.

I recall a time we were sitting on a beach in St. Augustine with Mom and Dad and the grandchildren thought it would be a good time to belt out Rainy Day Women. All I could say to Mom was, "Well, they will keep you humble, won't they?"

I am visiting our daughter for a few weeks. I listened as she put her young twin sons down for a nap. The boys are busy, busy, busy. Going all the time. When nap time comes they are ready for some sleep. I listened to all the familiar lullabies and a few I did not know. I heard the familiar creak of a rocking chair.

I miss those snuggling times. I miss the feel of little hands in mine. I miss the feel of warm breath on my neck and butterfly kisses on my cheek. I miss grubby little hands working hard fill buckets with sand.

And I feel my daughter's exhaustion...that bone-weary feeling of utter frustration when the boys tonk one another on the head with a block, or fight over the same matchbox car when there are 30 more almost identical cars in the toy box, or cry when they don't want to come inside for dinner.

And when I tell her to enjoy every minute because these times will pass too quickly, I know she understands what I am telling her -- the same way I understood my mother when she told me. But we still wish for some peace and quiet. Some alone time in the bathroom. A chance to shower without an audience or without little hands pounding on the door.

And yet, somehow, the time passes too quickly and you are left with memories and lingering doubts.... Did I do enough? Did they have a happy childhood? Did I read enough books?

My daughter was surprised when I shared my doubts with her. Just as I was surprised when Mom shared her doubts with me.  I think many of us second-guess our parenting skills. We can offer a false bravado, but there will always be that nagging doubt. The feeling we should have done more, or differently. And in the end we have to be satisfied that whatever our doubts,  we did the best we could.

Lana touched our lives

When Dad died and we were writing his obituary, my sisters and I decided we would have memorial contributions go to their church in Grand Haven and/or the tiny country church Mom and Dad had attended when they lived in Glenn. Mom was in no position to make any such decision. So it was what we decided.

When Mom died my younger sister suggested we have memorial contributions go to Camp Sunshine, a west Michigan camp for persons with developmental disabilities.

I recall her saying, "I don't know why we didn't think of this when Dad died. It was their favorite charity." The reality is we had much more time to think about -- and plan for -- Mom's funeral than we did for Dad.

Camp Sunshine touched our lives in a personal way.

In 1969 our cousin Krys and her husband, Jim, brought their fifth child, Lana, home from the hospital. I remember the letter Krys wrote Mom telling her Lana had Down Syndrome. I recall Mom talking about how Jim had left the hospital to go home and then the staff had come in and told Krys about Lana. There was no counseling, no support. Nothing. Just the news and then leaving Krys to sort it out on her own. Or at least that is the way Mom saw it.

I can imagine Krys and Jim were left wondering, "What do we do now? How do we proceed? What is going to happen to our daughter?"

Lana grew, was loved and loved in return. She touched the lives of everyone she met. She was one of the first campers to attend Camp Sunshine. It was something she looked forward to all year. It was her chance to spread her wings and fly.

Although Lana passed away almost 14 years ago, her family continues to support Camp Sunshine. They have established a fundraising golf outing as a means of contributing to the camp Lana loved so much.

Mom and Dad saw the joy Camp Sunshine brought Lana and supported the camp as well. And now I would like to continue Mom and Dad's support. I have started a small Etsy business That's Sew Mom. I am making totes and selling them online with profits from sales going to Camp Sunshine. It is a shop based on Mom's love of sewing, my parents desire to support a worthy cause, and my desire to make my own contribution to something worthwhile.

I hope you will visit the shop. Comments are welcome.

A New Year

I have not posted for a while. Holidays, family parties, lots of work (employment type work) . . . it is all the usual excuses. So here are a few thoughts about the holiday past and the memories it brought.

This was our first Christmas without Mom's physical presence. I say physical presence, because the past two Christmases Mom really had no idea what was happening. I am happy she was able to see our twin grandsons last year. It is a good memory of her last Christmas with us. And she was very animated when she realized "there are two of them." So it is that memory - the one of her visit with her grandsons - that we all hold dear.

Although I found Mom's absence very real this year, I also found it was far easier to remember the good times past than to dwell on the sadness of her absence. Little things came to mind...Mom making countless Christmas cookies and hiding them under her bed along with our Christmas presents. Mom leaving a bag of potato chips in the oven and setting them on fire Christmas day. Mom fixing beef stroganoff for our Christmas dinner...

So with those nostalgic thoughts floating around I've spent the past few days thinking about some of the things that are "so Mom."

Those memories are easy to conjure and little things will bring pleasant memories flooding back ... I found a hand-blown glass vase in a box of stuff the other day. It was one Mom had placed on the kitchen window sill. She had a variety of colored glass vases lining the window in our kitchen. It was a large window and faced west,offering a view of our backyard, the pasture, and beyond that the line of pine trees that stood in front of the neighbor's commercial greenhouse.

I placed the vase on my south-facing window sill and took a good look at my kitchen. It's small by anyone's standards. It has tiny, cramped counter space, cheap imitation granite counter tops and old worn cabinets. I thought about how cheery Mom's kitchen was and immediately began to feel sorry for myself.

And then I took stock of what the kitchen of my childhood REALLY was like. Mom had very little  counter top space -- just a few feet of space on either side of the kitchen sink. She had very few cabinets. Our kitchen did not boast an island, a plethora of cabinets or built-in appliances. In fact, one had to squeeze between the counter and the stove to reach into the small recesses of the back cabinet. When my younger sister and I helped Mom bake cookies one of us would stand on a chair on one side of her and the other would stand on a stool squeezed in between the stove and the cabinet.  The space was so seldom used I can't remember what Mom kept in the drawer in that corner of the kitchen.

In the opposite corner was our telephone. An old rotary dial thing. Beneath that was the typical "junk drawer." But that drawer also held a Bible storybook that Mom read to us from as our evening devotions after supper. (We had supper and lunch. I don't know why we never had "dinner").

But the fact of the matter is, when you walked into Mom's kitchen...you never noticed the lack of space. You saw clean. You saw no clutter. You saw whimsical decorations. You smelled cookies or cake baking.

Mom's kitchen also did double-duty as a laundry room. The washer and dryer were tucked into an alcove between the refrigerator and a broom closet. More cabinets were built over the washer and dryer and Mom kept laundry soap and her "good" dishes in those cabinets. Tucked between the refrigerator and the washer was Mom's sewing machine. A Singer Dad got her to replace the treadle machine she had in the basement.

Although in later years Mom had a dedicated "sewing room," in our childhood home Mom would set up her sewing machine on the kitchen table. It was there she taught my sisters and I (and countless 4H-ers) to sew. It was there I carved, "I hate sewing" into the base of her Singer after sewing and ripping apart the same seam over and over again. It was there she made my winter coat when I was in fourth grade. It was there she sewed my sister's wedding dress, our prom dresses, countless school outfis, an endless amount of Tammy Doll clothes and anything else we needed.

I have a Singer sewing machine as well. It was a gift from our children this past Mother's Day.  But I don't have the patience to set up and take down a sewing machine every time I get a creative urge. So my Singer is set up in one of our upstairs bedrooms. I am not certain our children will ever fully appreciate how much I enjoy sewing on that machine. And I certainly have put it to good use. This past Christmas I made totes for our grandchildren (all 16 of them) and filled the totes with art supplies. 

Mom would have liked that.