Life without Facebook gives me more time with DK

This week I deactivated my Facebook account. No big deal, I’ve done it at least 50 times before; but I think this time it might be for keeps. I found myself spending much too much time on social media. I think my time could better spent doing something else. So far I’ve filled that free time by playing solitaire.

Small steps I guess.

A face full of scars

By avoiding social media, my goal is to finally finish my book about my mother’s struggle with dementia. In fact, the book is finished; but only a fool would be so smug as to not have it edited; or only a fool would assume to be able to edit it herself; or someone who self-edits has a fool for an editor… something like that anyway. (Yes, I know the correct reference about lawyers). Anyway, I’ll keep tweaking it until I find someone who will actually edit for a miniscule amount of money because that’s all I can afford.

I also have half a dozen craft/sewing projects that I’d like to finish. It’s interesting, I’ve been retired for at least three years, but it is only now, when I am working (part-time) again that suddenly these unfinished projects are calling to me.

So, long story short, as we head into August-like weather at the beginning of June I’m thinking about all the things I SHOULD be doing and it just so happens that NOT doing Facebook is one of them. (I’ve never understood Instagram or Twitter so I don’t have THAT social media addiction to overcome).

Without my face buried in my phone or on my computer our senior rescue dog DK is enjoying the added attention that Facebook stole from him.

At least I think he is enjoying it; it’s hard to tell with him.

It is only now -- after his being a part of the family for six months -- we are beginning to see some signs of contentment from him. And by that I mean he occasionally wags his tail. That’s it. A couple of feeble attempts at a tail wag, and King and I melt. “Oh look, he’s telling us he’s happy.” 

It’s fairly obvious DK has had a very, very hard life -- and that is the main reason we adopted him. His rescuer said he thought DK had sort of given up on life. I agree. I think he had.

He is pretty tired. His face is full of scars. We can only guess from what (and none of our guesses are pleasant). A big tell on his previous life is his attitude when he sees another dog. When we meet another dog on our walks DK turns his head and looks the other way, as if he wants to avoid eye contact. His attitude is one of “If I don’t see them they won’t see me.” (By the way, DK still walks sideways. His backend can never quite follow his front end in a straight line. It’s either hip dysplasia or worse).

But we love this little guy. We don’t know how long he will be with us before he makes the trip to Rainbow Bridge, but we think he deserves as much love as two human beings can give him. We are fairly certain he’d never been loved before he was rescued.

The gentleman who rescued DK from the streets of Tijuana concurred. In fact DK kind of wormed his way into the rescuer's heart as well. I’ve never met the gentleman, but apparently he is a business owner in Tijuana and rescues dogs when he can. He spends his own money on the dogs, getting them vaccinated, de-wormed, medicated when needed and, as in DK’s case, pays for any additional surgery. (DK had a huge hernia removed from his abdomen).

 We adopted DK through a rescue organization in San Diego, but the woman who housed him briefly asked if we would mind keeping his rescuer apprised of DK’s progress. We obliged, and I drop him an occasional line and let him know how DK is doing. He always is happy to hear from us. In his last email he said he had just rescued two dogs that did not make it. They were too far gone to be saved.

When we first went to meet DK, we were about the third or fourth potential adopters to visit him. It seems many people came to look at him to adopt him but when they saw how feeble he was they opted not to adopt. We decided even if he lived just 10 days (yes, that is how feeble he was) they would be 10 days filled with the love and attention he never got before he was rescued.

So we are rather thrilled that this little mutt dog is doing as well as he is.

Friday morning, before the heat of the day chased us into the trailer (with no air conditioning, but lots and lots of fans) DK took me for a long walk. And yes, he leads the way, I just follow and let him explore on his own. I know he doesn’t truly pay attention to where he is going because his eyes are always on the ground. So Friday we left the open field of the campground and wandered into the woods. Suddenly he stopped, looked around and realized he was in unfamiliar territory. You could see it on his face, “Oh crap. Now where am I?” Considering he is a street dog found in Tijuana, I don’t think the Michigan woods are comforting to him. In fact, I am quite certain if he were able to run he would have.

But he can’t so we didn’t, which is a good thing as I can’t run either.

It's pronounced Loo-a-vul

 You meet all kinds of people when you work retail, especially in a resort town. I try to talk to as many as I can. Partially because talking to people helps to stave off the boredom of the slow times (and pre-Memorial Day it is slow, and retailers can only hope that the summer season will be a good one. There is seldom a way of really knowing ahead of time). But the second reason I talk to people is because I’m truly curious as to where they are from and how they are enjoying their stay. It’s a safe question as even if it rained all week, people on vacation generally are having a good time.

I met some interesting people this week, including a couple of doppelgangers. When King first retired we moved back to South Haven to work as caretakers on a hobby farm. The farm owner had a business in Chicago and came to South Haven on weekends. We tended their grounds, critters and gardens in exchange for a small three bedroom house on the property. I think we were about the third or fourth caretakers for them and probably stayed on the longest. The owner was a large man with a balding head and a huge booming voice. His wife was a quiet Thai woman he met in Chicago while she was working on her graduate degree. We worked on the farm for five years and became good friends. They eventually sold everything and moved to Thailand to be closer to his wife’s aging parents. Yesterday a couple came into the store to buy a South Haven sweatshirt. He was a large balding man with a booming voice who owned a small business in Chicago. His wife was from Thailand. They were looking to buy property in South Haven. They say everyone has a doppelganger.

I also met a woman from Louisville, Kentucky. When she told me she was from Louisville she added, “If you don’t say it with three syllables you are not saying it correctly.”  (Loo-a-vul with a southern drawl). We discussed the (Kentucky) Derby and the scandal surrounding this year’s winner, Medina Spirit. (The horse lost his bid for the triple crown Saturday in the Preakness -- King follows racing closely). She gave me her recipe for the perfect Mint Julep. “The secret,” she said, “Is to steep your mint in simple syrup for at least 24 hours and to use the cheapest bourbon you can find. You want that mint flavor to be able to come through.” She gave me the exact proportions. King likes to drink Mint Juleps while  watching horse races, except he calls them “rum and coke and imagination.”

I think one of the most frequent questions I’m asked by customers is “What do you do here in the wintertime?” My stock answer (even though we no longer live in Michigan in winter) is “Well, there is always parking available downtown.”  Personally I think fall and winter are some of the most breathtakingly beautiful seasons in West Michigan – except for that brown slushy junk along the sides of the road.

So this week, I met an individual from upstate New York, who obviously knows a thing or two about winters. He did seem to be lacking in the common sense department however.

His companion was looking at some decorative throw pillows we have on display. One has a photo of a sandy beach and says, “Inhale….Exhale.” It’s written in cursive. She laughed and said, “The ‘inhale’ looks like ‘whale’ if you just glance at it.” I told her about people photoshopping whales into Lake Michigan photos and posting them on social media and how sometimes you could convince individuals  whales were migrating from Traverse City to Chicago. (No wonder people will believe conspiracy theories so readily).

The gentleman chimed in, “You’ve got some whale-sized fish in the lake though.”

“Well,” I said. “I’ve heard there are a few 240 pound sturgeon in the lake; but I don’t think there are a lot of those left any longer.” (One such rare fish was caught, tagged and released in the Detroit River on April 30, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. The FWS estimated it to be almost a century old).

He seemed disappointed but moved on. Beneath the pillow display we have Blueberry Festival t-shirts for sale. “You have a blueberry festival?”

“Yes. It’s been scaled down last year and probably this year as well. Because of COVID.”

“COVID attacked the blueberry crop?”

“No. It attacked people. They don’t want the crowds. Even with the mask mandate being lifted, it’s kind of late to try to plan something as big as a national festival. We’ll see what happens.”

“So what happens to all the blueberries if there is no festival?”

“They still get sold to stores nationwide. It’s a big crop. There are huge blueberry farms around here.” I could tell he was ready to take a road trip to visit the farms. I could imagine him pulling into a farm and asking for a tour. So I quickly said, “There is a blueberry store on the next block. They have all kinds of interesting things – all things blueberry.”

My farming friends can thank me later.

 

Happy Mother's Day

I work at a clothing store in a tourist town.

We sell t-shirts, sweatshirts, hoodies and jackets with a variety of South Haven landmarks plus some uniquely Michigan shirts. We also sell some men’s clothing and quite a bit of women’s clothing.

I guess my age has caught up to me as five years ago when I worked at this store I would look at the women’s clothing we had for sale and say to myself, “Nope. No way. I would never wear something like that.” Now I look at the racks and think to myself, “Yeah, I could wear that.”

During the early part of May the shop is not very busy. In a tourist town you bank on a good summer to help ease the lean times during the winter. While business is slowly picking up, it’s still slow. Today, for instance, we barely sold enough to cover the two hourly employees’ wages.  I don’t care to think about what utilities, rent, etc. does to that bottom line.

The past few days the few customers we had were looking for that “special something” for mother’s day.

Earlier this week I had the pleasure of waiting on Clay and his Grandmother who were shopping for Clay’s mother.

Grandma did her best to keep Clay focused. She failed. But she tried.

“No Clay, we are not buying a t-shirt for you,” she said and Clay proceeded to pull a stack of toddler shirts from the table.

I assured Grandma I would re-fold the shirts after they were finished shopping, but this Grandma was a lot like me. It went against her moral fiber to not re-fold the shirts.

“Clay lives in Galesburg,” Grandma explained to me. “They are doing virtual learning this week so that’s why he’s able to be with me.”

In my mind it didn’t exactly explain why Clay was obviously not virtual learning, but I smiled behind my mask and turned to Clay, “What grade are you in, Clay?”

“I’m in 4-year-olds, but I’m really five,” he said.

“You probably had a birthday after you started,” I suggested.

“I had cake.”

Clay picked out a coral colored t-shirt with the Great Lakes/Michigan embroidered where a pocket might be.  While walking up to the counter he spotted the canister we have for donations to the local animal shelter.

“I want some money. May I have that?”

“No Clay,” said Grandma. “That’s for the animals that don’t have homes.”

“Why don’t they have a home,” asked a confused Clay.

“That’s a really good question, Clay,” I said.

“How did you know my name?”

“I’ve heard your Grandma say it a few (hundred) times today.”

The donation money was forgotten as Clay marveled at the fact that I knew his name.

Then he discovered the gift boxes and wrapping paper behind the counter.

“I want to help wrap,” he exclaimed.  For the record, I am not fond of wrapping, especially when the customer is watching me do it. But I told Clay he could help me.  I’m even less fond of wrapping with the help of an eager five-year-old.

Thank goodness a mask hides grimaces.

Clay helped me choose the wrapping paper; he helped me choose the box. He helped me get out 12 or 20 sheets of tissue paper to pad the box.  And then he discovered the tape dispenser.  It’s been two days since Clay helped me wrap his mother’s gift and I’m still fining wads of tape stuck to parts of the counter.

Grandma wandered off to look at some women’s clothing.

“I can’t get this tape off my fingers,” Clay announced. “Can you help me?”

Clay had managed to triple wrap tape around his middle and index fingers, which were turning purple.  I managed to find an end and get it off without resorting to using scissors as I didn’t think Clay could hold still for scissors.

The box was finally wrapped and Grandma found another shirt for her daughter -- a tank top with a sequined cowboy boot on the front. We had received it as a sample in a clothing order. It sat in our back room for a while until it finally found its way to our sale rack

I resolutely started wrapping another box, but Clay had lost interest in wrapping and discovered the mints next to the cash register -- fifty cents for a roll of mints, with proceeds going  to the local Lions Club.

“I want those.”

“I don’t think you’ll like them Clay. They are pretty strong,” Grandma said.

But by that point Clay had the wrapper off and had stuck one in his mouth.

“Oh  Clay. I don’t have fifty cents.”

“Hot,” said Clay.

Grandma was almost in tears.

“I have fifty cents,” I said. I actually didn’t, but I have a coffee can with laundry money at home, so I put the money in the next day.

“Are you mad at me Grandma?”

“Grandma’s don’t get mad Clay. They get tired. But they don’t get mad,” I assured him.

“How do you know?”

“I’m a grandma too Clay.”

Clay marveled at the fact that there were more Grandmas in the world than just his Grandma.

Clay’s Grandma winked at me. She gave Clay both packages to carry and they walked out the door.

“Come back to see me soon Clay,” I called.

I truly hope he does. He’s quite the distraction.

  

On the road again

Greeting from the road.

As I write this King and I are taking a driving break at one of our favorite “on the road stops” – Elk City Lake campground in Elk City, Oklahoma.

Elk City Lake Park. 

We discovered this little gem on our way to San Diego five years ago. At that time we were traveling in December. It was bitter, bitter cold (nine degrees) and our water in the trailer froze; fortunately we were able to thaw the plumbing before anything burst. The young couple parked next to us was not as lucky as their plumbing burst.

I found the campsite in my “free campsites” atlas (which I no longer use). The campground boasts five campsites on the shores of a small reservoir in western Oklahoma. Since that first camping experience in 2016, Elk City has added water, a dump station, a bathhouse … and $15. It’s still a bargain for $15.

After leaving Santa Rosa State Park in eastern New Mexico this morning we decided to make a short day of it and stop here – a five hour drive. I’m sitting in my “living room” with the front door propped

The front door is propped open

open and can watch some kids fishing on the shore. King is watching the Master’s golf and DK (our rescue dog) is passed out on his bed in the corner. It is 80 degrees. Tomorrow, if my weather app is to be believed, the temperature will reach 58.

DK does not travel well. As soon as he realizes I’m going to place him in the back seat of the truck he tries to make a run for it. Given his abnormalities, he can’t run. I scoop him up and gently place him in the backseat. He tries to wiggle past me while I take off his leash, but, again, he’s not quick enough. I’m pretty sure he would do some major damage to himself if he were to try to jump out of the back seat.

Our old man, DK.

In an attempt to make things more comfortable for him I purchased a seat cover that not only covers the back seat but also forms a hammock of sorts between the backs of the front seats and the bench seat in back. He’d often roll off the back seat and had a horrible time trying to climb back up so we thought this might give him more security. Regardless, he rides with his head crammed into the corner of the backseat and doesn’t move until nature calls.  

I’m beginning to suspect that in addition to being lame and deaf he also has some sight problems. When we stop we always offer him some water. He can’t figure out where the water is until I actually place some in my hands and wet his muzzle. Then it’s as if a light bulb goes on, “Ah haaa! Water.”

Before we left California my daughter pointed out to me that he was the first dog she’d ever come across with no personality. I’d have to agree. We get excited when he wags his tail.  You have to figure the old man has been through a lot and is simply tired … and probably not completely sure he can trust us… and probably just a little confused. That’s ok. I’m pretty sure King and I have more time than he does and in the meantime we will just love on him as much as possible.

Anyway, we’ve had two seven-hour travel days. I’d be more inclined to stop and smell a few more roses along the way, but so far, for the most part, the trailer brakes (which we have been fighting since we light Michigan in November) seem to be working. We really want to get home ASAP to have them looked at by mechanics we know.  And yes, we have had them looked at numerous times while on the road. The good news is we now have a Michigan mechanic and a California mechanic for our truck.

Although we have not made many stops it has been an interesting trip.

Yesterday as we were traveling from Benson, Arizona to Santa Rosa, New Mexico we opted for a road

The reservoir at Santa Rosa Lake State Park. 
Water levels are down from when we visited
five years ago. 

less traveled and took highway 54 from Las Cruces to Santa Rosa. It was two lanes most of the way, skirting the mountains to our west.  We passed through many little towns with boarded up store fronts and a few hardy souls still trying to make a go of it.

It’s a sad fact, people miss a lot of the country by taking the interstates and the interstates take a lot from people.

  

Our last hurrah

In less than two weeks we will be leaving for Michigan. The winter has flown by.

Mount Laguna

We spent a busy week with the grandsons. The boys spent last week Saturday night camping with us and on Sunday we took them out on the Sunrise Highway to see the last of the snow. There was not much left, but they had a good time playing in the patches of snow we found in the shade on the north sides of the mountain. Our daughter’s goal is to someday take them to Big Bear for a week of playing in the snow – the real stuff, not just patches of it.

While our daughter is bracing herself for six months of juggling work and the boy’s schedules, our children in Michigan are asking when we plan on returning. As our 21-year-old granddaughter put it, “I don’t see you that often when you are back in Michigan, but just knowing you are closer makes a difference.”

King and I are making our plans. First on our agenda when we get back will be scheduling our COVID vaccines. Yes, we will be getting them.  We happen to believe in science. We social distance and wear masks.

In the meantime we have one last outing planned for here in California. Our daughter has booked a whale watching excursion.  I’ve been on one once before – the only time the entire season the charter spotted no whales. Maybe this time will be more successful.

I’ve spent a lot of time on the open water from the time my father had a sailboat he took out on Lake Michigan.  The fresh air and wind were always exhilarating.  So I was quite surprised with myself two years ago when I got just a tidge seasick on the whale watching trip. I was, in fact, relieved that the failed whale watching excursion was over -- that queasy “oh my God I can’t believe I feel this way, and please don’t make me talk,” feeling was something I’d never experienced. This time I will take Dramamine and take my chances with falling asleep and swear off the Bloody Marys (I rather like olives).

So while it is rather iffy if I will have found my sea legs on this trip, we already KNOW King does not do well on the open water. The one time he ventured out on Dad’s sailboat was also the only time my mother slapped me.

It was October, he and I were home from college for a friend’s wedding.  A group of us decided to go for a sail on a Saturday afternoon. We packed a picnic lunch and enjoyed sloppy joes, brownies and potato salad all the way through the Saugatuck channel. (I think you know where this is going).

We got out onto the lake and the swells were five to six feet. I climbed out to the bow of the boat to untangle some lines for the sail, turned around and said, “Gee Michael (his real name) you look kinda green.” That was when my mother slapped my legs (she was sitting in the hold, I was standing on the seat). “Be still” was all she said. Mom NEVER, even in dire circumstances, ever said, “Shut up.”

In this instance it probably would have been appropriate.

It took poor King three days to feel normal again. To this day he turns a little green simply driving a boat on an inland lake for skiing.

Hopefully this time, through the magic of chemicals, it will be better.

He is, after all,  taking one for the grandsons.

Time to think about heading home

 It’s the last day of February. Where did the past five months go?

When we arrived in California in November our twin grandsons asked almost every day, “Are you staying five months? That’s a long way away, isn’t it?”

They don’t ask any more because they know the time is coming when we will be leaving. Avoidance is a childhood thing, but many adults use the same technique.

To be honest, King and I don’t have any hard and fast plans, other than we know we will be back in Michigan toward the middle/end of April. He will be working grounds maintenance for the campground where we will be staying. I might possibly look for work. I don’t mind work. I just hate the commitment to be someplace at a specified time for specified hours.

Yesterday we had to move the trailer to a new campground as we had reached our 90-day limit at the place we were staying. I’ve made reservations at a variety of places that will take us to April 2^nd. After that we will find what we can with a general departure date of around April 10 – give or take a few days. This is the first year we’ve actually made reservations for camping.

But back to our move…We moved from Lake Jennings Campground in Lakeside, California to

The view from my window at Sweetwater 

 

Sweetwater Summit, a San Diego County-owned campground in Bonita, California. We are perched atop a large hill with a view of the surrounding suburbs. The two campgrounds (Lake Jennings and Sweetwater) are still about 45 minutes from our daughter but they are one of the few campgrounds in the area that will accept trailers that are as old as ours. (Our trailer turned 39 in January). When our 14-day limit is reached here at Sweetwater, we will travel to one of our favorite spots in southern California – Cibbets Flats campground. It’s a remote spot in the Cleveland National Forest. No electric, no water, no WiFi (so unless we sit outside a McDonald’s in Alpine, California to use their WiFi, no column the week of March 13). We may move on to Joshua Tree National Park. Plans are not definite --which is how we prefer it.

Today King took the time to weed the campsite. I know he is bored, but I will have to admit, it looks really nice, so his boredom is my boon, ascetically speaking. I on the other hand, decided since many

I added daisy decals to the trailer.

campgrounds discriminate against us because of our trailer’s age (and I truly do understand their reasoning) I will decorate the outside of the trailer in a manner becoming my sense of non-

We don't care what
Muggles think

conformity. I rather like daisies. Surprisingly King has not complained.

Tomorrow we are going to Oceanside so King can help a friend as her home is having some mold remediation done. The friend is out of town, so King will basically babysit the house to make certain things are done correctly. The mold remediation is being done because the roofers did NOT re-roof correctly. An unfortunate set of circumstances all the way around. But the task makes King a happy little camper as he really needs something to occupy his time since the boys will be with their father this week.

In the meantime, since the outdoor decorating is complete,  today I will read. I have about three different books going on my Kindle – one teen paranormal romance novel (I am hooked on teen angst where the heroine is in love with a boy who is also a werewolf), one non-fiction, and one adult romance. King will watch golf and perhaps might catch a few basketball games, and of course, some TV westerns. Meanwhile, the dog will tell us every three minutes he needs to go out.

And that is how we spend our retirement. No exciting plans. No big-ticket entertainment. No restaurants or fine dining (even if we could, we probably wouldn’t).  Just relaxing days filled with doing what we want, when we want it.

Not all bad.

Battle of the bands (and other battles)

I think one of the biggest differences between King and me is the way we appreciate music and watch TV.

King can basically take it or leave music; but get a few beers in him and he will listen to anything – at ear splitting decibels.  It’s quite annoying, actually, and I’m quite relieved it is not a daily occurrence.

To top off the painfully loud music, he likes to sing along – at least those few lines he knows.

 It goes something like this:  mmmmmmmm Ring of Fire mmmmmm higher and higher mmmmm.

I don’t know if he might know a second verse because before we get to it, the music station gets switched. He scrolls through the Sirius stations looking for something he likes -- it could be rock, it could be Y2K (he chaperoned a lot of high school dances in his other life) or it could be classical. And we get to listen to one or two bars of a song before he starts scrolling again.

When he hits a classical station and sticks to it, I like to annoy him be telling him who the composer is (Yes, I’m THAT person). And if, during his scrolling,  he happens upon a song (generally oldies) that I like I have to pretend to be disinterested. One simple foot tap, or lip sync and the station is changed again.

But it’s not just music that he switches. He does the same thing with the TV. He generally has two or three TV shows he follows at one time. I don’t watch TV much but listening from my reading corner in the trailer I can usually tell what he’s watching. Old TV Westerns are his favorite, along with Bewitched and Andy Griffith. But we often switch from CNN to Tales of Wells Fargo, to Wagon Train to Green Acres in a matter of minutes.

I can stop my reading for a moment, listen briefly and say to myself, “Oh, it’s the Wagon Train show. The episode where they ran out of water and almost die in the desert until a friendly Indian rescues them after the young girl with a crush on the bad boy in the next wagon runs away because her parents don’t understand her.” But sometimes he switches so quickly I’m not certain if the Wagon Train has ended up in Hooterville by mistake.

Once in a while I’ll sit with him and watch. He gets quite annoyed with me however, because not only do I know all the actors, I know their horses as well. I’ll point things out like Dale Robertson’s (Tales of Well Fargo) horse’s name was Jubliee and was a 16 hands high Quarter Horse, and that Robertson actually owned the horse and he was purchased at the Hollywood Race Track. (Try saying that in one breath while being shushed).

Audie Murphy
and Joe Queen

Audie Murphy’s horses name was Joe Queen -- another Quarter Horse. Murphy owned Joe Queen.  And John Wayne’s favorite horse was a Quarter Horse named Dollor – no “a” in Dollor. Wayne signed exclusive movie rights to the horse, but did not own him. For True Grit fans, it’s the horse that jumps the fence before Wayne rides off into the sunset at the end of the movie. 

Robertson, Murphy and Wayne were quite accomplished riders. But I read somewhere that Glenn Ford was probably one of the best. I'll have to watch more closely next time I'm allowed to watch a Western with King. 

King may think I’m an annoying know-it-all, but after 40 some years of trying to watch TV with him, I have to do something with that time – so I spend a lot of time looking up useless trivia.

But don’t tell him that. Let him think I’m a know-it-all.

Politics and other strange bedfellows

 There was a lot of political posturing over the past week, wasn’t there?

With a few exceptions, most of my Facebook friends (I don’t do Twitter or Instagram) have started to distance themselves from political comments. We are all tired of it. And I think we’ve all realized no one will change their political stance because of a post or meme on Facebook. 

What does amaze me, however, is the number of people who take what they read on Facebook as the absolute truth. The number of conspiracy theories or blatant false information that gets spread as gospel truth is disheartening. I suppose it hits me harder than it should as I spent most of my adult life as a reporter.  A true news report has been fact-checked relentlessly before it is published or aired. So taking a few minutes to check out the truth in a Facebook post is second nature to me.  And it’s fairly easy to do.  Lately when I find something that does not pass the truth test, where I used to argue, I now just shake my head and move on.

The fact is the anonymity of making a post emboldens people to treat others awfully.  I’m tired of seeing the words libtard, sheep, repug, snowflake (both political sides are equally guilty)… Disagreeing with someone is one thing, telling them they are an atheist because of their political party is something else.

Ahhh, but life goes on.

This weekend, in addition to being Valentine’s Day, is President’s Day weekend. For those California schools that are back in session, it means it’s a four-day weekend. The campground is packed. I think there are four empty sites. 

We’ve been wintering in California for four or five years now (I’ve lost track). It’s taken me that long to realize that while camping in February in Michigan is basically only for the truly die-hard camping enthusiast; it is an excellent time to camp in California. (Summers in southern California are beastly hot).  What I have also noticed is that while I find 50 degrees comfortable, Californians do not share my assessment.

Yesterday while DK and I were on our morning walk, I noticed most of the campers were huddled around their campfires wearing winter coats and gripping mugs of hot coffee. I was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and was quite comfortable.

Apparently weather tolerance, like politics, is all a matter of perspective or what one can tolerate.

It’s hard to believe it’s the middle of February. It’s time to make our tentative summer plans.

 Right now our plans are to stay at the Kal Haven Outpost campground in South Haven for the summer. They open April 15. I have an appointment with the Michigan Secretary of State set for April 26, so we will have to arrive in Michigan sometime between the 15^th and 26^th.

That’s as much pre-planning as King and I care to do as anything more than that would require a commitment – and we can’t have that.

 

Living the dream

A high school friend has earned a residency at the Pamlico Rose Institute where she spends her days creating truly beautiful stained glass art. I am so happy for her. I am also so jealous.

I used to scour announcements for writing residencies throughout the United States. I never earned one. I never applied.  I’m pretty sure there is a correlation there.

I hear from so many who say they wish they could do what King and I are doing… traveling the United States in a travel trailer. Fact is, with a few exceptions, there is no reason why anyone can’t. You have to decide what your priorities are and decide if you truly want to travel full-time or if it is the thought of traveling you love.  

I am fairly certain it wasn’t a residency I craved but the thought of a residency that enthralled me.

Traveling, however, is something I wanted to do for a long, long time.

The view from our backdoor.

I recall the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college when I was working for Dad at the dog food factory. I was miserable. I had never been one to test the waters with my parents, but being home after a year on my own was…difficult.  I was counting down the days to return to school but also dreamed of taking my college savings, buying a van and just taking off for parts unknown.

But life has a way of evening itself out. 

I discovered I could still love my parents while living my life my way, and I really did NOT have to please them. Despite their warnings that King and I were pretty young to get married while still in college, we stubbornly continued with our determination to do exactly that.

We married when I was a sophomore and he was a junior. King graduated the following year. I earned my degree following the eight-year plan. In fact our last child was born three months after I graduated. We got jobs.  We watched countless soccer and little league games. We attended parent-teacher conferences.  We sat in emergency rooms waiting for stitches.  I hauled horses across the state to horse shows.  We dealt with rebellious teens. I cried at high school, U.S. Navy and college graduations. We both cried when we sent our daughter off to parts unknown after boot camp.  We cried at weddings.  We said final goodbyes to our parents and a sibling.  And then we retired.

There was a whole lot of living between our wedding in 1976 and our pulling out of the driveway for a final time with our travel trailer in tow in 2018. Life, once again, is being done our way.

We never were what one might call frugal. Oh we certainly live frugally, but most of the time it is out of necessity. We still fly by the seat of our pants and deal with catastrophes as they happen – much as we have most of our lives. And I think it takes a kind of “come what may” attitude that has helped us make the decision to live a nomadic lifestyle.

If you study blogs and websites about life on the road, money is always a concern. Young people look for ways to earn a living while traveling. Retirees solemnly warn of dire consequences of not having a healthy nest egg.  Our nest egg is large enough for one of us to have the blue-plate special.

While on our travels we’ve come across many other retirees who travel as we do. Or, I should say, they sort of travel as we do. Our 23-foot, 38-year-old travel trailer pales by comparison to their fully equipped, ultra modern, really fancy homes. I like my travel trailer. It’s paid for, and it wasn’t financed. We have done some repairs and have more to do before we head back to Michigan for the summer, but that’s the way of it. 

Several years ago I ran into a friend who told me they sold their smaller trailer for a larger one because it was “difficult to live four months of the year in something so small.”

Small? Oh honey.

 I don’t have what one might call a “full” kitchen.  My refrigerator is the size of a dorm refrigerator. My living room is also my dining room. My bathroom is smaller than a broom closet. In fact, I believe there are many walk-in-closest that are larger than the 184 square feet King and me share with our dog.

Sunrise over Lake Jennings

But this morning I watched the sunrise over the mountains and reflect off the lake. Yesterday we drove from the desert to mountains covered in snow. (And got out and took photos of the snow because being from Michigan, snow is such a novelty – not). Last night we walked a trail that ran along the lake and I gathered a few white sage leaves to burn in an incense burner. Many days are the same. Many are not.

In a few months we will hitch up the trailer and head east. Meandering through deserts and (if we take a really, really southern route) driving along the gulf coast. We have no plans, just a target date of returning to Michigan to finally get a title transfer (that pesky pandemic) at an end-of-April appointment made six months ago.

Is this for everyone? 

Absolutely not. It takes work and a commitment to remain friends with an individual you occasionally want to castrate. 

Thinking about doing the full-time travel gig?

A few things to consider if you are a couple: Can you hitch a trailer without wanting to kill one another? Can you forgive your partner for things that were said while backing the trailer? Can you immediately forget what was said while hitching or backing said trailer? Can you spend 24/7 with your partner? Can you hitch and back alone if forgetting unkind words is a little difficult for a few hours?

Can you calmly say, “Your exit is on the right in 10 miles. It’s still on the right, in six miles. Still on the right – two miles. The lanes are clear. You can get over now.  That was your exit. Do you want to find a way to turn around or should I find another route? I know it’s four hours out of the way. We missed the exit, remember?”

Reality is, it is fun. Reality is, it is a lot of work.

We are living the dream. 

Flowers of spring

 It’s the start of another quiet week.

King and I are back at the trailer while the boys are at their father’s for the week.

The good news is the “shelter-in-place” order has been lifted for San Diego County. The selfish news is that means the campground is filling up. We prefer solitude. The interesting news is we are still the oldest RV/trailer in the campground.

There was considerable excitement at our daughter’s apartment this past week. The butterfly habitat they boys received as a Christmas gift saw some activity. The butterflies started emerging from the chrysalis, which they  had formed sometime after the holiday.  Our daughter said she was quite relieved it happened on her watch and that the insects will be heading back to the boy’s father’s house so he can decide when to release them. The days can be warm, but the nights still dip into the mid-30s. It’s a heat-wave for King and me, but not so much for native Californians – butterflies among them.

We’ve had another wet week. Every time it rains I ask my daughter if the state is preparing for another “Super Bloom” – a time when the conditions are just right for the California deserts to become alive with color. She laughs at me (The nerve) and tells me over and over that a little rain does not mean the deserts will bloom. I know. But hope springs eternal.

Wildflowers at the Blair Valley Campground
in the Anza Borrego Desert State Park
near Borrego Springs, California.

According to the Death Valley website a deep soaking, gentle rain is essential for a desert floral display. A rainstorm of a half-inch or more is needed to wash the protective coating off the wildflower seeds to allow them to sprout. Then the rain must come at evenly spaced intervals throughout the winter and spring.  The best blooms are triggered by an early, winter-type rainstorm in September or October, followed by an El Nino weather pattern that brings above average rainfall to the desert.  That didn’t happen this year.

A few years ago King and I visited Joshua Tree National Park at the very end of the blooming season. It was not a “Super Bloom,” but it was impressive. I was struck by the number of cars lining the highway with people stopped to take photos. It reminded me of tourists taking photos of the

Blair Valley Campground flowers

tulips in Holland, Michigan.  

I have not been to Holland during Tulip Time since 2015. My sisters and I met there after work one evening to watch the Dutch Dancers and to have an Elephant Ear. I probably have photos of that day somewhere in my haphazard storage of photos but I just spent most of the morning looking for the desert flower photos. I’m not going hunting again.

Speaking of Tulip Time, I just checked the Tulip Time website to see if the event was going to happen this year.  (Alma, Michigan has canceled their Highland Festival already this year). Today is the last day of January and the Tulip Time website says they hope to announce festival events in January. There are none listed. I’m guessing it’s a no. I honestly don’t think I will attend large events for a least a year anyway.  I don’t live in fear, but I am claustrophobic. The thought of not being able to breathe does bother me a little.

Tulip Time does bring back some memories.

Besides growing up in Hamilton, being a band member and marching in every Tulip Time parade from seventh grade through my senior year in high school, I also worked for the Holland Sentinel for two years during Tulip Time. Working downtown Holland during the Festival means arriving early in the morning to find a parking space and either staying in the office all day (rather difficult for a reporter to do) or planning on walking several blocks to work after going out on assignment.

A co-worker came back from lunch one day and heaved a huge sigh. “I had my lunch in Centennial Park,” he said. “I met a senior citizen who was in Holland on a bus tour. She said she was traveling alone and didn’t know anyone on the tour. They stopped to take photos and when she turned to get back on the bus, she wasn’t sure which tour she belonged to. She winked at me and said, ‘We all look alike you know.’”

I asked him what he did. He said he had already eaten most of his lunch, so he shared his banana with her and took her to the Tulip Time headquarters as she wasn’t sure of which hotel her group was staying.

It’s funny… except I’m now a senior citizen too.

 

DK Update: Our new companion is rounding the corner. He now wags his tail more (even in his sleep) and has figured out how to beg for food. His spine is now less pronounced and I can count just three ribs rather than four.  I now get up with him twice a night for potty breaks rather than four to six times. I still nap when I can… just in case.

We host a sleep-over

 It’s been a quiet week.

Our grandsons were spending the week with their father so the grandparent babysitters were not needed. King and I spent the week at the trailer. I love all our grandchildren dearly, but there is a reason young people have children. At our age it takes a week to recover from the busyness of everyday kid-type activity.

But Friday we were back at it and the boys don’t disappoint when it comes to being entertained and entertaining us in return.

Saturday King decided it would be a good idea to bring the boys back to the campground for a sleep-over.

Best laid plans … It rained all day. Being from Michigan rain is an inconvenience, necessary to be sure, but an inconvenience nonetheless. But the boys were amazed.

Torrential rains do have some rewards

They were amazed by the torrents of rain coming down in sheets. (It truly does not rain much in southern California so it WAS a bit unusual). They were amazed by the sound of the rain hitting the metal roof of the trailer. They were amazed by the rivers of rain that ran across the campsite.  And they especially enjoyed watching the rain cascade down the INSIDE of the window in the front of the trailer. (Oh, the joys of owning a 38-year-old trailer).

We made donuts and frosted them with canned frosting and added sprinkles. They played on their Kindle tablets and I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to them. Saturday evening the rain let up so they donned rubber boots and winter jackets (Fifty degrees does not seem cold to me).  We marched through puddles and watched the hippogriffs circling the mountains in the distance.  Declan said there was a King of Hippogriffs living on one of the highest peaks and he and the king were friends.

As is our tradition when we babysit in the evening we have a party, which means we have popcorn and hot chocolate before bedtime. We had our party and watched a little of Star Wars, Return of the Jedi and then called it a night.

Sunday morning we explored the campground a little more. The boys were disappointed the rivers of water and puddles were gone. The campground is built on the side of a hill/mountain and since the state of California is under a shelter-in-place order only those campers with existing reservations are allowed in the campground. I think there are maybe a dozen of us in a campground with about 96 campsites. There are several tent sites perched precariously on the edge of steep hills and the boys took great joy in finding rocks and tossing them over the edge. That is until Declan picked up an unusually shaped rock and asked me what it was. I had to tell him it was coyote poop. The poor kid was mortified.  It didn’t help that Poppa and his brother teased him unmercifully. Declan is a lot like me. I hate to be teased. I see no humor in it.

Tonight it is just King, DK and me back at the trailer. It is really quiet, except for the playoffs. King is watching the Kansas City/Buffalo game.  
That seems to be the way of it. Crazy, noisy busyness and then (sigh) back to the two old farts hanging out together.

Tomorrow is the first full-week of school for the boys since last March. I think they are excited to be back to full-time.  

DK  update: The poor dog got incredibly sick for a few days. I called the vet again and told him the only thing the miracle drugs we were giving him were proving was it was a miracle the dog didn’t die.  He updated the meds and DK is doing much better.  He still lists to the left when he walks, and probably always will. But he is finally starting to wag his tail more often and actually seeks us out for an occasional scratch behind the ears. The neighbor commented this evening that he finally had a little pep in his step, as if on cue, DK fell over.

Oh well. Two steps forward, one back. I’ll take it.

 

We have one sick little doggy

Things are not going well for DK. 

We knew when we adopted him he had “some weakness” in his hindquarters. After just one week of living with us it became more pronounced and it was obvious it was far more than “some weakness.”

Poor DK walks sideways, falls down often and has a very difficult time not falling over into his own poop when relieving himself. (I tried to find a polite way to word that, but I could not).

 I also knew he had an ear infection or ear mites or both. It’s hard to mistake the awful smell and constant head shaking for anything else.

So once again I played Russian roulette and looked for a veterinarian online. It’s hard to choose a veterinarian when you don’t know anyone in the area to ask opinions. Then again,  I suppose it’s no different than selecting a veterinarian by word of mouth. Some people have good things to say, others have negative things to say. It’s a crap shoot to know who to believe.

I found a vet in Lakeside, California through Yelp and called to make an appointment. The clinic had mostly good reviews. We brought DK in yesterday (Saturday).

Without running extensive tests it’s difficult to know exactly what is wrong with DK. We know from ex-rays done by the rescuer’s vet that he does, indeed, have “some” hip dysplasia.  We have results from blood tests done by that same clinic as well – all are within normal ranges.

According to Doctor Google (online searching for those who don’t get the reference) DK has all the signs of degenerative myelopathy. (It’s similar to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis – Lou Gehrig’s disease). Those same symptoms can also be signs of a weak hip and an ear infection. Doctor Google tends to be rather pessimistic.

Truth is, diagnosing degenerative myelopathy is mostly a process of elimination, although I believe there may be a spinal test for it. Regardless of whether he has DM or dysplasia -- neither one is curable. The veterinarian at the clinic suggested we treat the ear infection, give him pain meds for joint discomfort and inflammation and add glucosamine to his regimen.  She checked his spine and found no abnormalities (a good sign).

We were also given some suggestions on how to add a little weight to his emaciated body without adding too much strain on joints. His spine juts out from his back. It’s probably from years of living on the streets and (literally) eating garbage.

DK will be with us for as long as possible. Hopefully it is nothing more than weak and sore joints.

So that is where we are with our new companion. After the vet tech cleaned his ears (he said it was gross) DK seemed to feel a little better, but he still walks like crap. Oh, we think we see a little improvement but one can never be sure if we are seeing improvement or if it is wishful thinking.

King and I decided we could live with a handicapped dog and when the time comes, hopefully we will be in Michigan and can use our own vet.

It’s a pragmatic solution. And it’s easy to be stoic about it now because for now we are doing what we should.

We added to our household

After we put Cindy Lou down, I swore no more dogs for a while. A long while.

And then King suggested I check to see what is available on the Adopt-a-pet website. So I did. There are a lot. In fact, there are thousands in the San Diego area alone.

A few days after King made his request he said to me, “So did you find anything?”

I feigned innocence.

“Oh. You mean you wanted me to send you their links?”

I received an eye-roll in response.

So I sent him links to about eight or nine dogs. I had some criteria. They could not be an aggressive breed dog and they had to be good with children and other dogs.

Now before I get jumped on for insinuating there are aggressive breed dogs, let me clarify… I know it really depends upon a dog’s situation. However, there are campgrounds that have lists of dogs they do not allow. Not my call, but theirs. King and I have a difficult enough time finding campgrounds that will accept a 38-year-old trailer we don’t need more strikes against us. We can’t always camp in the boondocks. An occasional foray into civilization is a necessary respite.

The first link I sent King was of a yellow-ish, lab-ish looking dog.  He had soulful eyes and his description said he had a rough life. That is a bit of an understatement.

After being rescued from the streets of Tijuana he had undergone surgery to have a huge hernia removed from his abdomen and additional surgery on his ear canals to alleviate some deafness.  His name was Arnold.

“That’s the one,” King said.

So I made the necessary inquiries, filled out the necessary forms and had a telephone interview. Turns out in addition to having the aforementioned health issues, Arnold has “slight” hip dysplasia. Several people have looked at him and decided not to adopt because he is so weak in the rear end. Undeterred by this information, we drove to Carlsbad to meet Arnold last Thursday.

First impressions were not the best. He is skinny. Oh so skinny. And because of his “slight” hip dysplasia, he walks crooked -- his backend literally follows his front at a 20 degree angle. His coat is dull. He has scars on his face. (We hope, for his sake, it is from life on the streets and he wasn’t used for some other nefarious activity).

He also has soulful eyes that tell you he’s tired and just needs to be loved.  We took him home. 

 And just like that he became our new traveling companion.

Since King and I have not had Spanish since high school we decided renaming Arnold would not be that bad. (I’m not really sure he can hear us anyway). So we named him D.K. after our twin grandsons who were acutely aware of the passing of Cindy Lou.

D.K. is slowly acclimating to life with us. There is no way he could ever get into the truck by himself, but he’s easy enough to lift. Right now he spends a lot of time sleeping. He’s been through a lot. But King and I are slowing down as well. So it’s a good fit.

He loves to be scratched behind his ears. He has discovered sleeping in a human bed is preferable to sleeping in a doggie bed on the floor. His tail wags are getting more frequent. We go slowly. We don’t push. I bought some dog treats so someday I can teach him English and he will learn to sit.

I don’t believe we will ever have a problem with him jumping on people or stealing food from the counter. He’s pretty slow. In fact, King and the woman from the organization we adopted him from debated having him micro-chipped, since it’s clear he won’t or can’t run.  But then again, he’s not feeling 100 percent … so who knows.  I insisted he be chipped.

He’s accepted our grandsons and I have no doubt he will love the grandchildren in Michigan.

I’ve been in touch with the gentleman who rescued him in Tijuana. Apparently he does a lot of rescuing of street dogs there.  Arnold/D.K. holds a special place in his heart. We will keep him updated on his new life with us.

It’s remarkable how a skinny street dog can bring people together.

 

 

Creating a happy new year

Happy New Year!

For many 2020 was not the best of years. I’ll be honest, I’ve had worse.  But I’m not certain if the “worse” years were because they truly were worse or if it’s because I’ve learned attitude has a lot to do with perception of “good years” and “bad years.” It’s a concept I can’t help people understand because it’s something one has to figure out for themselves. 

A couple of days before the New Year, King 
and I took the boys to our campground to spend the
night. We explored the lakeshore, made s'mores
at the campfire and ate popcorn. Good times
I hope the boys remember for years to come.

We make our own reality and our own good memories.

 January 1^st is more than a day for looking forward into the coming year; it’s also a good time to remember the past.

New Year’s Day was my older sister’s birthday, so in addition to celebrating the New Year, we also celebrated her birthday. Family friends from Chicago drove to Michigan for the holiday and the days leading up to the holiday were spent, sledding, ice skating, going to the movies in Holland and ringing in the New Year.

Mom, as usual, pulled out all the stops. She and Dad would drive to Holland to shop at the A & P for party foods that were not available at the local grocery store.  At the time, Heath Township was a dry township so it also meant buying Galliano for Golden Cadillacs – the drink of choice for the women (who were of age, of course) to ring in the New Year.

In later years, the holiday meant driving to my parents with our children in tow and spending the evening ringing in the New Year with a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit. It was always “Men against Woman,” and the women had the distinct advantage of having my older sister on our team – she would memorize the cards in her spare time.  By this time Mom had switched from Golden Cadillacs to Bourbon Slush, a drink that could knock you on your backside from heartburn in a heartbeat. That burning sensation was a built-in deterrent from over indulging.

Our children grew and moved on, celebrating the New Year in less sedate ways. Our last family gathering for the New Year was at my sister’s home in 2000. By that time it was just Mom, Dad, my older sister, my younger sister and her young children, our granddaughters, King and me. This celebration was spent waiting to see if the world would end as clocks rolled over from 1999 to 2000. Unless this is all an illusion, it did not.

This past New Year’s Eve found King and me babysitting our grandsons while our daughter went to some friends’ home for a quiet socially distanced gathering. I fixed the boys whatever they wanted for dinner, we had ice cream (a huge no-no in their home), ate popcorn and I read several chapters of Harry Potter and the Soccer’s Stone to them before bedtime. (I told them we would try to finish the book before Poppa and I left for Michigan in the spring). 

I am going to say I made it to midnight… if you want to count it being midnight on the east coast when I finally called it a night.

No matter how you celebrated, my wish for the world for 2021 is health, happiness and peace.