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.