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.