Art, music and cow udders

Mom always had a penchant
for history.

They say the sense of smell is a strong memory trigger, and they (whoever they are) are probably right. But, I’d have to add that music is as well.

Tonight, in order to drown out a remake of The Creature from the Black Lagoon on TV, I slapped on some headphones and turned on some music. I came across something I had not listened to for years. My music interests are extremely varied and tonight’s selection was by Rick Kuethe from his album Nebraska Suite. It’s not really main stream music.

The music took me back a few years.

I first heard it during the summer of 1988 while on a newspaper assignment in Saugatuck. I was covering an unveiling of an art project at OX Bow School of Arts & Artists.

The school, which is affiliated with the School of the Arts Institute of Chicago, is located on 110 acres on the west side of the Kalamazoo River in Saugatuck. For many years the school was rather closed-off and aloof. I’m sure many there today would take umbrage with that statement, but growing up in the area that’s how I remember it.

It was that time, as a reporter at a local paper, I received a lot of invitations to come visit the school. I believe it was the school’s effort to become more entrenched in the Saugatuck community. Again, that was 35 years ago, I could be remembering it wrong. (But I don’t think so).

I have not been back to Ox Bow since, so I’m sure the school has grown since then, but at the time the main building was the former Riverside Hotel, which dated back to the late 1800s.

The hotel owners, the Striver family, had a home on the property which was built in the mid-1800s and was located on an ox bow bend in the Kalamazoo river. After realizing the potential for trade and tourist traffic, they added onto their home in the 1890s, converting it into a 20-room hotel. In 1907 the Kalamazoo River channel was straighten to flow directly into Lake Michigan, cutting off the Riverside Hotel from river access. The family leased the hotel to a group of artists for the summer season.

Mom was a huge history buff. She and I shared a penchant for history, old buildings and stories of the past. I had been out to the school for a couple of other assignments and told Mom about it. She was intrigued. So when I was invited back to cover the unveiling of the art project I asked Mom if she wanted to join me. She readily accepted.

When the Kalamazoo River was straightened, it left a small ox-box shaped lake behind. It was on this lake that the floating art project was to be unveiled.

I’m guessing a little background on the project is in order. A Western Michigan University professor had been awarded a grant for the project. If I were really interested I could do some digging to find the name of the grant and other pertinent information, but that’s not important for this tale.

When Mom and I arrived at the school, the professor and his student interns were sitting on the shore contemplating how to go about erecting this floating art project.  “Put Kuethe on,” he instructed one of his students. I was sitting in the sand next to the boom box and saw the cassette tape case. The name stuck with me.

The school’s community relations director gave Mom a tour of the old hotel building and then Mom joined me on the beach. Someone offered her a lawn chair and she sat rather stiffly. Someone offered her a glass of wine and she relaxed – a little.

Everyone sat on the shore, slapping mosquitoes, listening to music, drinking wine and contemplating life.

Finally someone suggested they get started before it got too dark to work. Personally I thought it was a good idea since I had to get photos of this floating thing before deadline. I was working, after all. An air compressor was pulled out, large plastic/Mylar/latex orbs were mounted on platforms, helium was pumped into them, lights were floated on more platforms and the entire regalia had to be floated out onto the water. It was then discovered that the bottom of the lake was rather mucky. None of the young co-eds wanted to wade out into the water to anchor the art.

Well crap. I was on deadline. It was getting dark. I handed the camera to Mom and started taking off my shoes.

“You aren’t going out there are you?”

“Mom. I can’t go out on assignment and come back with nothing.”

I tied my skirt up above my knees, grabbed a line and waded in with a few other students. Mom snapped pictures of the process.

Mom had another glass of wine and we left.

As we were driving down the now dark road back to Saugatuck Mom said to me, “You know that looked like a giant floating cow udder, don’t you?”

She was right. But the music and wine were good.  

Different generations

Life is returning to our normal. We left the Fortress of Solitude last weekend and joined the rest of the world.

The boys spent the night with us Saturday night as their mother had to meet some clients in our area on Sunday. They stayed with us overnight and she picked them up when she was finished.

It was good to have activity in the trailer again, but it’s also good now to have a little quiet before we start in again with our Poppa and Grandma Afterschool Daycare for the week.

I had a little grin, probably at their expense, but it was cute nonetheless. One of the boys came out of the bathroom with a bar of soap in his hand, “Grandma. You are out of soap.” Apparently he was trying to lather up without wetting the soap or his hands.  He’s not the first grandchild I’ve had to show how to use a bar of soap. Almost everyone uses liquid soap now I guess. I swing both ways – using both bar soap and liquid soap. I don’t have a favorite. The soap in question happened to be handmade, a gift from the owners of the campground in South Haven.  They sell a lot of Michigan made products in their campground store, Kal Haven Outpost.

The soap episode made me think of the essay my Uncle John wrote about the house he and my mother and their siblings grew up in during the 1920s.  (I included his essay in my book, “Who is that Stranger in the Chair,” the story of my mother’s struggle with dementia). It’s an interesting snippet of life on the farm.  So often we romanticize life in the “olden days,” when everyday living really was a lot of work. We don’t realize how easy things are today. I gripe when I have to pull clothes from the dryer and fold them never thinking about how much work doing laundry was years ago.

Here is an excerpt from the essay, and the book…

‌ ‌Doing‌ ‌the‌ ‌family‌ ‌wash‌ ‌was‌ ‌another‌ ‌story.‌ ‌At‌ ‌the‌ ‌beginning‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌farm‌ ‌this‌ ‌was‌ ‌done‌ ‌every‌ ‌Monday‌ ‌morning,‌ ‌unless‌ ‌the‌ ‌weather‌ ‌was‌ ‌bad,‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌large‌ ‌copper‌ ‌washboiler‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌kitchen‌ ‌stove‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌air‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌kitchen‌ ‌not‌ ‌only‌ ‌overhung‌ ‌with‌ ‌steam‌ ‌but‌ ‌also‌ ‌heavily‌ ‌drenched‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌nostril‌ ‌cleansing‌ ‌pungency‌ ‌of‌ ‌American‌ ‌Family‌ ‌soap‌ ‌or‌ ‌Felsnaptha‌ ‌soap‌ ‌which‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌chipped‌ ‌by‌ ‌knife‌ ‌from‌ ‌a‌ ‌large‌ ‌bar,‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌chipping‌ ‌had‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌done‌ ‌finely‌ ‌so‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌soap‌ ‌could‌ ‌easily‌ ‌melt.‌ ‌Then‌ ‌after‌ ‌the‌ ‌proper‌ ‌amount‌ ‌of‌ ‌boiling,‌ ‌the‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌transferred‌ ‌to‌ ‌a‌ ‌tub‌ ‌and‌ ‌each‌ ‌piece‌ ‌scrubbed‌ ‌by‌ ‌hand‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌washboard,‌ ‌then‌ ‌placed‌ ‌in‌ ‌another‌ ‌tub‌ ‌of‌ ‌clean‌ ‌water‌ ‌for‌ ‌rinsing‌ ‌and‌ ‌finally‌ ‌hung‌ ‌outdoors‌ ‌to‌ ‌dry.‌ ‌In‌ ‌the‌ ‌winter‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌hung‌ ‌outside‌ ‌would‌ ‌soon‌ ‌stiffen‌ ‌into‌ ‌solid‌ ‌forms. ‌ ‌When‌ ‌we‌ ‌became‌ ‌a‌ ‌bit‌ ‌more‌ ‌affluent,‌ ‌after‌ ‌weekly‌ ‌paychecks‌ ‌cane‌ ‌in‌ ‌from‌ ‌children‌ ‌working,‌ ‌we‌ ‌got‌ ‌a‌ ‌washing‌ ‌machine.‌ ‌Now‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌no‌ ‌longer‌ ‌just‌ ‌the‌ ‌mother‌ ‌who‌ ‌did‌ ‌the‌ ‌scrubbing‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌washboard,‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌children‌ ‌who‌ ‌did‌ ‌a‌ ‌lot‌ ‌of‌ ‌this‌ ‌work‌ ‌by‌ ‌taking‌ ‌turns‌ ‌running‌ ‌the‌ ‌hand-operated‌ ‌washing‌ ‌machine,‌ ‌endlessly‌ ‌pushing‌ ‌a‌ ‌handle‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth‌ ‌working‌ ‌a‌ ‌ratchet‌ ‌that‌ ‌swished‌ ‌the‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth‌ ‌inside‌ ‌the‌ ‌tub‌ ‌by‌ ‌means‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌sort‌ ‌of‌ ‌short-legged‌ ‌three‌ ‌pronged‌ ‌stool.‌ ‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌maddeningly‌ ‌boring‌ ‌work.‌ ‌But‌ ‌it‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌determined‌ ‌in‌ ‌advance‌ ‌what‌ ‌the‌ ‌minimum‌ ‌number‌ ‌of‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth‌ ‌strokes‌ ‌were‌ ‌to‌ ‌complete‌ ‌this‌ ‌"wash-cycle"‌ ‌so‌ ‌there‌ ‌was‌ ‌at‌ ‌least‌ ‌a‌ ‌goal‌ ‌to‌ ‌work‌ ‌for,‌ ‌or‌ ‌rather‌ ‌"pump"‌ ‌for.‌ ‌What‌ ‌a‌ ‌revolution‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌when‌ ‌electricity‌ ‌came‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌farm!‌ ‌Even‌ ‌the‌ ‌family‌ ‌washing‌ ‌routine‌ ‌was‌ ‌affected.‌ ‌Now‌ ‌by‌ ‌means‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌belt‌ ‌and‌ ‌a‌ ‌small‌ ‌electric‌ ‌motor,‌ ‌all‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌needed‌ ‌was‌ ‌the‌ ‌press‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌switch.‌ ‌Of‌ ‌course,‌ ‌the‌ ‌water‌ ‌still‌ ‌had‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌heated,‌ ‌the‌ ‌soap‌ ‌shaved,‌ ‌the‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌rinsed‌ ‌and‌ ‌then‌ ‌taken‌ ‌outdoors‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌line‌ ‌to‌ ‌dry,‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌"work,” the‌ ‌real ‌work‌ ‌(so‌ ‌we‌ ‌kids‌ ‌thought)‌ ‌was‌ ‌now‌ ‌done‌ ‌without‌ ‌human‌ ‌muscle-power.‌ 

 

Mom was the youngest of nine children. I can’t imagine the work Grandma did everyday just to cook, clean, keep house, have babies and take care of the family. In later years she and Mom also tended a market garden and traveled to the farmers’ market on Fulton Street in Grand Rapids twice a week.

It makes one pause to consider how much things have changed in 100 years.

May your troubles be less and your blessings be more and may nothing but happiness come through your door. – An Irish blessing

My book is self-published and is available on Amazon. 

Contentment comes in many forms

Lake Jennings, California

It’s been another quiet week.

Our grandsons are with their father and King is laid up with a mild case of shingles. I had my two-dose singles vaccine before we left Michigan this past fall. While King is not opposed to vaccines, a two-dose regimen does cut in to golf time, so he opted to wait. Now he is told he will have to wait a year to get a shingles vaccine and in the meantime is suffering through the pain. Shingles do hurt. 

I checked with my doctor in Michigan, and I am pretty safe as long as I take precautions while applying calamine lotion to his back. The boys are safe as well because they have received chicken pox vaccines.

My doctor did tell me King does not need to quarantine from me – unless I feel it’s necessary for my own sanity. I really like her. I’m sure she is well aware of how grumpy stoic men can be.

In the meantime life goes on. Last week we had the opportunity to visit our favorite California mechanic when the brakes and a wheel bearing went out on the truck. King and I were quite surprised as it went with no warning. No squealing brakes, no rattling wheel bearing until suddenly it was bad. We both suspect it had been going on a long time and we simply did not HEAR it. In a word, aging sucks.

We have two favorite mechanics, one in Lakeside, California and the other in Bangor, Michigan. Both are straightforward and affordable. In fact, since the guy in Lakeside got us in immediately, and worked on the truck around his already busy schedule, King tried to pay him more. He refused.

Of course even with cheap repairs we are now left with the option of eating macaroni and cheese until our next check or yelling “CHARGE IT” when we go grocery shopping. It’s always been how we roll and I’m sure it’s one of the reasons the decision to live this rather bohemian lifestyle wasn’t difficult.

Not everyone is comfortable living this way. I guess I get their reticence. But not really, or not fully; it’s probably the same as those can’t understand how we are comfortable living with a meager savings and no real plans for when we are no longer able to do this. We will figure it out when it comes time to do it. Some might say it’s irresponsible. But, we are content with what we are doing.

Suffice it to say that contentment comes in many forms. This morning, for example, King and I worked together to unclog the black tank (never a pleasant task) and then King watched old TV westerns and napped (he really doesn’t feel that great). But now he’s outside puttering. Our campsite is in the high desert. It’s all dirt. King spends a good hour every day raking the site. Picture carpeting being vacuumed with all the nap going one way – that’s what our campsite looks like.

I’m not all that into TV Westerns so while Barbara Stanwyck was making a guest appearance on Rawhide, I hauled out our printer and my laptop and printed out a bunch of patterns for wood burning projects. I’m on a wood burning coaster kick. I think my kids will all be getting a set of coasters for Christmas next December -- if I can find the finished project in 11 months. It’s difficult to lose things in a 182 square foot living space, but I somehow manage.

My point is, it’s not exciting. It’s not adventuresome. It’s just doing the things we enjoy and being content with what we are doing. It’s an enjoyable way to live.

May your troubles be less and your blessings be more and may nothing but happiness come through your door. – An Irish blessing

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.