Our last hurrah

Today is Tuesday. Normally I would have written my blog on Sunday evening, but Sunday found us babysitting while our daughter worked. We got home late and went straight to bed.  Yesterday we (our daughter, King and I) took the boys to Legoland. It wasn’t a late night but we got to the park when it opened and left when it closed at 5:30. When the King and I got home we went straight to bed, not even stopping long enough to eat dinner. Sweet exhaustion.  I recall the last time my father went downhill skiing.  He was 82 and made three or four runs, came home and slept for two days.  I understand the feeling.

Yesterday was the longest Petra has been away from us since we adopted her in September. She is now glued to my side. She’s telling me in her doggy way, “You will not be absent from me again.” I think she likes us.

Yesterday was also the first time the boys felt confident enough to try the roller coasters. It was also the first time they were tall enough to ride on all the rides.  And I believe they did just that – rode ALL the rides.

Legoland, for the uninformed, is geared for younger guests. There are no death-defying, spin you on your ear, 500-foot drops, or no cork-screw turns that hang you by your legs. The roller coasters are geared for the younger crowd.  It’s a stepping-stone for their teen years. And speaking of teens, because of the age of most of the guests there were lots and lots of families (even for a Monday) but, there were no meandering hoards of teens, filled with angst over who was riding with who.  (Or is it whom)?

King does not do roller coasters. It’s a motion sickness thing. But he does love to play the games and win enormous stuffed animals. Our daughter inherited that trait. The boys came home with two huge stuffed husky-looking dogs. There is now officially no room in their beds for humans to sleep. Our daughter says they will have to get rid of a few “stuffies”  … eventually. I doubt it will happen.

Room additions

This is our last week in California. We will watch one last little-league game tonight, have one last ice cream sundae party on Thursday night and then head out Friday morning for Michigan. Our goal is to be back in Michigan in time for an Elton John concert in April. My sister and I are going.  We have both been fans since we suffered from our own teen angst.

On our way back we will be stopping in Quartzite, Arizona to collect more rocks for polishing. I have four sets of grandchildren (at least one from each family) who I’ve turned into rock hounds. To be fair, I think our youngest son’s children may have had help from their mother in the rock-hound regard. (They are also exceptional at finding beach glass).  

Heading back in the spring is always bittersweet, but then again, so is leaving Michigan in the fall. We do what we do and find enjoyment in everything.  I’ve learned contentment is all a matter of perspective.  But that’s a story for another day.

In the meantime, stay safe, play nice and don’t kick sand in the sandbox.

Time to think about traveling back to Michigan

Sunday afternoon on the road isn’t really any different from Sunday afternoon living in a brick and mortar home.

King is watching golf on TV, the dog is sleeping on the sofa next to me, the windows are open and a breeze is blowing in keeping things cool. Life is good.

The boys spent last night with us for one last campout before we leave in two weeks. Where we will be staying from March 17^th to March 21^st is currently in a state of flux. I think King and I will be storing the trailer at a friend’s storage space while she is out of town. King and I will stay at her home while roofers come and replace her roof – for the second time in a year. It’s a long story, suffice it to say King will be playing the “bad guy” and making sure it’s done correctly this time. Black mold, leaky walls and ceilings and replacing flooring does not make homeowners or insurance companies happy. 

We will be pulling out of our final campground on March 25^th and meandering our way back to Michigan for the summer.   On our way out here last fall we had a mishap with our trailer plug and King had to make emergency repairs somewhere in New Mexico.  Everything works, but apparently the battery was not connected, meaning without an electric hookup (shore power) we have no water pump in the trailer. I can easily boondock without lights. In fact, we have many times. I’m not so keen on hauling water, (which I have also done many times). Our setup is fairly basic compared to many other full-time travelers but at my more mature age I’d really rather not go without water.  So on our way home we will be looking for campgrounds with a few amenities. 

According to a few Facebook posts I’ve read, since I drive a gas-guzzling truck I (apparently) am not allowed to complain about the price of gas. Suffice it to say, we figure it will cost about $300 a day in gas, and  coupled with paying for less remote camping – we think we will be coasting in to Michigan on fumes.  It’s all part of the things one has to consider when opting for a bohemian lifestyle.

And, not to be political, I’ve never been able to figure out how people correlate the price of gas with the White House occupant – whatever the party. You can comment all you want. I’m not going to engage on that one.

Quartz found in 
New Mexico. I
actually crocheted
the chain using 
32 gauge wire.

In the meantime I’m reading about two books a week on my Kindle and playing around with the quartz stones the boys and I tumbled over the past month.  I’ve mounted them on jewelry findings and turned them into sun catchers. I suppose I could turn them into necklaces but I haven’t for two reasons: 1) I don’t like weight around my neck – that’s any type of weight; and 2) If I turn them into sun catchers I can hang all of them in the window at once and don’t have to decide which one I like best.

Stay safe. Be nice. Play well with others.

Random thoughts on a Sunday Afternoon

It’s Sunday, March 6, 2022. In 19 days we will be packing up one last time and heading back to Michigan.

Michigan in April is a tease. There is the promise of spring with the threat of one last snowstorm.  I’m not sure how I feel about it all.

We had some warm weather here last week and then a cold front came in and it turned rainy and cooler. I won’t say cold because anything above 50 in March to this Midwesterner is warm.

Yesterday we attended the boys’ baseball game and I layered a long-sleeve shirt with a short-sleeved jacket covered by a windbreaker. I was toasty. Our daughter, who has lived in Hawaii and/or California since 2008, was wearing an extra sweatshirt with the hood pulled tight around her face and wrapped herself up in a blanket.  Her teeth were chattering. Our friend was wearing warm clothes plus a knit hat and scarf. She leaves later this week for a six week assignment in Detroit.  There is no way to explain the wet, wind, cold and blooming dog poop (which appears in the melting snow) to someone who has never experienced it.

We are staying at Sweetwater Summit Regional Park for the next two weeks.  Campers are packed in and I find I don’t really like to be around people much. The people next to us allow their dog to wander into our campsite to relieve herself after dark. Unfortunately if the poor hapless animal should wander in during the day Petra would make short work of her. Petra loves people but is extremely dog aggressive. It’s a downside for our sweet rescue.  It would not be an issue if others were responsible pet owners.  I can’t tell you the number of times I hear, “Don’t worry my dog is friendly,” to which I reply, “Gosh, you are so lucky. Mine hates other dogs.”

So as Sunday morning marches into Sunday afternoon, I’m watching with detached interest as  trailers stream past ours in an organized exit. Campers have another two hours before checkout time, so it will be interesting to see how many campers were here for just the weekend. I suspect the neighbors are here for another week.  Watching all this is a reminder that this is the ebb and flow of our nomadic lifestyle.

But it’s been a quiet winter.  We’ve been on Grandma and Poppa duty every other week, so on the weeks we are off-duty we spend quiet days at the trailer. I’ve read a lot -- sometimes as many as three books a week on my Kindle. Yes, I have a Kindle. Regular books are far too heavy and take up too much space to keep in the trailer, and with Kindle Unlimited I can read as much as I like for $10 a month.  I’ve also been doing some wood burning projects, weaving on my small (hand-held) loom and

Tumbled rocks gathered in 
New Mexico

making sun catchers out of the rocks the boys and I polished in the rock tumbler we got them for Christmas. I’m trying to teach myself how to make wire wrapped pendants. Either I’m too particular or it’s not going well. 

Tomorrow we start Grandma and Poppa daycare again, and Tuesday is another baseball game… I think there is a trip to Legoland in the making before we leave. The theme park is less than five miles from our daughter’s apartment.

And so it goes. Another winter winds down.

The logic of camping

One of the things that one has to consider when living a nomadic lifestyle is finding a place to stay long-term. We have our summer months covered thanks to Kal Haven Outpost campground – as we can stay for the entire season. But I have to wonder, if they were open year-round what would our options be?

Here in California, due to the age of our trailer, we have found just one “long-term” campground where we can stay. And that long-term is 90 days.  Ok, I will confess, cost is another consideration. This season we paid $980 a month for our site. We’ve already been told the price will go up next season. I know as far as “rent” goes that’s pretty reasonable, but our first apartment was $165 a month (including heat, electric and cable). I guess I’m stuck in 1975

Lake Jennings

Long story short, in three days we will be moving to another campground (Sweetwater Summit) with a  14 day limit.  Our plan was to stay at Sweetwater for 14 days, and then finish out our stay at this campground (Lake Jennings). And here is where the convoluted conundrum comes into play. We can stay at Lake Jennings once in a 14 day period. The two weeks at Sweetwater ends three days before our 14-day ban expires.  If we were not doing babysitting duty, we’d just move to another location. That’s not possible. I found another campground where we could stay for four nights and then return to Lake Jennings. I told King our options -- traveling to Joshua Tree for a weekend was one;  staying at several of our other favorite remote locations was another; and making a reservation at this new campground was the third option. I stressed to him campgrounds fill quickly in the spring months so he needed to decide rather quickly. King spent a few days deciding and then said to make a reservation at the other campground for four nights. By that time there was one camp site left. A slow internet connection had me missing the reservation by six minutes.

I tried to explain all this to King, but I think a white board, calendar and flow chart would have been a better option than resorting to glaring at him over the campfire.  To be fair, if it weren’t for making reservations and being denied I would not be able to follow campground logic either.

I have probably mentioned before that many campgrounds limit the age of trailers to 10 years or newer. Ours will turn 40 next year. I’ve looked at newer trailers but the payments on this one ($0) remains rather enticing.  

At any rate we will be doing some remote camping for four days. I rather like the solitude.

So… on the everyday, mundane home front, we are entering into baseball season in California. The boys had a scrimmage Saturday. The season starts early, takes a break for summer, and resumes in the fall. Yesterday the boys’ team, the Giants, played Detroit.  It was nice to see the familiar “D” on the other team’s uniform. It was a long, drawn-out affair in what locals considered “chilly” weather. (About 65 degrees I guess). I couldn’t tell you who won. 

When we return to Michigan we will have missed all the school concerts and school plays. Hopefully we will be able to catch some soccer games. I’m fairly certain I will need to dig out our winter coats, wool hats, mittens and hand warmers to watch the games. Spring soccer in Michigan is a little more than “chilly.”

We also have a new great-granddaughter to spoil after we cross the “Pure Michigan” sign on I-94.

Our lives, despite not being what is considered conventional, are fairly normal. It’s a sharp contrast to the mothers, fathers, grandmas, grandpas and grandchildren in Ukraine.  Thinking of them and hoping the petulant child running Russia gets a sound spanking before he can inflict any more pain and suffering.

Gorilla on the Mountain

 
In my previous life (before retirement) I used to talk to a lot of people. I could strike up a conversation with a total stranger and was always up for learning a little something.

The gorilla is to the right 
of the house.

When we retired and took to the road, I was certain I would continue to do that, but I’ve found that isn’t the case and I rather like keeping to myself. That’s why yesterday, while watching our grandsons  enjoying the campground playground, I surprised myself by having a conversation with a mother and grandmother who were visiting for the day. One woman was from San Diego and the other from Lakeside – in other words they were locals.

The younger of the women told me about the Gorilla on the Mountain, clearly visible from the playground. I looked, it took me a few minutes but after concentrating there was no mistaking he was there. I can’t NOT see him any longer – and a quick Google search, by the way, confirmed he is a local legend.

Sometimes it pays to converse. We miss a lot when we keep to ourselves.

Yesterday King and I also took the boys out on Lake Jennings in a row boat.  Lake Jennings is a water supply reservoir in San Diego County.  It was created in 1964 to provide water to the local residents in Lakeside, California and is owned and operated by the Helix Water District. There is an onsite water treatment facility on the lake. It is a great fishing spot. The lake is routinely stocked with rainbow trout and lake bass.

We had the option of renting a boat with a motor but King and I thought being able to row along shore and look for eagles, ducks and fish swimming in the shallows would be fun. It wasn’t. Oh, don’t get me

The boys rowed for awhile.

wrong, we had a good time and the lake was great. Our rowing strength and stamina was a little lacking. 

Years ago my younger sister and I would swim across Lake Mill in Gobles, Michigan. One of us would row while the other swam and once we reached shore, we would switch. Back then I was clearly in much better shape than yesterday.

King started with the rowing duties; I took over. He spelled me. We let the boys try. We drifted a lot.  I guided us into the dock. We rented the boat for a half a day. We were on the water about an hour.

Today we brought the boys home, didn’t stay for lunch, came back to the trailer and King is napping. I will be sleeping as well within the hour.

While I was lying in bed last night, trying to find a comfortable position so as not to put too much pressure on my aching arms, I decided I needed to start walking to build up some stamina. I plotted my route in my head, downloaded a walking app, downed four ibuprofen and fell asleep.

Today napping sounds like a better plan.

Just in case you need help... 

 

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.