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-Gramps-

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  1. -Gramps-

    No Power

    By -Gramps-,

    The house was empty. Well, not quite. The rooms were full of memories and anger, my anger. I was mad at all the people who were jerking us around, and at God who was allowing them to do so.  No Power (Buyers From Perdition Part 2)

     
  2. -Gramps-
    Lenses:
    To quote Sony.com “Every Lens tells a story!”
    That is not true. Not completely anyway. A lens does no good unless it is attached to a camera, and the camera is only as good as the eye looking through it.
    Then again it is true if you remember that an eye is also a lens; a lens attached to a photographer.
    It is up to the photographer to tell the story.

    It can be a story about love, or friendship, history, the beauty of nature. It can be sensual.
    A lens is a tool to make that story visible.
    I want to remind you that if you are using an APS-C sensor camera the focal length of any compatible lens is based on the 35mm film and APS full frame equivalent times the crop factor of 1.6.
    http://community.fmca.com/blog/62/entry-1382-depth-of-field/
    Lesson two.

    There are three basic types of lenses:
    Fixed focal length; which includes wide, fisheye, normal or prime, and telephoto lenses.
    Zooms, which can also be wide or telephoto or a combination of both.
    Macros, which are also known as, close up lenses. These are also fixed focal length lenses. Any zoom that claims to be a macro lens, well it isn’t.
    Fixed focal lengths come in various lengths and f-stop configurations. First is the normal lens. The term “normal” refers to the angle of view that the human eye sees when looking straight ahead. This normal angle of view is pretty close to a full frame 50mm lens. When using an APC-C camera normal would be approximately 35mm. (35 times 1.6 equals 56). I mentioned 35mm because that is a very popular focal length. A 30mm lens is also available from some manufacturers.
    If the normal angle of view of the human eye (which is a lens) is equivalent to a full frame 50mm lens, than any lens with a greater angle of view is a wide lens and any lens with less is a long lens. Once again depending on the sensor, a normal or prime lens, as some call it, can be 28 to 50mm in length. A fast normal lens with a large aperture of f-2.8 or more makes a great lens for shooting pictures in low light. I own a 35mm f-1.8 lens.

    A 50mm lens when used with an APS-C camera makes a really good portrait lens. A 50mm prime lens can bring a person close enough for a head and shoulders shot without standing on top of them. If you set the f-stop at 3.5 or lower you will create a nice bokeh effect. Bokeh is the blurred image behind your subject. My 50mm f-2.8 Macro prime lens creates a very pleasant bokeh which I take advantage of for both portrait and close up nature shots.
    A wide angle lens pulls into the frame and focuses what a human sees with their peripheral vision. Wide angle lenses have a very wide depth of field, meaning that the foreground and the background will be in focus at just about any f-stop setting of the lens. Wide angle lenses have the ability to make an object or person that is close to you look farther away than it really is. Ultra wide angles, such as a 12mm fish eye lens, which can have a 180 degree angle of view, will also distort what you are looking at. This is the peep-hole effect and depending on the lens and sensor size, it can be very pronounced.

    I enjoy using a wide angle lens for landscape and scenic photography. I can capture all of a waterfall or a stream, a big wide sunset over the Grand Canyon. I am not a fan of fish eye lenses for a couple of reasons, one; I don’t like the extreme distortion, and two; a good fisheye lens cost as much as two good prime lenses. I also use my wide angle lens for taking group, architecture and interior shots. I happen to own a Sony 11-16mm wide angle zoom. It was expensive but well worth it.

    The primary function of a telephoto lens is the same as a telescope, to bring distant objects into closer view. The too technical definition of a telephoto lens is that the physical lens is shorter than the focal length and that the lens is constructed of groups of lenses called elements to bend light in certain ways to prevent fringing and distortion and make the image as sharp as possible.
    I don’t own a telephoto lens. I used to. A medium telephoto is between 85mm to 135mm in 35mm format (film again?). A super telephoto is over 300mm in 35mm format. The most common telephoto lenses manufactured by camera makers or lens makers are 85mm, 100mm, 135mm and 500mm lenses. Along with being fixed focal length, these lenses have something else in common, they are very expensive. Telephoto lenses are usually fast, they have a maximum aperture of 2.8. This gives them a physically large size and price tag to go along with it. The longer the lens is, literally, the bigger the price. It is my opinion that unless you need one for a very specific application, like shooting sports at night for example, your money is better spent for a good telephoto zoom lens.
    I mentioned that I used to own a telephoto lens. It was a really nice Minolta MD 135mm f-2.8 that I traded a zoom lens for. This was over twenty years ago when I had my own darkroom. At that time, I didn’t care for the quality of the shot from, or the physical size of, a zoom lens. I found that fixed focal length lenses produced a sharper image that was much better than a zoom set at the same focal length. Fixed focal length lenses were lighter, and faster. That is somewhat true today, but zoom lenses are much better constructed than they used to be, and they are more versatile than a fixed focal length lens. That is why I own four of them. In my bag is an 11-16mm wide angle zoom, a 55-200mm zoom, a 70-300mm zoom. Normally attached to my camera is the kit lens that came with it: an 18-55mm zoom lens. The last lens has an aperture of 3.5-5.6. Why two f-stops? That is because it is different at the minimum and maximum zoom setting. At 18mm the maximum aperture opening is 4.5 and at 55mm it is 5.6. All my other zooms have a maximum f-stop range of 4.5-5.6. This is rather typical of any manufacturer’s zoom with the same focal length.

    So far we have learned that fixed focal length lenses tend to be faster than a zoom so they are better for low light shooting, especially so if you want to hand hold the camera. That is why I own a 35mm f-1.8 “normal” lens. A 35mm APS-C lens is equivalent to a 50mm full frame lens. I also own a 50mm full frame f-2.8 lens which I use for portrait shots. My fixed focal length lenses are not as versatile as my zooms when composing because if I want a tighter shot, I have to move closer to the subject, and if I want a wider shot, I have to move back. Zoom lenses allow me to change my angle of view without moving as much. However, zoom lenses do not usually have as large an aperture as a fixed focal length lens, not without paying a huge amount of money. They are bigger in size so not easy to hold steady when shooting in low light. Using a tripod when shooting in low light with a zoom is a good idea.
    Last but not least is the macro lens. As I stated earlier, a zoom lens is not a photomacrography lens, even if the manufacture says it is. It simply does not have the 1:1 reproduction/magnification capability of a true macro lens. A zoom lens cannot produce an extreme close up shot resulting in a greater than life size image on the sensor. Of course, it is possible to produce a greater than life size image when viewing or printing an image.

    Sony has three macro lenses, a 30mm f-2.8, a full frame 50mm f-2.8 and a full frame 100mm f-2.8. The 50mm and 100mm lenses both have the advantage of allowing you to be farther away from your subject (we are talking inches) than the 30mm and still capture a 1:1 image. When shooting live subjects from farther away, even if it is only half a foot, is not a bad thing.... it keeps the butterfly from well, flying away. Both the 50mm and 100 mm lenses cost quite a bit more than a 30mm lens. I choose to purchase the 50mm lens (used) because I also wanted to use it as a medium telephoto lens. The 100mm, when the crop factor is applied, made it a 160mm lens which was a bit longer than I wanted.

    Remember that a Macro lens needs quite a bit of light to take an extreme close up picture. The depth of field will be very narrow and moving the camera a very small amount either closer to, or away from, the subject can dramatically change the DOF. A larger number f-stop setting helps to increase the DOF, but the shutter speed is going to be longer (slower) so mounting the camera on a good tripod is highly recommended.
    This was a very basic lesson about lenses, but my hope is I supplied enough information for you to make a wise decision about which lenses you want in your bag.
    Next lesson:
    Using the most important lenses you have: Your eyes!
    http://community.fmca.com/blog/62/entry-1392-the-rule-of-thirds-using-your-eyes/
    Gramps
  3. -Gramps-

    My Random Views

    By -Gramps-,

    Well folks, I have decided that the time has come for me to have my own photography and personal observation site. I will post randomly what I see and think about numerous subjects including motorhoming, faith, kids, who knows. I hope you will take a look. http://www.myrandomviews.com/
    I have enjoyed my time blogging here at FMCA.com.
    It has been a good learning experience. If and when Diane and I retire and go full time, then you can expect to see more random entries here as well.
    Gramps
  4. -Gramps-

    Depth of Field

    By -Gramps-,

    I really enjoy photography. It is the art of capturing a moment in time. Like any art form it is subjective and therefore what constitutes a good picture is really a matter of opinion. I learned that really fast from the people judging the very first contest I entered. What I thought were my best pictures received no mention and one that I entered as a lark in the still life category, almost took best in show.
    The most important thing is to know how to use your camera in order to take the picture you want at the time you want it.

    http://community.fmca.com/blog/62/entry-1378-a-bit-about-digital-photography/ Lesson one.
    So let’s continue.
    What is Depth of Field or DOF? Manipulating the DOF can change a picture dramatically and turn a simple shot into a really good one.
    DOF determines how much of the subject or scene you are looking at through your camera’s viewfinder is in sharp focus. Let’s change that to say acceptable focus. The area outside the part of the picture that is acceptably focused is known as the “Area of Confusion." The DOF focus range depending on the lens, can be from a couple of inches in front of the lens to infinity.
    Depth of field is determined by how far the lens aperture is open at the time of exposure. The smaller the aperture opening the greater the area that is in acceptable focus. The larger the opening the smaller the area in focus. f-22 provides a much greater DOF than say f-2.8. That is why shooting in low light makes shallow DOF easier to obtain or harder to avoid.
    When you look through the viewfinder the aperture is always wide open. If the f-stop, which controls that opening, changes automatically or by you because the amount of light reflecting off the subject increases or decreases, that f-stop change does not physically happen until the shot is taken. The reason for this is so while you are composing your shot, the image on the focusing screen will be as bright as possible so that you can focus. If the camera were to stop the lens down say to f16 while you are looking at the subject, the screen would go very dark. However, you may want to see the effect of the depth of field before you take the shot so many DSLR cameras have a DOF preview button. My camera has one. I focus on my subject, depress the button which allows me to see just how much of the picture is in focus, and if I like what I see I release the DOF button and press the shutter release.


    When taking a picture you really only focus the lens on one point, perhaps a person’s eyes, the center of a flower, a snowy peak in the middle of a mountain range, a rock formation in the Grand Canyon. Depending on the lens, and the aperture setting, the person’s face will also be in focus, but the background or the foreground, or in some cases, both will not. At the same f-stop a wide angle lens will have a greater depth of field than a longer lens. When shooting very close up shots with a high magnification lens, also known as a Macro lens, the depth of field will be very small.


    I now need to give you a small review. I told you in our first lesson that digital photography is based on film photography standards. It is important to remember that. Film cameras were and still are available in different sized formats. As I stated most DSLRs are built along the same design as a 35mm SLR. I didn’t tell you that also like film cameras, a DSLR is available in different formats. They are based on two different sized digital sensors: The full frame APS and the smaller APS-C
    APS stands for Advanced Photo System, An APS-C or compact sensor is smaller than a 35mm frame by quite a bit. This difference in size is called the crop factor. The 35mm format makes the angle of view larger (wider) by a factor of 1.6 as apposed to an APS-C camera. The crop factor leads to quite a bit of confusion when understanding lens focal lengths, which leads to confusion about the depth of field range of that lens. It gets even more confusing when you learn that APS-C cameras can use lenses designed for 35 mm cameras as long as they have the same lens mount. Lenses made specifically for APS-C cameras still use the same angle of view scale as they would if they could be used on a 35mm camera body, which they cannot. Well, they will mount, but if you did use one on a film camera it would cause vignetting, a darkening around the edges of the picture. Here is the really interesting part of all this. If you want to spend some big bucks you can purchase a full frame APS camera. The sensor will be the same size as a frame of 35mm film.. If you did that then you would need to also purchase lenses designed for use on that full frame camera. Those lenses will usually work with the same manufacturers APS-C camera, but remember, not the other way around. Confusing ain’t it?
    Here is a quick summary of the above. My Minolta 35mm auto focus lenses will mount and work on both my Sony Alpha DSLR cameras because Sony purchased Minolta in 2005 and kept the same lens mount. The auto focus lenses that came with my Alpha DSLR cameras will mount on my 550si 35mm camera but they cause the vignetting effect. There are other auto exposure limitations as well; in other words they are not a good fit. I own two full frame APS lenses that will fit and work on all my SLR cameras. If I were to purchase a professional APS full frame DSLR from Sony (I would love an A99!), those two lenses would work just fine with that camera. I can only hope to find out just how good one day.


    I leave you with this last bit of info. There is a scale etched on any DSLR lens I have ever seen. The scale is exactly the same for full frame lenses or APS-C only lenses. The scale is equal to the scale etched on a 35mm camera lens. The lens could have a depth of field scale that also matches a 35 mm camera lens of the same focal or zoom length. A 24mm wide angle full frame or a 24 mm APS-C lens mounted on an APS-c digital camera is no longer a 24 mm wide angle lens. The crop factor of 1.6 converts that lens to a 38.4 mm lens that has a slightly narrower depth of field. A 100mm portrait lens mounted on an APS-C camera becomes in effect a 160mm telephoto lens with an extremely narrow depth of field at just about any f-stop you use. Like you I don’t know why lens manufactures don’t have a lens scale specifically for APS-C cameras. They have chosen to leave 35mm numbers as the standard and we must learn to deal with it.
    That is the purpose of this posted lesson, to help you deal with it.
    If you reply with a question I will be more than happy to answer it.
    My next entry will deal with the various types of lenses, including zooms, fixed focal length and macro. Oh, don't worry, DOF will come up again!
    Gramps
    http://community.fmca.com/blog/62/entry-1390-every-lens-tells-a-story/
    Lesson Three
  5. -Gramps-
    2. Keep your temper on a very short leash. Or, when owning a motor coach, patience is not only a virtue but a necessity.
    If you are the type of person who always wants to be in control of your circumstances and are uncomfortable when things are not perfect or not even close to it, you will have trouble adjusting to the motor coaching lifestyle. Things are going to go wrong whether you are an old-timer or a newbie. There are preventive measures you can take, but only God can stop anything and everything bad from happening.
    Let me break it down for you.
    A. All may not go well at time of the motorhome purchase.
    B. All may not go well when driving down the road from point A to point B.
    C. All may not go well when setting up and breaking down camp.
    All may not go well when your coach is at the repair shop because of A. B. or C. or any combination of the three. So this means you have to be patient with all kinds of people and circumstances. You have to be patient with drivers (and that includes yourself), passengers (and that includes your spouse), dealers, repair techs, manufacturers. You get the picture. Just be patient, because it can turn out better than you think.
    An Example of A:
    The day my wife and I bought our first, slightly used coach it was a rainy, cold Valentine's Day in 2005. We had signed the papers a few days earlier and now it was time to do our walkthrough, or PDI, or something like that. We started with the roof, and the tech told us about the satellite dish that came with the coach. I looked hard for it but I didn't see anything that looked like a dish to me. I had no plans to order satellite service for the coach, but if it is supposed to have a dish it should be there! I started to say something, but I didn't want to appear stupid. Plus, the tech was in a great rush due to the rain.
    We were told about the sewer system, the fresh water system, the electrical connections, the generator, the storage, and the hitch. It went on and on. I was cold, wet, hungry and needed to find a bathroom. We went inside the coach and learned about the dash controls, the radio, the video system, the leveling system, the voltage monitors, the battery disconnects, the batteries, the power switches for all the appliances we could not use at the same time because it was 30-amp service.
    Next, he shows us how to crank up the TV antennae and follows that with the manual satellite dish controls. The whole time we are inside, I am thinking about the satellite dish that is standard, that isn't on the roof, and I still need to go to the bathroom.
    I am getting impatient and am just about to complain when he shows us the washer and dryer combo -- the one that we had no idea was in the coach. On the day we signed the papers, we were told we could get a washer-dryer for 900 bucks and we said no thanks, maybe later. I looked at it and at the happy expression on my wife's face and stupidly said "Where did that come from?" The tech told us that it originally came with the coach, but the first owner didn't want it. Right after he traded it they put the combo back in the coach. The salesman didn't know it was there, so it was too late to charge us for it now, so consider it a bonus. At that moment I forgot about the dish that didn't exist ... well, I didn't forget, it just didn't matter anymore.
    An Example of B: (The Same Day!)
    So, with my wife leading in the car, I started up our new-to-us 36-foot Bounder, with no SAT dish, but a stump where it was supposed to be, and eased it along with the included washer-dryer combo out of the dealer parking lot (point A). I had no idea what I was doing. I should tell you that I had never driven the coach, or any coach or even been a passenger in one before. I was scared to death.
    I took it down U.S. 17 and missed my first turn. Great, I have not had it five minutes and now I have to do a U-turn. I managed to turn around in an abandoned gas station lot, made the right turn toward home. About 20 minutes later I am in front of our house and am looking at our tree-lined driveway (point B.) trying to figure out how to get this really long and wide box on wheels to go where I want it to go.
    I make a right turn and realize that that it is pretty tight between the trees. Diane is standing out in the rain and yells at me that I am not going to make it without clocking the tree on the left. I stop, grit my teeth and sit there for a minute or two. Okay, it will not go in the driveway, so what do I do.
    Diane comes into the coach. She knows me very well. She quietly suggests that we can park it in front of the house, off the road and hire someone to take down the tree the right away. That sounded like a good plan to me. So I backed out of the driveway, back up the street and then pulled it off the road right in front of our house and sank into the mud. At least I didn't hit the tree.
    An Example of C: (two months later)
    The tree is now gone. A tree service removed it. The rig is stocked and we are on our first weeklong trip. We are off to the mountains of Virginia, a wonderful place called Otter Creek on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
    It was not a bad trip up to the campground. We drove up U.S. 460 and stopped at a gas station to fill up the rig. This took a bit of planning. The gas tank opening was behind the license plate at the end of the rig. I had to be quite careful about where I filled up. It was very easy to block the flow of traffic in and out of the gas station, not to mention I ended up parked in front of two pumps for a long time.
    I have found out you have to be patient at gas pumps. Most will not allow more than a $100 purchase. With a 100-gallon tank, that means using my credit card three times to get my tank filled. It doesn't bother me now, but when we first became RVers, it ticked me off. But that is not the worst thing. Sometimes you just can't get the gas to go into the tank. The nozzle just shuts off. I found that if you hold it at the three or nine o'clock positions gas will flow, but you cannot leave it unattended and that makes your hand tired.
    After we filled up (and this was the first time, a bit of a shock even at 2 bucks a gallon) we continued on up the road. I drove carefully the whole way and it was a rather uneventful, pleasant but longer than I expected trip to the campground.
    Otter Creek is a national park campground. No connections. No water, no electricity, no sewer. It does have a dump station. Oh, one other thing it does not have: more than one site that a two-slideout 36-foot-long coach will fit into. I pulled into the first one, a pull-through that looked long enough. It was slightly curved but I wiggled the coach into it.
    I got out to check everything and realized I could not open the main slideout because of the trees. I looked at a site in front of the coach but slightly off to the right. The trees were not as tight around that site. It looked like it would work out quite well. I was quite anxious to get parked because I was running out of daylight.
    I got behind the wheel and started the engine. Diane asked me if I wanted her to guide me out of the site. "Why? The other site is just over there, I should be fine." So I took off, drove about 34 feet and made a slight turn to the right. It is too bad that I was in enough of a hurry that I couldn't take Diane's advice. It's also too bad that I didn't see the camper sitting outside his Airstream who was frantically waving at me as I made my turn. I didn't see him, just like I didn't see the tree stump I ran over with foot 35 of my 36-foot coach. The rear end of the coach went up in the air and dropped hard.
    "What was that?" I asked of no one in particular.
    "I think we hit something." Diane said.
    I pulled into the new spot, got out and looked at the coach. Everything seemed okay, except I noticed the gutter spout was missing off the rear of the coach. Not a big deal. I also noticed there was a wood-colored streak down the middle of the last basement door. And then I saw it! A fist-sized hole in the bottom of my end cap. I was sick. I had wrecked my new coach.
    "Diane, look at what I have done!"
    "Its not so bad" she said.
    "Not so bad? Not so bad!" I was starting to lose it.
    The man who was sitting in front of the Airstream walked over.
    "I was trying to warn you that your tail was swinging over that stump," he said.
    The man looked at the coach's boo-boo and said something that, well, I didn't know how to respond to: "You might as well bang up the other seven corners and get it over with!"
    Then he laughed and slapped me on the back and said, "Welcome to the club. It happens to everybody. Don't let it spoil your trip. Good looking coach you have here."
    All I could see was the hole in my end cap. I did find the gutter spout, so it wasn't a total loss.
    Just so you know. We met some really great people on that trip and had a good time.
    Actually, this could have been another example of B, but I think you get my point.
    Remember rule number 1!
  6. -Gramps-
    I promised some RV stories. Well I found a few. I doubt they are true, but they may bring a smile.
    A couple from Minneapolis decided to go to Florida to thaw out during one particularly icy winter. They planned to stay at the very same RV park where they spent their 15th wedding anniversary a decade earlier. Because of hectic schedules, it was difficult to coordinate their travel dates. So, the husband left Minnesota alone with their fifth wheel trailer. His wife would fly to join him the day after his arrival.
    The husband checked into the RV park. To his surprise and delight there was a cyber cafe next to the recreation room, so he decided to send an e-mail to his wife. However, in doing so, he accidentally mis-typed one letter in her email address
    Meanwhile, somewhere in Houston, a widow had just returned home from her husband's funeral. He was a minister of many years who had died of a sudden heart attack. The widow decided to check her email, expecting messages from relatives and friends. After reading the first message, she fainted. The widow's son rushed into the room, found his mother on the floor and saw the message on the computer screen:
    To: My Loving Wife
    Subject: I've Arrived
    I know you're surprised to hear from me. They have computers here now and you are allowed to send e-mails to your loved ones. I've just arrived and have been checked in. I see that everything has been prepared for your arrival tomorrow. I look forward to seeing you then. Hope your journey is as uneventful as mine was.
    P.S. Sure is hot down here!
    Ray, an RVer from Omaha, travels in his motorhome with a talkative but foul-mouthed parrot. One day in a campground near Gila Bend, Ariz., the bird's swearing got to be too much. So Ray grabbed it by the throat and yelled "Stop it!" But only minutes later, the bird was swearing again.
    The next day, the bird yelled so loudly that the couple next door in a big fifth wheel stopped by to demand its silence. Desperate, Ray locked the bird in a kitchen cabinet. But it didn't help: the bird kept right on swearing. The next day, the bird was even worse. So, as a last resort, Ray tossed it into his spacious Dometic freezer. After five minutes, all was quiet. Worried the bird might be freezing, Ray took it out.
    "I'm sorry," confessed the suddenly polite bird. "I promise to never swear again."
    Ray was astonished. He couldn't understand the change in attitude.
    "By the way," asked the parrot, "what did the chicken do?"
    Getting away from their high-stress jobs, a couple spends relaxing weekends in their motor home at a local RV campground at a nearby lake. When they found their peace and quiet disturbed by well-meaning, but unwelcome, visits from other campers, they devised a plan to assure themselves some privacy.
    Now, when they set up camp, they place this sign on the door of their RV:
    "Insurance agent. Ask about our term-life package."

    There was once a lady who was rather old-fashioned, always quite delicate and elegant, especially in her language. She and her husband were planning a week's vacation in Arizona, so she wrote to a particular RV campground asking for a reservation. She wanted to make sure the campground was fully equipped, but didn't quite know how to ask about the toilet facilities. She just couldn't bring herself to write the word "toilet" in her letter. After much deliberation, she finally came up with the old-fashioned term BATHROOM COMMODE. But when she wrote that down, she still thought she was being too forward. So she started all over again, rewrote the entire letter referring to the bathroom commode merely as the BC: "Does the campground have it's own BC?" is what she actually wrote.
    Well, the RV campground owner wasn't old-fashioned at all and when he got the letter, he just couldn't figure out what the lady was talking about. That BC business really stumped him. After worrying about it for awhile, he showed the letter to several campers, but they couldn't imagine what the lady meant either. So the campground owner, finally coming to the conclusion that the lady must be asking about the local Baptist Church, sat down and wrote the following reply:
    Dear Madam:
    I regret very much the delay in answering your letter, but I now take pleasure in informing you that a BC is located nine miles north of the campground and is capable of seating 250 people at one time. I admit it is quite a distance away, if you are in the habit of going regularly, but no doubt you will be pleased to know that a great number of people take their lunches along and make a day of it. They usually arrive early and stay late. It is such a beautiful facility and the acoustics are marvelous...even the normal delivery sounds can be heard. The last time my wife and I went was six years ago, and it was so crowded we had to stand up the whole time we were there. It may interest you to know that right now a supper is planned to raise money to buy more seats. They are going to hold it in the basement of the BC. I would like to say it pains me very much not to be able to go more regularly, but it surely is no lack of desire on my part. As we grow old, it seems to be more of an effort, particularly in cold weather. If you do decide to come down to our campground, perhaps I could go with you the first time you go, sit with you, and introduce you to all the other folks. Remember, this is a friendly community.
    Sincerely, (RV Campground Owner)

    An RVer in a motorhome got hopelessly bogged down in an unexpected muddy hole along a dirt road. After a few minutes, a passing farmer drove by on his tractor and offered to pull him out for only $20. After the motorhome was back on dry ground, the RVer said to the farmer, "At those prices, I bet you're pulling vehicles out of this mud day and night."
    "Can't," replied the farmer. "At night I haul water for the hole."
    A national park game warden stopped a man who was heading back to his motorhome with two buckets of bass . He asked the man, " Do you have a license to catch those fish?"
    The man replied, " No sir - Don't need one. These are my pet bass."
    " Pet bass?" the warden asked.
    "Yes, sir. Every night I take these here bass down to the lake and let them swim around for a while. I whistle and they jump back into their buckets, and I take them home."
    " That's crazy! Bass can't do that!" said the warden.
    The man looked at the game warden for a moment, and then said, " It's not crazy, I'll show you."
    " OK." said the warden, " do it!"
    The man quickly poured the bass into the lake and stood and waited.
    After several minutes, the game warden turned to the man and said " Well?"
    " Well, what?" the man responded.
    " Well, when are you going to call them back?" the game warden asked.
    " Call who back?" the man asked.
    " The BASS!" yelled the warden.
    " What bass?" the man asked.

    While on a road trip, an elderly couple stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch. After finishing their meal, they left the restaurant, and resumed their trip.
    When leaving, the elderly woman unknowingly left her glasses on the table, and she didn't miss them until they had been driving about forty minutes. By then, to add to the aggravation, they had to travel quite a distance before they could find a place to turn their motorhome around, in order to return to the restaurant to retrieve her glasses.
    All the way back, the elderly husband became the classic grouchy old man. He fussed and complained, and scolded his wife relentlessly during the entire return drive. The more he chided her, the more agitated he became. He just wouldn't let up one minute.
    To her relief, they finally arrived at the restaurant. As the woman got out of motorhome, and hurried inside to retrieve her glasses, the old geezer opened his window and yelled to her, "While you're in there, you might as well get my hat and the credit card."

    Gramps
  7. -Gramps-

    It's A Stupid Game

    By -Gramps-,

    It’s a stupid game. A famous person described it as a good walk spoiled. Someone else said it is a lot of walking, broken up by disappointment and bad arithmetic. I am talking about the game of golf. It may be a stupid game, an opinion shared by David Feherty, who played on the European Ryder Cup team a few decades ago, but it is also my new passion. I guess that means that golf is my new stupid passion.
    In my opinion I am terrible at it. My best game so far is a round in the high 80s. Now, in fairness to myself, that score was the result of a round of golf on a regular-size course. When I play 18 holes on my “home course” at Deer Creek Motorcoach resort (the one in Virginia), my score can be as low as 54.
    FIFTY FOUR! Wow, you say. Well, it isn’t all that remarkable considering it is a nine-hole pitch and putt with the longest hole sitting a mere 125 yards from the tee. Then again, maybe it is remarkable. The greens are the size of pot holders, the fairways narrow as a 1960s era men’s dress tie, and there are numerous hidden water traps along with some that are obvious to the eye. In other words, my short game is not bad.
    Put me on a large course with big greens, and the story changes.
    I cannot drive worth the time it takes me to hunt for a lost cheap ball. Someone once said that if I hit it right, it’s a slice; if I hit it left, it’s a hook ; if I hit it straight it’s a miracle.
    That pretty much sums it up for me.
    I am an active member of the Lambert’s Point Golf Course Ball Exchange Program.
    Lambert’s Point is a nine-hole golf course in Norfolk, Virginia, that is built on top of what used to be a huge landfill and garbage dump. It sits in the elbow of the Elizabeth River and so it is surrounded by water on two sides and a driving range on one side. I tend to lose balls off the first tee into the river on the right side. I just can’t leave my 1 wood in the bag! I have a very fast back swing and an even faster down swing, but somewhere in the process of going up and down, my arms just seem to get confused. As a result, my hands are pointing in the wrong direction, which opens the club face and I hit this very long and ugly slice.
    I joke that my slice is so bad that a soft drink is named after it.
    On the rare occasion that I don’t slice, it is usually because I skull the ball and stick it in the mix of marsh grass, blackberry bushes, and cattails that surround the course. So the hunt begins. I lose one ball and find three. Not a bad exchange rate, if you ask me.
    I keep working at it. I shine my clubs thinking that will add some polish to my game. I blow through buckets of balls at the Portsmouth City Park Links driving range. I watch training videos and take advice from all the guys I play with. So far, not much has helped.
    David Feherty said that Jim Furyk’s driver swing looks like an octopus falling out of a tree. An octopus has some coordination, some fluidity, and some intelligence. So in comparison, my swing must look like my driver is falling off the back of a moving truck.
    My second shot shows some promise. I can take a fairway wood or a hybrid and knock the crap out of the ball. It just too bad that the crapless ball tends to go left. On occasion, however, I have hit the green on a par-five hole in two if I aim right. Once on the green, I can putt decently. My playing companions seem to have a higher opinion of my game than I do.
    I am improving. I know which club to use based on distance from the pin. I have learned the terms of golf and I can now drive well at the range when loading up the tee from bucket number two. The key is shooting straight from the first tee and hitting the green in regulation.
    Although I have been golfing for only two years, I am not totally new to the game. I spent the last 10 of my first 12 years living next door to the Ocean View Municipal Golf Course in Norfolk, Virginia. Our two-bedroom bungalow house was located at 609 Greenview Lane, right across from hole number 3. I used to wade in the ditch that ran parallel with the fairway and look for golf balls. We could be sitting at the dinner table and hear “Fore!!” and a couple of seconds later a ball would hit the roof of our house. My brother Rodney and I would charge out the back door and hunt for the ball to add to our sizable collection kept in buckets in our car port. We would clean them up and sell them, possibly back to the golfers who lost them, for a tidy profit. We would cut the covers off damaged balls, slice the rubber band inside and watch the ball hop like some crazed animal all over the carport pad.
    I used to stand for hours, peering thru the 30-foot tall chain link fence, that semi-protected our street, and the kids who played on it from the errant balls that hooked left. I watched the carts pull up at the tee. I was fascinated by the clothes the golfers wore, and the clubs they used. I watched the balls fly down the fairway. I heard the congratulations and sometimes the swear words coming from the golfers. I so wanted to play on that course.
    I wanted to be a golfer and play on the course for real.
    I had a couple of clubs. One was a shortened persimmon wood driver, the head held on with masking tape and glue. I salvaged that club from a water hazard. The other club was a nine iron that the pastor of our church gave me. I would sneak out onto hole 3 just before dark, wait until I knew no one was going to find me, and I would tee up a ball for myself. I could hit it hard and straight. I could par hole 3, a 369-yard par four, the only hole I played, with that old driver, that also was my putter and my nine iron.
    Why can’t I do that now?! Just a few weeks ago I got my 50-year-old wish. I played Ocean View with my friend John, a retired school principal and a good golfer. We formed a foursome with a couple of ladies, who like us, had no reserved tee time. It was fun but at the same time a bit surreal. John drove a cart with our clubs while I walked with the ladies who were playing nine holes on foot. When we hit the tee at 3, I looked to my left and saw my old home, the 609 easy to spot on the front of the house. I could almost see my Mom coming out the front door to check if I had sneaked out onto the course.
    I thought about those days. Now here I was 50 years later playing for real.
    I teed up my ball, coiled up for the hit and sliced the ball into the fairway of hole 5.
    CRAP!
    Why do I keep playing this stupid game? I will tell you why. I play for the memories, for the time I spend with friends, including my motor coaching ones, and for that great shot that I make every now and then. I play for the green grass, the blue sky and the cheap clubhouse hot dogs.
    I play it in spite of that shot off tee 3 that went so far right that Teddy Bear, my Cocker Spaniel, couldn’t find the ball if it was wrapped in bacon.
    I sort of fudged that last line from Feherty. He won’t care. Fudging is allowed in golf.
    It may be a stupid game. My wife sure thinks so, but golfing is now as much a part of my life as motor coaching is. They are intertwined. I have two sets of clubs, one for the coach and one at home.
    In the months and years ahead, I hope to drive my coach to somewhere new and find a beautiful golf course that has a good ball exchange program and is looking for new members. Then, again, maybe I will make that miracle shot and hit the greens in regulation.
    Derrick
  8. -Gramps-

    Why Don't He Write?

    By -Gramps-,

    I know someone must be asking that question. I have asked it myself. I don't have a good answer. The bad answer is that there have been lots of distractions the last few weeks. The first distraction being caused by the need to look after a pup named Nickolas.
    Diane and I decided to subject him to some pretty extensive surgery that, thank the Lord, appears to be mostly successful. He is missing part of three ribs, some chest wall and a big malignant lump on his side. I have been amazed at how quickly he has recovered. However, a problem still remains. The shock of surgery seems to have made an old dog older. Since coming out of recovery he has an extreme thirst, and as a result of that, well, he doesn't always make it outside on time, and he can't make it through the night at all without waking up wet the next morning. That has required us to put him to bed wearing some special waterproof doggy jockey shorts. Nickolas doesn't like the idea that he is wearing diapers, so we don't use that word around him if we can help it.
    Our pupster looked awful after surgery. His back and side were shaved and he had staples running from his belly to his back. People looking at him just cringed. When I looked at him, I just hurt. We lived full-time in the coach for almost 10 days at Deer Creek after he came home. He spent four days at NC State School of Veterinary Medicine in Raleigh, North Carolina. We needed to keep him in a confined space. No, running, no jumping and no climbing stairs was allowed. He went in and out of the coach on a portable ramp. It was not fun for him or us.
    Things improved rapidly and he received a good report on his last visit to the vet school, which took place on our way home from Galax. We spent the night in the State Fairground campground. We were all alone in that huge place. It was just across the street from the school, so staying there could not have been more convenient.
    Since coming back to our stick house, things have been very busy. Lots of phone work and customer service calls (nothing new there). We have also had to make lots of follow-up calls to vets, trying to cure our dog's incontinence problem. Now we are looking at the possibility of Cushing's disease, or Addison's disease or diabetes or maybe just old age. No one knows for sure, even after a lot of blood work, urinalysis and other things that keep draining funds from our retirement account. Poor Nickolas remains in an agitated state, never knowing when the leash being clipped on means that the car will take him to some location where unpleasant things happen.
    I have a theory that Nickolas needs to be left alone. Let him get over the loss of ribs, muscle, and having a lot of pain and confusion. Treat him like a normal dog and he will heal himself.
    No one really liked my theory, for awhile. Finally the decision was made to treat his "leaking" problem with drugs and see how that goes.
    We have a FMCA international rally to attend this weekend. It is the Workhorse Chassis Motor Club rally and I am the host and rallymaster. I have been working on this rally for over a year and I know that Nickolas is looking forward to it as much as I am. The rally takes place at Camp Hatteras in Waves, N.C. Nickolas loves a good romp on the beach and, by golly, I'm going to see to it that he gets one.
    He has comtributed so much to our lives.
    The whole point of his surgery was to try to make Nickolas' life last a lot longer. I am praying that his life continues to be a good one.
    I owe Nickolas at least that much.
    Gramps
  9. -Gramps-
    The Black Ribbon part 2
    The French Broad River is a very beautiful, naturally flowing river, meaning that it is not dam controlled by the TVA like so many others are in western North Carolina. It flows north easterly through the mountains which includes Asheville and there it connects with the Swannanoa River. From there it continues through the county seat of Marshall, our destination. Eventually the French Broad flows into the Holston River in Tennessee and on into the Tennessee River near Knoxville. It is called the French Broad because it was one of two broad rivers in the area and it was the one that flowed through land claimed over two centuries ago by France. The other river was called the English Broad River, which later became known simply as “The Broad River”. The Cherokee had their own names for the river depending on what area it was in.
    The French Broad River is 213 miles long. We would be getting a very close view of about six of those miles.
    The Blue Heron Whitewater center is located about twenty-two miles from downtown Asheville, and about forty five miles from the Agricultural Center. The Ag center is right across the street so to speak from the Asheville Airport. We crossed the river three times on our way to Marshall. I saw it as a preview of what was to come. Being that it was not Diane’s and my first trip down the river, we had some idea of what to expect.
    I didn’t expect us to get fogged in on our way there, but it almost happened. It was pretty thick in places along I-26 just about where we passed under that great black ribbon of road known as the Blue Ridge Parkway.
    I must have called the Blue Heron office three or four times along the way to make sure we knew where we were going and to assure them we would be there ASAP. Sandy, who would become our guide, and Wags told us not to hurry, stay safe, they would wait, and if we drove past Grandma’s General Store we had gone too far and to turn around.
    We didn’t go too far. We made it just in time for the start of training for our half day trip down the river with lunch included.
    There was a couple from London along with one other rafter who would be in Wag’s large raft. Diane, Gary and Janis were assigned to Sandy’s raft. Jerry and I choose to go it alone in a Ducky. A Ducky is an inflatable one person Kayak with a double paddle. They are a bit more challenging and a heck of a lot of fun.
    We received some very precise training instructions both from Wags live and Wags on video. Basically the instructions were what to do if you fell out of the raft or off your duck, which could happen whether you wanted it to or not, and believe me, you don’t want it happen.
    We were issued spray jackets to keep us warm, helmets to keep our brains in place, and paddles that we were instructed not to lose.
    We boarded a used to be school bus, rafts and ducks lashed on top, for the trip up the mountain to the launch point.
    Once there we and our rafts were off loaded and we carried them down to the river.
    Sandy gave Jerry and myself a bit more instructions on how to paddle a duck. She also explained how to get off a rock if you become a pinned duck.
    If you don’t like getting wet, don’t white water in a duck. Like rafts they are self-bailing, water that comes in goes out, but the opposite is true and so you find yourself basically sitting in a rubber bowl of water. It wasn't all that bad even at fifty four degree water and just about the same air temperature.
    After about twenty minutes of paddling hard in order to miss a lot of rocks, one starts to warm up.
    The trip was a blast. Time flew really fast, lots of laughs and screams when the river threw cold stuff on everybody.
    It wasn't long at all before we arrived at a large rock on the left bank reserved for dare devils. If you were brave enough to take a jump you were invited to do so. Some did, including the couple from London and Gary. I declined, the duck provided plenty of excitement and water for me.
    We stopped for a good lunch of ham sandwiches, chips, pickles, cookies and soft drinks.Lunch provided a great place and time to take group photos.
    After lunch we had about another half hours trip down river. Jerry and Gary switched positions, which put Gary in the duck. He took to it…well, like a duck to water.
    This leg of our six hour trip was really short and over much too quick. We reached our take out spot.
    We washed the sand off the ducks and rafts and hauled them up to our bus. Once they were loaded we took off our vests and helmets, picked a seat and the bus took us back up the mountain to the center.
    Once there we changed, looked at our photos, which Jerry purchased for us, Janis, Gary and I bought a t-shirt, we loaded up and drove home with great big smiles on our faces.
    We all agreed that this Tuesday had been a great big blast!
    What do we do tomorrow and the day after?
    Take a Hike? Visit the farmer’s market? Take the Asheville Trolley Tour?
    How about all the above !
  10. -Gramps-
    Last Saturday I roasted two 17-pound Honeysuckle White All Natural Turkeys to provide the main course for 30 people. The event was an open house at Deer Creek Motorcoach and Golf Resort that my wife and I are now the latest residents of here in Galax, Va. We had six coaches visiting and I wanted to make a fine impression. So after a quick morning round of golf with some of our guests, I started on the evening meal.
    I cooked one bird in an aluminum roasting pan on a large hooded gas grill over indirect heat (flame on one side of the grill) with a packet of Jack Daniel's white oak wood chips over the flame. The second bird went into a Rival electric smoker/roaster with the same chips and white wine in a water tray. I started the second bird an hour before the first because I intended to slow smoke it for almost eight hours. Both birds were stuffed with onion quarters and lots of celery and covered with olive oil and Montreal Chicken Seasoning.
    I started around 10 o'clock in the morning with the first bird. The second around 11 o'clock. I made a mistake with the bird on the grill. I should have put it in the middle of the grill, not on one end like I would do with my Char Griller. I caught my mistake in time to rotate the bird and even out the cooking.
    The second bird came off the grill when the breast meat reached 175 degrees and still very moist. I let it sit for about 30 minutes. The dark meat inside the pan was not quite done yet. Diane and I then carved the bird up and put the legs and thighs back on the grill for about 10 minutes over high heat until they were just right. Then the wife and I finished slicing it up and keeping all the meat warm in a Crock-Pot.
    Next, it was time to take the first bird off the grill. This one was really good, almost steamed in the white wine and smoked at the same time. The skin didn't get crispy as much as the one on the grill, but that didn't matter considering the taste. The breast meat was so tender you could cut it with a spoon. And what a good taste it had -- a hint of smoke and a hint of wine flavor.
    Both turkeys went fast along with all the other goodies provided by the residents and guests: baked white beans with sausage, two kinds of scalloped potatoes, sweet potato salad, cranberry chutney, broccoli salad, baked zuchinni casserole, stuffing, sourdough bread, peach cobbler, pumpkin pie with whipped cream and all kinds of cookies. Oh, and we had live bluegrass music, to boot. The evening was a hit.
    Its now a few days later, Tuesday as a matter of fact.
    Now comes the sad part of this story. We took the carcasses of those happy birds, along with the wings and giblets, and cooked them in a very large stew pot on the side burner of the gas grill for hours. Into the pot went celery, onions, lots of fresh garlic and more Montreal Chicken spices.
    It was a windy day and after about six hours you could smell this concoction all over the resort and the golf course. It was maddening. Everyone wanted to know when it would be ready. About 90 minutes before dinnertime, I took the pot off the grill, and took it into the stoveless kitchenette in our clubhouse. Diane picked the meat off the bones and put it back in the pot. Then we moved it to the gas stove inside our coach. The wind was getting a bit strong and I didn't want to fight with a burner going out just before this stuff needed to be done. We planned to add carrots, a bit more onion, green beans, tomato and celery along with rice to this rich broth.
    We took the Corian cover off of our stove and propped it up on the back of the stove like normal. Almost. Diane turned it around backward, so it didn't fit exactly where it belonged. Then she needed to leave the coach for a minute. She shut the door hard, and the Corian cover slipped and caught the pot just under the bottom. Off the stove the pot went.
    The noise the cover made forced me to turn around in time to see this great big pot of soup fly across my coach. I tried to catch it but all I could do was grab a handle just after it hit the floor on its side. Turkey soup everywhere!
    My dog was lapping liquid as fast as he could get his tongue to move. Diane heard the pot crash, so she rushed back in to see the disaster -- the carpet getting soaked, turkey broth rushing toward the front of the coach, and my mom desperately pulling up the area rug.
    Well, we cleaned it up while my parents, who were visiting us, drove to the store to purchase some good old-fashioned burger fixin's as a quick substitute for what would have been some mighty fine turkey soup.
    The incident at the time seemed pretty bad, but it did make for some funny dinner conversation.
    Didn't I post a rule about having to be patient because things can go wrong?
    To add to my rule number 4:
    Sham Wows do work.
    Awning Cleaner also cleans carpet really well.
    If you find that new coach smell to be a bit overpowering, you can cure it with 2 gallons of turkey soup!
  11. -Gramps-
    Nickolas, the family pupster here!
    I asked Dad if he would let me post again. Last time, I hijacked his blog and posted on the sly. This time he said okay.
    I wanted to leave him and Mom a note. They may need what I write here one day.
    I am almost 85 years old now, in relative terms, and so I can say that chances are I have a little bit of time left, but only a little.
    I don't worry about the end of my life. Mom and Dad do that for me. They comment on how white my face is compared to how it used to look. They talk about how slow I am to get up from my nap in front of the TV. They don't like for me to wear myself out going up and down the coach steps.
    They concern themselves with how hot I am, because I pant a lot. Mom bought me this slick blue water-filled pad to help keep me cool. I am not crazy about it but I sleep on it, and that makes her feel better even if it doesn't do much for me.
    They really worry about a tumor that is growing on my left side. They talk about how much they hope it isn't cancer, but if it is, what they can do about it?
    Mom and Dad, especially Dad, could stand to learn a bit about life from me.
    Like I said, I don't worry. I don't worry about that lump or much of anything else.
    I don't give much thought to the squirrels that I can't chase around the back yard anymore. Actually, I never worried about them when I was younger, either. The moment one takes off up a tree, that's it for me. I find something else to think about-like breakfast.
    I can say for sure that life is far too short to spend time worrying about anything, except dinner.
    I love both of my people a lot. They have always given me a good life. I still have a good life even if things are changing. I can't hear much of anything anymore. I used to hear the brakes on Dad's old truck three blocks away. Mom was always amazed when I went to the door to wait for him, long before he pulled up in front of the house. Now I am sometimes surprised by him at the door instead of the other way around. But that is okay. I still follow him to his office desk, furiously wagging my tail, and he never fails to give my back a good scratch.
    Sometimes Dad is so tense when he gets home at the end of the day. I know it is my job to do something to help him, so giving the dog a good back scratching does as much, if not more, for Dad as it does for me.
    There was a time when Dad and Mom were saying something about Dad having a kidney stone. Dad was in pretty bad shape. I saw him on his knees next to his bed. He was sweating and moaning. The pain was so intense that Dad was starting to panic. I jumped up on the bed to be near him. I kissed his nose and then lay down.
    He put his hands on me and buried his face in my side. I did what I was supposed to do, I soaked up his pain. It took a little while but Dad calmed down and I could sense that he started to feel a bit better. I usually stick close to Mom, but Dad needed me, so I stayed right there with him for the rest of the day.
    During our last trip out in our coach (I like to call it the Bus) Mom and Dad watched this movie about a person who helps to heal horses. This person is called a horse whisperer. Dad says that I am a Human Whisperer. I am not sure what that means, but if being a Human Whisperer means being there for my people, reminding them that life should be lived mostly in the present and that love and kindness are what keeps us going, then that is what I am.
    I love my people. They are like gods to me. They are bigger and stronger than me and I trust them to look after me. I hope my love for them is a reminder that there is a greater power that is stronger and bigger than they are who loves them, too. I think it does.
    Many years ago we were on a camping trip, in a tent; this was before we got our fancy bus. It was a beautiful fall day and Dad grilled T-bone steaks for their dinner. The smell was great. I knew that they would share the best part of these wonderful smelling things with me.
    They would give me the bones.
    I was so excited to get one. Dad looked at me, happily chomping away, and then he looked at the mountains around us and the woods with all its bright colors.
    "This is just a bone," he said.
    "What?" Mom asked. "What are you talking about?"
    "This life and this world is just a bone" Dad said."This is just a taste of what God has in store for those who love Him. We should learn to love life and Him more."
    When the end of my life finally comes, just before I take my last nap, I hope the last thing I see is the love for me in the eyes of my people. I hope the last thing I feel is my Mom rubbing my head and my Dad scratching my back. I hope the last thing I do for them is to whisper that I love them and that life is good, keep on living it well, and thanks for giving me such a good one.
    Nickolas
  12. -Gramps-
    I love puns and one liners. I love blurting them out...regardless of those in hearing range around me want to hear them or not.
    http://www.myrandomviews.com/blog/punsandoneliners
  14. -Gramps-
    For the last week and a half I have been sick. The first couple of days I was forced to just lay around the house drinking Alka-Seltzer Cold remedy (every four hours) and feeling sorry for myself.
    Last Saturday afternoon around 2:30 p.m., I decided that I had had enough of being ill. I drank my last seltzer, put on some shorts and my mowing shoes. I mowed the yard, then trimmed and edged it. I also pulled all the weeds out of the flowerbeds. When I was done, I was tired and sore but I felt much better than before I started. I realize now, that at my age, if I don't have the energy to get something done, if I can't make myself get up and start moving just because I don't feel good, then I am in trouble. I can't work only when I feel like it.
    Motor coaching is like that as well.
    I might as well leave the coach in the driveway if the only time I am going to take it out is when conditions are perfect. Not every trip can be to Disney World. Sometimes you just have to start it up and go somewhere! You never know what you might find when you get there. That's one of the reasons we took the trip to Indiana. We wanted to go get our coach repaired but we also wanted to go where we would see something new. We wanted to have a bit of an adventure.
    Pilgrimage to Elkhart, Day 3 and Day 4: The Reason for Going.
    Sunday morning found us all up and about quite early. It was our last leg. We had about a six hour journey to the ESC campground. We planned our exit out of the Clearwater RV camp and back to I-77. Not far to the north we would be leaving the interstate and then heading due west on the Ohio Turnpike.
    We made a big loop in the campground headed up to exit, drove the up and down road back to the Interstate. Within minutes we were at a cruising speed of 62 miles per hour.
    We didn't stop until we reached the Erie Isle rest stop near the Indiana state line. I found the view out the windshield to be quite nice. It had been a long time since I visited Ohio and the same for Indiana. I had spent quite a bit of time in Cincinnati when I worked for AT&T but I saw very little of the state, from the ground anyway.
    Diane and I, back in the seventies, when we were working for PTL, made a long bus trip from Charlotte, through West Virginia to Canton Ohio for a telethon.
    Tammy Bakker and some of the PTL wives, including my own, were seated in the back of the bus. They were laughing and chatting quite loudly about something. I took a walk back there and sat down. Tammy had a stack of National Inquirers on the seat next to her and all the girls were looking over the headlines. The paper had typical stuff about three headed babies, UFO sightings, celebrity wives cheating on husbands and vice versa. Tammy laughed and said wouldn't it be a hoot to be on the cover?
    I don't know if I said it then, but one should always be careful what one wishes for.
    Now, many years later, we were traveling through Ohio in our own bus so to speak. It is a pretty state. Big corn fields, horse farms with rolling hills and white fences. I found it to be a most pleasant drive.
    Shortly after passing the Sandusky exit we came to the Eerie Isle rest stop. It was an interesting place with a neat visitor center, a Starbucks, a food court and a good size gift shop with lots of Cleveland Indians merchandise. We spent a bit of time there, and after we let Nickolas stretch his legs we hit the road again.
    The tolls on the Ohio Turnpike are a bit steep, twenty five bucks one way. The good thing is you take a ticket when you get on and pay once, when you get off. We paid at the Indiana state line. From the toll we had sixty more miles to our Elkhart exit.
    An hour later we were exiting off the Indiana Turnpike, paying another toll, ten bucks this time, and driving the main business route to our final stop. We passed some rv factories along the way, along with some transport holding lots. In other words we saw a lot of towables and quite a few coaches. We also drove by the RV Hall of Fame. We knew we were coming back there in a couple of days.
    Soon we pulled into the ESC compound. There were two large buildings with a lot of bays all of them closed on Sunday of course; we drove past them to a gravel campground located behind the second building. Gary and I picked a spot. We both leveled our coaches and then Gary discovered that there was no water or power. Not good. I suspected that the campground was still winterized. We did some walking around and discovered the main power breakers were turned off. We turned them on and we had power but still no water.
    We decided that what water we had in our tanks was best reserved for flushing; not washing dishes, so dinner at Cracker Barrel seemed like a good idea. We passed one on the way in, so it was easy to find our way back.
    I ordered some kind of Southern Boiled Dinner with shrimp, red skin potatoes, corn on the cob and sausage that was really good. I don't remember what everyone else had. After dinner we browsed the country store for awhile and then headed back.
    I think I was in a bit of a daze now that we were finally in Elkhart. What's the big deal about being there? Well, we had tried two times before to make the trip and things just didn't work out. It also didn't work out for us to go to the Monaco Service center at Wildwood Florida either. We were just a few days away from making the trip when Monaco called and cancelled on us. They were just a few days from declaring bankruptcy and laying everyone off. This meant that for two years, Diane and I had been trying, unsuccessfully, to repair our coach problems. The first week we owned it we took it to a dealer where is sat for four weeks and nothing was fixed. I could tell you how bad that experience was but I won't. We also took it numerous times to independent service facilities, where some good techs tired to fix the slide out problems but they, at the most, had some temporary success. I had also tried to fix it myself, but as much as I hate to admit it, I think that only made it worse.
    So, I was now going to get factory service. Although, based on telephone support from the techs I had every reason to think that the problems would be resolved I still was anxious. I hoped to not have any unpleasant surprises and/or disappointments.
    Gary and I both piddled around our coaches, looking through all the basements, checking the roofs, looking for anything and everything that we wanted the guys to fix, modify or repair. We each made a list and then compared and discussed what on the list we would actually get done and what we guessed it might cost. Our lists had a number of things in common:
    We both needed our main slide out cables replaced and adjusted. Gary needed work done on his bedroom slide out as well.
    We both needed repair of our fresh water tanks (mine leaked due to the overflow plumbing missing; Gary's sagged due to a support strut missing.)
    I wanted my coach roof inspected and resealed where necessary.
    Gary needed his shower door to be adjusted so it wouldn't bounce out of its track while traveling down the road.
    We both had front door locking arm problems. They locked when we didn't want them to and wouldn't when we needed them to. In other words they were a pain.
    I had holes in my bathroom vinyl floor that Diane wanted fixed. I told her I thought only one was all that bad, but more about that later.
    I needed some interior work done on the facade covering the main slide out motor and chains. Gary needed the same but he left the facades back home in his garage.
    Gary had a rear basement door that was coming loose from the coach.
    Gary also had a wiper park failure alarm that remained constantly on his dash instrument panel.
    We both wanted our coach chassis lubed and I wanted an oil change as well.
    I needed some touch up paint mixed up. A small item but nice to have when you need it.
    We both wanted our auto levelers recalibrated. When Gary auto leveled his coach, the front end would end up ten inches off the ground. My coach auto jacks would take the back end off the ground and that rendered the parking brake useless.
    While Gary and I were comparing notes and just wondering around our coaches a Forest River Wildcat fifth wheel pulled into the campground. It looked new and it had Quebec plates. A gentleman exited his pickup and started hooking up the fiver. We helped him find a hot pedestal. Not all of them were working. Gary and I could never figure out why that was, but I tried cause I love a good electronic mystery.
    I don't remember the gentleman from Canada's name. I am terrible with names. I am fortunate to remember the names of my own kids. But I remember faces and conversations and he had a very friendly face and we had a good conversation with him. He had been traveling with a group, a caravan as it were, to Mexico. He left the group to come back to Elkhart, where he bought the trailer, to have some paperwork cleared up so he could take the fiver across the border back into Canada. That part of his story was interesting if you like hearing about the pains of dealing with government bureaucracies, but the real story was why he purchased this slightly used Wildcat in the first place.
    It seems that the original brand new Wildcat that he left Canada with had a couple of unfortunate accidents. One, he blew a tire that ruined a wheel. The replacement wheel was not installed correctly so he lost it and that ruined the wheel well and tore up the side of the trailer at the same time. He had to leave the caravan to Mexico in order to take care of that problem. I think he said he got it fixed in Elkhart and then left for Mexico on his own where he planned to rejoin his group somewhere in Texas.
    He made it as far as West Indianapolis where due to a wrong turn and some bad directions, he found himself, at night, going down a very dark road where he passed under a barely viewable old bridge that was about a foot lower than the top of the fifth wheel. Well, I think you get the picture. The bridge grabbed the rubber and peeled it back, along with his fan vents and air conditioners. The roof just rolled itself up like a big "rubber burrito".
    After calls to the police to explain why this rv was blocking traffic, and some roadside assistance, he extracted the coach from the bridge's jaws and took it back to Elkhart. There, he discovered, it was a total loss. But there was a happy ending; he was able to purchase a used Wildcat that was an upgrade from his new one and still make it to Mexico where his thirty day temporary tag expired thus causing his Canadian Customs problems with his paperwork.
    Like most experienced rvers, our new friend from Canada made this story sound humorous while describing his troubles towing a big rig, he used the phrase, "Things can happen, you know and they are not always good." I have used that phrase myself a time or two, but his accent is much better than mine.
    After hearing this adventure, we realized it was starting to get really cold outside so we called it a night. I guess I may have gone inside and read for awhile or watched TV. I don't know. I remember hearing a lot of trailers being towed past us to the transport company holding lot next door. I think that noise went on until about eleven that night.
    Day 4
    I was up around seven buttoning up the coach. Around seven thirty, I was standing just inside of Gary's door when I saw a person with a clipboard heading our way. I learned that his name was Walt and he was the tech in charge of taking care of Gary's UFO. I left Walt to talk with Gary and as I was heading back to my coach, Roger, the tech in charge of my coach was waiting for me.
    Roger, a really nice guy, was wearing a Monaco jacket. I found out that he, like most of the techs at Elkhart Service and Collision, had worked for Monaco/Holiday Rambler before it went under. They were quite familiar with our coaches. They would be taking care of our list while offering any needed assistance to the techs from BAL who would be working on our slide outs. The BAL techs had arrived at the shop at seven that morning very anxious to get started.
    That was one of the best things about this whole experience. Working with techs who wanted to work and get things fixed as fast as possible and more importantly get it fixed right. I know that sounds simple, "get it fixed right". I sure knew what it was like to have things fixed wrong.
    Just at seven forty five our coaches were parked side by side inside two big service bays. We all watched them pull in and the doors went down. Now we had to figure out how to keep ourselves entertained for the next eight hours.
    We decided to visit the local Amish farm market for a big breakfast and then head over to the outlets in Michigan City. This was going to be a shopping day. I was not in a big spending mood but hey you never know what you might find. My mood could change.
    It didn't. At eight twenty we were sitting in the farm market parking lot. The place was not open until the weekend so we were trying to decide where to go for breakfast. Before we could make a decision my phone started to ring and I spent the next sixty five minutes trying to solve multiple emergencies back home. It was crazy. I told Diane she would have to drive.
    We went to a convenience store for gas. Diane had to pump it herself. She went in for coffee. I walked in and told her I was driving back to the coach to get my cell phone charger. She didn't look too pleased. We informed Gary and Janis where we were going. They said they would wait there until we got back. We drove to the coach and I made a mad dash inside the service center to get my charger. There were techs all over our two coaches, like ants at a picnic. I could see a tech in the overhead of Gary's slide out (or was it mine?) and they were in the bays as well. It was very obvious these people don't mess around.
    I had just a second to meet JD the manager and then it was back to my car. As soon as I sat down and plugged in my cell, two calls hit me at the same time.
    I hardly noticed the scenery as Diane followed Gary to Michigan City. We finally made it and found a breakfast place that served really good skillets. I ate mine without interruption and we walked over to the outlets. Just as we walked into the first store my second round of calls began. I was on the phone for another two hours and then I had to listen to the low battery beep again until we had enough of shopping and went back to the car.
    I wish I could have a real vacation. I have forgotten what one of them is like, one with no business phone calls or other interruptions. I can only hope to have a few of them again one day.
    At three thirty we were turning down the road to the shop. As we approached the campground we saw both our coaches parked in their spots, with power hooked up, jacks down and all slides out. That was a sight. I entered the coach and immediately tried the main slide out. It moved in and out like a dream. It was enough to make a grown man cry. No, I didn't really cry, but I sure was happy to see that slide out flush against the living room wall for the first time.
    I checked the bathroom floor and I could not tell where the repair was, it looked perfect. Diane took a look and said "What about that tear? I think we should get them to fix that too."
    I had told Roger to fix the worst spot in the floor, but now the remaining hole looked really bad so I had no problem with Diane's request.
    I hopped out of the coach to see how Gary had made out. He looked pretty pleased, so I suspected his slide outs were working rather well. He told me that the techs had not quite finished yet with the bedroom and he also pointed out that both of us needed new sweeps and gaskets and that had not been done yet either. All that meant was they needed at least another day, and that was quite okay with both of us.
    "Let's take a look at your water tank" Gary said. So we did. There was now an overflow tube right were it was supposed to be. No more water flowing into my basement while going down the road. We checked out Gary's tank and could see a new welded stainless steel support where one was missing before. It looked really good.
    Gary informed me that his auto levelers now worked like a charm. I informed him that I forget to tell Roger to adjust mine. That would go on tomorrow's list.
    Both Gary and I were feeling as much like kids at Christmas that two guys in their fifties can. I hope that most of my coach friends can relate to how two years of coach issues can affect one's relationship with one's coach. If you can relate then you must know how good it felt to see these long going problems resolved. Not just fixed but fixed by people who really know and care about what they are doing. That is so rare these days to have that happen.
    Diane called me in for some leftovers that we brought from home. I wasn't all that hungry, but I figured I had to eat something and why not have a Woodchuck cider to celebrate our first day's good results? First though we took the coach to fill up the water tank. It was a pleasure to work the slides again, unplug the coach, get some water and then set back up. It took about thirty minutes to do and while the tank was filling I talked to Walt and Roger and told them what a great job they had done so far.
    Then it was quick dinner of something, I can't remember what, oh it was meatloaf and sweet potatoes. We watched the first half of Dances with Wolves and pretty soon it was time to call it a night.
    Even with all the phone calls it had been a very good day.
  15. -Gramps-

    Don't Forget to Laugh.

    By -Gramps-,

    One of my rules for owning a Motorcoach is Rule Number Two, which contains the following: Patience is not only a virtue but a necessity.
    Rule Two and Rule Five (my latest rule) work very closely together
    Rule Number Five: When owning a Motorcoach Don’t Forget to Laugh.
    You must be able to laugh even if it kills you.
    When you are an RVer, having a sense of humor and the ability to laugh at troubles, is as much of a necessity as owning a spare sewer hose.
    For example; I related a story about the first accident I had with our first coach when it was new. I bumped one corner of the coach into a tree. That upset me considerably, of course. Another RVer, who witnessed the accident, had some words of advice for me.
    “Hey, just go ahead and hit the other seven corners and get it over with!”
    The humor and the logic of this sarcastic statement was hidden from me at the time it was spoken, but I have owned a coach long enough to completely understand it’s meaning now.
    I should have understood it then; after all, I have used humor to get through life for as long as I can remember.
    I have been told I am a funny guy. I appreciate that, even if the person saying it did not mean it as a compliment. One of the first persons in my life to tell me that I was funny, even when it might not have been the best time, was my mom. She knew better than anyone.
    For example: One Wednesday afternoon when I was in the second grade, I brought home a note from my teacher. It was one of those notes composed with red ink, like the teacher wants the parent to think it is written in blood. The note said: “Derrick is still not working up to his potential. He daydreams constantly, and when asked questions during class responds with a joke or other inappropriate remark. I would appreciate your attention to this matter. Sincerely, Mrs. Mather.”
    Well, Mom read the note, and got a bit upset with me. I don’t know why, it wasn't like this was my first red note. I brought more than a few home the year before.
    “When are you going to quit goofing off in class?” she asked. “I am so tired of getting these notes. I should just knock you into next week!”
    “I wish you would,” I said. “I have a test on Friday and I ‘m not ready for it.”
    And that is when the fight started.
    Now that reminds me of another story, emphasis on the word story.
    One day a few summers ago I was driving down the road in my truck when one of those quick hard rain showers hit. The road quickly had pools of water and people were stopping short all over the place. A big black Escalade, in front of me, slammed on its brakes when it hit one of these slick pools of water. I could barely see with the hard rain coming down. I stopped just a bit short and tapped the rear end of the car.
    I got out of my car just as the other driver got out of his. He looked very mad, but that was no problem, he was a dwarf. He walked to the back of his car and saw his busted tail light.
    He looked up angrily at me.
    “I AM NOT HAPPY!" he said.
    I looked at him and replied: “You’re not? Then which one are you?”
    And that is when the fight started.
    What is humor, anyway? Where does this uniquely human ability come from?
    Wikipedia defines it this way:
    Humour or humor is the tendency of particular cognitive experiences to provoke laughter and provide amusement. The term derives from the humeral medicine of the ancient Greeks, which taught that the balance of fluids in the human body, known as humors (Latin: humor, "body fluid"), control human health and emotion.
    People of all ages and cultures respond to humor. The majority of people are able to experience humor, i.e., to be amused, to laugh or smile at something funny, and thus they are considered to have a sense of humor. The hypothetical person lacking a sense of humor would likely find the behavior induced by humor to be inexplicable, strange, or even irrational. Though ultimately decided by personal taste, the extent to which a person will find something humorous depends upon a host of variables, including geographical location, culture, and maturity, level of education, intelligence and context. For example, young children may favor slapstick, such as Punch and Judy puppet shows (I preferred The Three Stooges) or cartoons such as Tom and Jerry. Satire may rely more on understanding the target of the humor and thus tends to appeal to more mature audiences.
    Many theories exist about what humor is and what social function it serves. The prevailing types of theories attempting to account for the existence of humor include psychological theories, the vast majority of which consider humor-induced behavior to be very healthy; spiritual theories, which may, for instance, consider humor to be a "gift from God"; and theories which consider humor to be an unexplainable mystery, very much like a mystical experience.
    I certainly believe that laughter and humor come from God. He obviously has a sense of humor as well; after all He created human beings. I can’t image that He was only looking to have a pleasant conversation. He has rules and doesn’t want us to misbehave but He must want to have some good guffaws along with all the tears his human children can provide.
    We are the same way with our children are we not?
    That reminds me of another story: (this one is true)
    When my daughters were very young I caught them playing with a few dollar bills that they lifted from my wallet. They were drawing beards and mustaches on the president's faces. Instead of getting mad at them for taking my dough without asking (the answer would have been no) I acted shocked that they would be defacing US Currency.
    “You can go to jail for defacing money! Diane what are we going to do about this?”
    “Maybe I should call the US treasury and report them!”
    At this point the girls started to tear up and begged us not to call. They tried to give the money back to me but I told them I couldn’t carry damaged, defaced money around with me.
    I left their room. A few minutes later I heard water running in their bathroom and whispers coming from behind the closed door.
    I walked into the room and found them with a sink full of soapy water trying to wash the ink off the bills.
    “OH NO, NOW YOU ARE MONEY LAUNDERING?!”
    They burst into tears…I can be so mean sometimes but I found it hilarious then and still do now. Of course the girls hate it when I tell this story.
    The Bible has many references to laughter. Most are about laughing at one’s enemies as opposed to laughing at some joke or circumstance, but there are examples of that in a few places.
    Ecclesiastes 3:4: A time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time to morn and a time to dance.
    I don’t like to morn. I am not much of a dancer, but I love to laugh.
    Jesus once said in reference to how we judge others that how can you remove the speck from your brother’s eye when you have a plank in your own?
    I have always found that funny….a board sticking out of my eye.
    The story of Balaam’s donkey is humorous. The Bible uses the more ancient word for donkey but it will not work here. Anyway, Balaam does not want to curse the Israelites for this very rich enemy King, but changes his mind when the price to do so gets to be so big he can’t refuse. He rides out to do this dirty dead. He and his ***, sorry, donkey, are going down this tight mountain path when an angel with a very big sword appears and blocks the way. The poor beast sees the angel but Balaam does not, so he starts to beat the unfortunate animal when it runs the other way. The donkey moves back to the path but is so afraid of the angel that he starts to cringe against the mountain wall which traps Balaam’s foot. He starts to beat the donkey once again. The donkey has had enough so she lays down which really ticks the prophet off so he beats her once more but much harder.
    This time the Donkey speaks up…”Hey what have I ever done to you that would make you hit me three times?”
    The donkey not only talks but counts as well.
    The first book of Kings Chapter 18 tells the story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal. Elijah and the prophets get into a contest over whose God is real. They meet on Mt Carmel for a fire from heaven shoot out. The prophets go first asking their god to send down fire and consume their pile of ox parts. They dance around, cutting themselves with knives and making an awfully loud racket at the same time. They did this for hours.
    Elijah makes good use of sarcasm and hurls taunts at them.
    “Hey shout louder! Surely he is a god! Maybe he is deep in thought or busy or traveling somewhere! Maybe you just need to wake him, or he stopped alongside the road!
    In other words the god of the prophets of Baal has stopped to take a pee.
    Elijah was not one for political correctness, that is for sure.
    And that reminds me of another story.
    Many years ago I told what I consider to be the best joke I know to a bunch of tired people on a plane in Chicago. We were stuck on the runway during a snow delay. I got bored with just sitting there so I decided to kill some time. I jumped up out of my seat and moved to the front of the passengers
    “Hey I want to tell you this story!"
    I had everyone's attention so I made the best of it.
    During World War One there was this private in the trenches waiting to be issued a rifle. They ran out of guns and bayonets before he could get his so he asked his sergeant what he was suppose to do.
    “Here take this” the sarge said as he handed the private a broom handle.
    “What do I do with this?” the private asked.
    “You point it at the Germans and go Bangity..bangity…bang!”
    The shocked private replied “That isn’t going to work!”
    The sarge said "you’re right" and he took the handle back and tied a string on the end of it.
    The Private said "what does that do?"
    "You point it at the Germans and go stabity..stabity ..stab, now listen to your Sarge and go out there and fight!”
    "Yes Sir! says the Private….he hits the trenches and there is a big bloody battle, bodies everywhere. The private points his weapon: Bangity Bangity Bang!….The private is amazed. Many Germans go down and as he Stabity Stabity..Stabs! and Banigity Bangity Bangs them over and over again.
    For hours they fight until the private thinks he is the only man left alive. Then he sees one German rising out of a trench on the other side of the dusty, smokey, battlefield The German comes towards him. The private takes a shot at him…. Bangity bangity bang!. The German keeps coming. Bangity Bangity Bang!. He still keeps coming and then he is on top of our brave private.He lunges at the enemy with all his strength...... Stabity Stabity STAB!.... Statbity Stabity STAB!
    It doesn’t work. The German plows over the poor private. The German breaks the private’s arm, his leg, and his back. As the private is lying in the mud and the German moves away, he hears the German saying:
    TANKITY...TANKITY...TANK!
    The Passengers all laughed until it hurt.
    Man I kill myself sometimes.
    My next entry will include Motorcoaching stories that you just have to laugh at. When that will be? I have no idea. The stories don't have to be mine. If you have a good one, send it to me. I promise to tell where it came from, unless you don't want me to.
    Gramps
    .
  16. -Gramps-
    It's been so long since I blogged anything that I find this blank page a bit intimidating. But I will get over that rather quickly.
    "What's it like owning a 38 foot coach?"
    I was asked that question just a few days ago. I had to stop and think for a minute or two.
    I have always thought that having that big thing sitting in my driveway is nuts. It really is crazy. It cost too much to buy, to own, to keep on the road, and to pay the taxes that come along with it. It is insane to own it, but at the same time owing it keeps me sane. How can that be? Owning a coach, or any rv requires a certain mentality, a different perspective, or philosophy as it were. Maybe it requires more than a philosophy it requires some rules. I have set a few for myself anyway. I will cover rule one. If you remember it, all the others will not be as hard to keep.;
    1. Remember owning a coach improves one's life, if you let it.
    Well, a coach allows you to get away, to visit God's handiwork. It will take you to all kinds of places, some of which you might not go to otherwise. Rving provides friends, life long friends. Some of them will stick closer to you than your own family. Rving not only makes friends, but rvers become friends with each other really fast. It's almost magical how easy it is to make friends when you own a coach. I can talk with people on the road, at a rally, campground, rv show, or at a rest stop and after just a few minutes its like I have know them my whole life. How can I put a price on that? I can't. It is part of the priceless experience of being part of a unique community that loves the road and the people who travel it. I know from first hand experience.
    This last Tuesday, I received an interesting e-mail. It was from a gentleman named Gary who lives just a few miles down on US-17 in Suffolk, just west of us. In other words, he is practically a neighbor. He and his wife Janis have been shopping for a new coach for almost a year. He wanted a diesel pusher, she didn't. She didn't want the front coach entry but he wanted the quiet ride and handling of a diesel. On the internet they found a coach like my Vacationer. With only pictures to look at, she loved the floor plan so much that the front entry door was no longer a problem; he found a chassis with a quiet engine and good handling. At least they hoped so. They needed to know more about this coach, so after searching "UFO" and "Vacationer" on MSN they found our FMCA profile and emailed me wanting to know if I would contact them and answer a few questions. I did just that. After talking on the phone with Gary for about an hour, I hung up, and my wife said to me "Silly man, why didn't you invite them to come over and see the coach?"
    It never occurred to me. But not being totally stupid, I listened to her, called back and suggested to Gary that he and Janis come over to walk through our coach before going to New York to see the one they are interested in. He didn't hesitate to accept, just wanted to know what time.
    So at three pm that same day, I started giving two people who have never owned any kind of rv the complete skinny on owning a really nice 38 foot motor home with a gas engine in the rear, made by a company that is presently in Bankruptcy. Three hours later they left with plans to travel to Buffalo and purchase a new coach that the dealer realy wants to sell.
    Gary and Janis consider us a Godsend. They were so nervous about this crazy thing they are about to do and having friends close by, especially ones with the SAME coach, who can answer questions, share experiences, and help them, why that is just too wonderful for words.
    God works in mysterious ways. He provides new friends to you in most unusual ways. And these new friends give you the opportunity to improve their lives and at the same time, they do the same thing for you.
    You must have gathered by now it was Gary and Janis who asked the simple but at the same time complex question.
    "What's it like owning a 38 foot coach?"
    My answer is its great. It has helped make new friends, taken us to places we have dreamed of going to and allowed Diane and I to be closer together. It has improved our lives because we let it.
    Derrick
  17. -Gramps-

    Family

    By -Gramps-,

    Why have Diane and I kept motorcoaching the last ten years and moving full time next month?

    Here is the answer to that question:

    http://www.myrandomviews.com/blog/family
  18. -Gramps-

    Better than Chocolate

    By -Gramps-,

    It is very quiet around the house. There is no tapping of little doggie nails on the hardwood floor. No tinkling of a metal dog tag against the side of the food bowl. There is no cheerful crunch of the doggie eating his breakfast.
    Life continues to go on. Diane will laugh at a joke, e-mailed to her from one of our friends, when it arrives in her mailbox. She will cry when a sympathy card, snail mailed by one of our friends, shows up in the standard mailbox. She also cries after taking a phone call from family or friends.
    Diane was really moved when Miss Vickie, owner of Salty Dog grooming, sent a card and a dish garden.
    I mostly mope around, feeling sorry for myself.
    It obviously isn't going to be easy to recover from this loss.
    I find myself googling puppy sites, wondering if we should consider another dog.
    Wisdom says it is too soon.
    Exercising wisdom, in and of itself, does not remove the pain of loss.
    I have heard that chocolate makes one feel better when one is hurting.
    If we stocked much chocolate around here, I would eat it all.
    I am hitting the Chips Ahoy pretty hard.
    Prayer is better for me than chocolate or cookies. It is easier on the waistline.
    I look out my office window at our motorhome and I can't help but think how much we will miss our pup the next trip out. Nickolas was such a large part of our life in the coach.
    He spent his last good week with us at a motor coach rally.
    Diane and I hosted the event. It was for the Workhorse Chassis Motorhome Club. WCMC is a FMCA International chapter. The rally took place at Camp Hatteras, in Rodanthe, North Carolina, the first week of October. Fifty nine coaches were in attendance. We called it The Sound and the Sea Rally.
    The rally was a lot of work for me and Diane. Fortunately we had a lot of help.
    We planned all the events for the week, decorated the tables with shells, hung large kites and windsocks from the ceiling and on the wall, provided printed name tags, ran the fifty/fifty lottery and we were a two-person complaint and problem department.
    We catered most of the meals, had lots of seminars, (including a Wi-Fi and computer security Q&A session provided by me) and, on the last night, my son's band "Long Division" played.Their set started out a bit rough, but once they adjusted the volume for a bunch of non-college folks, it ended up sounding really good.
    I booked an absolutely hilarious comedy lecturer who had the audience eating out of his hand!
    I happened to be the lecturer and my subject was my Rules for Owing a Motorcoach.
    Actually, I was pleasantly surprised at how well the whole week went. The formal surveys turned in by the attendees were mostly positive. The last day, I helped some people with coach problems get their jacks retracted, their steps in, and watched them pull away. I then went kite flying, four at once, with Nickolas sitting by my chair.
    Unfortunately, about half way through the week, we noticed that Nickolas was not feeling very well. We were not alarmed, but by the day after the rally, he was not doing well at all. After we returned home he just got worse until the end.
    Sometimes the two of us find ourselves just sitting and staring at each other. We both know what the other is thinking. Diane is holding Nickolas' favorite blanket, I am looking at his favorite spot on the floor wishing that my four-footed special someone could still fetch my slippers for me.
    I don't bother to go fetch them for myself.
    Diane and I continue to move forward. Each day gets a little easier, but our hearts are still raw to the touch.
    Today my daughter Christine is over with our grandsons and Bella the sweet Bulldog. Tonight we will watch Toy Story 3 and have a few laughs. Tomorrow, well, it will just have to take care of itself.
    This weekend we are hoping to return to Camp Hatteras. We will be attending our Good Sams Chapter Christmas/Thanksgiving party campout. Diane and I are looking forward to being with a lot of friends. It always helps to be with friends, especially RVing ones, when trying to get over the loss of a friend.
    I should know. This makes two for me.
    Gramps
  20. -Gramps-
    In order to christen the new blog format, I feel it is necessary to post a few more of my truisms. These truisms fall under my Rules for Owning a Motor Coach: Part 4.
    Owning a Motor Coach is a Never-ending Learning Experience.
    I have learned that a clear sewer connection is a good thing to have … that way, you will see the juice box the grand kids dumped in the toilet as it makes its final journey.
    My wife still will not let me stop at South of the Border and buy anything.
    My wife will not let me stop at JRs, either.
    I have learned that I hate repairing plumbing problems … in the house or in the coach -- it makes no difference to me. I always end up wet and angry.
    The folks at Cracker Barrel are just as friendly as they claim to be.
    A motor coach parked in the driveway makes a great place for family to stay when visiting, especially when the occasion is a wedding.
    A motor coach roof makes a great place to collect snow.
    A snow-covered motor coach roof heat pump produces a gosh-awful smell while operating.
    Did you know that snow can burn when it melts due to high heat?
    A snow-covered motorhome can produce a manmade mini blizzard while traveling down the road.
    Driving a motor coach on snow and ice can be a nerve-damaging experience.
    During a panic stop, an agile cocker spaniel can surf the bathroom rug from the back end of the coach all the way to the dash and look good doing it.
    Slideouts produce a gosh-awful sound while being retracted if the toppers have ice on them.
    Slideouts do not retract all the way if they have ice on them. So a trip to the roof may become necessary.
    It is a lot easier to climb onto a snow-covered motorhome roof than it is to climb off of one. So I suggest you just forget it!
    Things in a motor coach tend to break when you need them the most. Like a bay heater failing during a blizzard.
    My favorite place to be in January is camping at Fort Wilderness.
    Carry a couple of ceramic heaters in your coach. You might just save a water pump and/or water filter from freezing to death.
    A trip to Camping World can cost me at least a hundred bucks, even when I have no plans to buy anything. If I have plans to purchase something, I will end up spending ... well, you don't want to know.
    Why do I need to have three different dominoes games stored in my coach?
    A trip to Wal-Mart can cost me at least fifty bucks even when I am planning only to purchase a six-pack of beer.
    At some point a motor coacher can own too many DVDs.
    It is a lot harder to get something wrong with your coach repaired than it is to break it.
    My wife says I sound like the dad from A Christmas Story working on his furnace when I am in the wet bay trying to replace a frozen water pump.
    Looking out a motorhome window at snow-covered trees and frozen rivers flying by is quite a wonderful sight.
    Just take a deep breath and enjoy the view.
    I have learned that a motor coach will improve your life, even in the wintertime, if you let it.


  21. -Gramps-
    Part uno of duo.
    Before I started writing this, I was sitting at my computer browsing recipes online. I am planning my menu for Christmas Day brunch with my family. I have narrowed my entrees to Blackberry French Toast Casserole, Lump Crab Meat and Shrimp Quiche and a fresh fruit and honey yogurt salad. Diane plans on making some oatmeal and date muffins. They are a tradition every Christmas day.
    This party will be for eight adults including my parents. Not as much preparation will be needed as the last party that I co-hosted. That one took place back on the first weekend of this month at an RV resort in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina. The attendees, all thirty of them, are all members of the Colonial Virginians, our local FMCA chapter.
    The planning for this Christmas Rally started last December at the very end of last year’s rally which happened to be at the same location. Diane and I, along with our close friends Gary and Janis, decided then to host this year’s event. The Christmas rally is the one rally that is catered, at least in part. We told ourselves it would be a lot of fun and less work to take charge of the biggest party we have all year if someone else does the food stuff.
    I am not sure how we came to that conclusion because it isn't true. Our party turned out to need a lot of labor to pull it off.
    We started planning the two nights, three days, rally with three things in mind.

    We wanted it to be fun and meaningful so we had to come up with a theme.
    We wanted people to attend and bring only their beverages to each night’s festivities. No need for plates, utensils or a pot luck dish. We wanted to provide lots of food for Friday night, a full country breakfast on Saturday morning, full traditional Christmas meal on Saturday night and a good continental breakfast on Sunday.
    We wanted to do all this for around twenty five bucks a person. (That is what added to the work).
    I had to get myself a Fedora. Okay that’s the fourth thing I had to keep in mind.

    First thing was to work on number 2 and not forgetting about 3. Janis started looking for a caterer the first week in January. It took a couple of weeks and a lot of phone calls but she found one that would provide two meals, the country breakfast and the Holiday dinner. If we, meaning the four of us, sat up the buffet, the price was really good per person. That meant that we would have to take care of Friday night ourselves and Sunday Breakfast ourselves. We could shop for some things ahead but most of it would have to be done same day. Diane and Janis planned the menus, made some trips to BJs and the Dollar Store.
    I came up with an idea for number 1. We were sitting at our chapter business meeting this summer at the Holiday Travel Park in Virginia Beach when it hit me.
    I leaned over to Gary and Janis and said “We can make this an “It’s a Wonderful Life rally! We can show the movie on Friday night, I can set up my IAWL village and we can decorate the room with movie posters and snow flakes.” We also came up with the idea of having a trivia contest.
    They liked the whole idea. We added one thing. We decided to make it a costume party as well. Come dressed in 1940s style or as a character from the film.
    Now we had a plan. Over the next two months we worked out the details.
    Let me tell you all something. I gave this rally a lot of thought about how we could make it special. I really wanted all our friends who attended to have more than a good time. I wanted them to feel something while there. I wanted them to feel close to their other members. I intended for this rally to use the Christmas season and the It’s a Wonderful Life story to reinforce the need for friends and family. I wanted to emphasize the Family in Family Motor Coach and have fun doing it.
    I knew that was not going to be so easy.
    The decorating became really important to me. The decorations had to be inspired by the movie. My village was all about Bedford Falls but we needed more. Together we came up with ideas that were simple but good.
    Another trip to the dollar store and a trip to Andy our fearless leader’s house took care of it.
    The rally officially started on Friday. Diane and I knew that to get everything done we needed to do we would have to leave on Thursday. That included emptying a lot of bays of chairs, grills, kites and loading lots of boxes of Christmas stuff including a whole miniature village, a tree and other items.
    On Wednesday night at 8:10 pm I received a call from one of my customers. They are a telemarketing firm that makes calls to Las Vegas. Their office phones were dead.
    I was supposed to leave the next morning by ten at the latest. The office had two separate phone systems and I was going to have to move all the lines and phones from the dead one to the one that was still working. There was no way I could do that before Monday unless I did one thing….drive forty five minutes to the site and fix them tonight.
    That is just what I did.
    I crawled into bed at midnight exhausted, but couldn't fall asleep for a couple of hours. I lay thinking about all that we needed to do including packing up the coach.
    The next morning Diane and I started making the first of many trips from the house to the coach. After about an hour I lost count. I also lost count of the phone calls I received. It was one of those mornings after a not so easy night.
    We backed out of our driveway at 9:50, pulled into the church parking lot next door, hooked up the car, checked the lights, said a prayer for safety and at finally made it on the road at 10:45 am.
    We pulled into the Carolina Crossroads RV resort just before one. While I was setting down jacks and hooking up all the things that needed to be hooked up, a Monaco Knight pulled into the campground. Gary and Janis had arrived right behind us.
    Now the real fun would begin.
    I loaded up the car and delivered a bunch of containers to the meeting room. Not long after that the other three arrived and we started pushing tables around. The ladies decorated the tables including candles and silk rose petals, while Gary, using my ladder, started hanging snow flakes. We picked out a corner for the village. Gary and I successfully connected my DVD player to the large screen television, and hung movie posters in such a way they would not try to roll back up and fall off the wall. This last bit was very critical to the whole effect.
    The decorating went pretty well. There was one that that didn’t. I forgot to pack the light bulbs for the 21 village buildings. Light bulbs went on our shopping list. That trip would take place early in the morning.
    It had been a long first day. We all met at our coach for a one pot meal and some strong drink. During dinner we planned the rest of our attack.
    Early the next day it was off to Wal-Mart. We divided our shopping list and hit the aisles.
    It took a couple of hours to load up our carts, go thru the checkout lane and load up the Vue.
    Back to the resort we went, off loaded and then finished the decorating. A few more snowflakes, a bit more painters tape to hold up the posters, lights installed in the village, a bit of snow, decorate our little tree, and then it was done.
    The place looked pretty good. We found out later that the owner of the resort, who lives in Asheville, thought it looked so too. He saw it by way of his online remote security camera, called the managers and told them they needed to go take a look for themselves.
    I guess we chilled out for a couple of hours. I don’t remember if I went back to the coach and watched television or read a book. I remember that it was really warm, windy and humid. I wished I had not unpacked all my kites and left them at home.
    I spent the part of the afternoon walking around the campground handing out my printed itinerary for the weekend.
    Four o’clock and we were back at the room. We sat up a serving line, started the coffee pots perking and made up trays and crock pots of goodies. We lit the candles on the tables, and dimmed the lights. I turned on a special CD of 1940s Big Band Christmas music.
    The only thing left to really get this party started is for our friends to arrive.
    By a quarter to five our members started to arrive with anticipation knowing (in part) what was in store for them.
    Almost everyone who walked in the door took a look at the ceiling, hard to miss all the snow flakes hanging from above, and then gravitated toward the Bedford falls village with the chugging little train moving in a noisy circle.
    I forgot to mention that our Christmas rally is also a Toys for Tots event and as such every coach provides at least one toy. Those items began to fill up a couple of tables placed on one side of the room.
    The mix of drink and talk began. There was a month of catching up to do. For some it was even longer. I milled around and said hi to as many people as I could and then at five after five, I rang a bell (a sound they would hear a lot over the next two days) and when silence came, I officially opened the “It’s a Wonderful Life” Christmas Rally and Party.
    I reviewed the itinerary:
    Movie tonight at seven…popcorn will be served
    Breakfast will be served at 8:30 in the morning including our Toys for Tots presentation.
    Breakfast would be followed by our annual business meeting.
    Everyone will be on your own until happy hour at 5:00 pm tomorrow night, followed by our Holiday Dinner with ham, turkey and lots of other things.
    Also don’t forget that the hardest “It’s a Wonderful Life” trivia contest will take place during dinner as well as voting for the best dressed.
    Following Dinner is our traditional “Don’t get too attached Christmas gift/steal exchange.”
    “Now Come Eat!”
    They did. They had a lot of choices, chips and salsa, mixed nuts, raw veggies and dip, spinach dip in a bread bowl, meatballs, spicy wings, (chicken not angel), b-b-qued cocktail whinnies (my favorite), crab dip, (my very favorite!), cheese and fresh grapes, pickles, green and black olives, cake, creme puffs, really good cookies, and other things I can no longer remember. There was plenty for all.
    The tables filled up, lots of talk, lots of smiles, a few trips back to the serving tables.
    At six forty five I announced that the movie would be starting in fifteen minutes. It would be a special colorized version of “It’s a Wonderful Life”.
    “Concessions, including fresh popcorn, will be served at the back of the theater.”
    Janis had purchased a mini antique popcorn machine which she was already heating up in the back on a table set up just for that purpose. We had popcorn bags, cookies and cake, and a special lamp to illuminate it all during the showing of the movie.
    We cleared the banquet tables, which were located under the large screen TV, and placed all the goodies on the kitchen counter.
    At seven I turned off the lights and rolled the DVD.
    I suppose with any plans there can be technical glitches. I had one…audio too low. I was forced to push pause and halt the movie during an early critical scene. It took me a couple of minutes to find a way to up the sound from the max it was already it. There was a TV equalizer setting that, once all the sliders were moved to the right, increased the sound to a comfortable level. I continued the show.
    Almost everyone had stayed to watch the movie. They all became really quiet. I could tell they were listening and watching it closely. During my chit chat and milling about earlier, I was surprised to discover that a lot of people there had not see the movie at all. The rest had seen bits and pieces of it. Not like me at all.
    This would be my 100 and something viewing of the film.
    Just before I started the movie, I took a few minutes to explain how important this old little film was to me.
    I told them how “It’s a Wonderful Life” had saved my life.
    I wrote about it here about a year or two ago I think. http://community.fmca.com/blog/62/entry-526-its-a-wonderful-life/
    I like to think my little story was the reason for the total attention that the movie was receiving from all there. Maybe in part that was true….but a trivia contest could have had something to do with it as well.
    The movie played….Young George got his ears slapped back, grew up, bought a suitcase, got married, had kids, yelled at some nasty old guy in a wheel chair, lost a bunch of money, thought he was going to jail, thought about jumping off a bridge, changed his mind, helped an angel get his wings, THE END.
    The audience attending, like many others over the last seventy years, clapped at the end of the movie. Some, like me, wiped away a few tears.
    Well, I can’t help it, I cry every time.
    The party’s first night ended on a great note. I was told by many, as they filed out the exit, how much they enjoyed the movie. There was a chorus of good nights and see you in the morning.
    The four of us cleaned off tables, threw away trash, swept the floor, put away leftovers, and swept the floor some more.
    By ten we were on our way back to our coaches. We were all dog tired.
    Gramps
  22. -Gramps-

    The Course of Dreams

    By -Gramps-,

    If you have been reading my earlier blog entries, you know that I have said that a motor coach will improve your life, if you let it. I said it will improve your life in many ways. Your coach can take you to places you might not think to go to if you traveled like most "normal" people, carrying your bags and staying in hotels. It can also help you to make friends. Recently for Diane and I, our coach has done both.
    This has been a rough year for the two of us. Mike, my best friend and business partner for the last 10 years, discovered last Christmas that he had stage-four lung cancer that had spread to his stomach and esophagus. He had to virtually quit working and just try to survive. I took over the whole work load and tried to make an income for us both. So, while Mike went for radiation treatments and lived off smoothies and Ensure, I took care of our customers. This lasted for three months.
    During the week of March 20, while Diane and I were in Florida visiting my daughter, her husband and son, Mike went into the hospital on a Friday and died two days later. He had just collected a large check, the final payment on a large install we had done some two months earlier. He deposited it into the bank that same Friday morning. He died and all accounts were immediately frozen by his bank. He left no will or instructions of any kind as to how his affairs were to be handled. This caused a lot of problems. I can only assume that because of his illness, his books were, to put it mildly, a wreck.
    It would take another two months almost from the day he died for me to help his family figure out what he owed and what was owed to him. I helped him start his own business and now I had to close it out.
    It was heartbreaking to scan his list of jobs and to remember the projects we had worked on together for so long. It was also stressful for all the months of his illness and for the two months afterward to not have any income from most of the work we had done together. It was a huge relief the day in May that his daughter was finally able to pay me for the work I had done for Mike, but at the same time it was killing me that my friend for 20 years was gone.
    Diane didn't know what she was going to do to help me get through my terrible depression and anxiety over losing my friend. His death was taking a part of me with him. It's funny, but when my wife's father died that was one of the things I was worried about for her, that his death would kill part of her. However, she remained strong the whole time and now here I was, making everyone around me almost as miserable as I was.
    It was on one of my lowest days when our friends Gary and Janis called and said they were looking at a new coach and wanted to ask some questions about ours. Helping them purchase a new coach was just the right therapy for me. If you read my first blog entry you know that I said they were a Godsend. Now you know why. I lost one friend and God sent me, us, two new ones.
    Diane and I took a short trip with Gary and Janis and we managed to get to FMCA's GEAR rally in Richmond, where we had a really good time, joined the Colonial Virginians FMCA chapter and made some great new friends. Once those two trips were done, I found I was so far behind in servicing and paying company bills that I really needed to work hard for the next few weeks. By mid-July I was caught up, but as a result I was ready for a break from it all.
    We thought about attending the FMCA rally in Bowling Green, Ohio, but we could not be sure to get there on time, so we decided it would be better to find someplace closer. Diane had visited a booth at the GEAR rally that was giving away three free nights at a brand-new motor coach resort in Galax, Va... She suggested we call them. I wasn't all that enthusiastic about it. What's in Galax? I knew it was close to the Blue Ridge Parkway and also it was not too far from where my parents live, so why not go there for awhile? Diane called the resort. Barry, the owner and developer, said come on out and visit us.
    We went to Deer Creek Motorcoach Resort expecting to stay for about three days.
    We stayed for two weeks.
    I fell for the place as soon as we drove through the gate. The whole resort was laid out like a big green map right in front of us. On the far end was a big hill with green grass and many grazing cows that stretched up to a wonderful blue sky. The asphalt access roads are all three times wider than a coach. Most of the sites are not yet developed, but they were all grassed over waiting to be bought and the pads poured. Rock-banked creeks cut across the resort adding to the whole lovely look of the place; plus, they make a great sound.
    Next to the gate is a handsome log clubhouse with a green metal roof and mini golf course. Just on the other side of the clubhouse is a beautiful nine-hole golf course. Just to the other side of the golf course is Deer Creek Rv Resort.
    We parked in a guest lot (number 3), a pull-in right next to a running creek. We hooked up, set up the patio. I grabbed a beer and took a seat and just took in the view. It took all of 10 minutes just sitting there for me to feel the tension and anxiety of the past few months just start to fall off my shoulders. I started to feel very much at home.
    There were not many coaches there -- five, and six counting ours. The owners saw us arrive and soon they started walking over to say hello: Beverly and Dan, Shirley and Sheldon, Ron, Gordy and Judy. Barry, the developer, came by and soon we learned that he was going to pick up his new-to-him 94 Marathon coach in the next few days. He planned to fly with his wife, Laura, to Florida, and drive it back. It would be his first RV. He was a bit nervous but I assured him he didn't have much to worry about.
    We soon found out that all the owners get together on a regular basis at the the clubhouse for a potluck supper most every weekend, if not sooner. To make a long story a bit shorter, I ended up grilling for everyone, twice! Steaks one night, chicken and waffle sandwiches with home frys and grilled corn on the cob another night. The ladies did the shopping, and I did the cooking.
    My parents came to visit us the first weekend we were there. They stayed in the coach. We went to the Smoke on the Mountain State Barbecue championship in Galax. On Friday we antiqued and ate barbecue. It was so good we did the same thing all over again on Saturday. We played mini golf. I also played golf with my parents. My Mom is in her late seventies and my Dad is in his eighties and both had a blast out on the course. It was a great visit, one of the best my wife and I have had with my folks for a long time.
    The next weekend, Gary and Janis drove their coach up and backed into lot number 2. They went with us to visit the Blue Ridge Parkway, Mt Airy, also known as Mayberry, and the Shelton Winery located not far away. Gary and I hit the links as well.
    During the week between visits from family and close friends, I made new ones. I also installed Wi-Fi for the resort at no charge for my labor. Everyone was being so kind and generous to us; I wanted to do something in return. I flew kites (I collect them). Diane and I played Bocce. We went hiking and explored other nearby towns.
    My friend Mike was a devout boater and fisherman. He also loved to golf. I went boating with him once. We talked about going on a fishing trip and staying in the RV. We also talked about golfing together but it never happened. We ran out of time before we could do either one.
    So, I thought about Mike while I was out on the course. Most of the time I was the only one playing. I had the nine holes all to myself, well, almost to myself. I felt like Mike was there with me, on this course of dreams, laughing at me when I shanked the ball really badly.
    We have been back to Deer Creek since that time. We are hoping to buy lot number 3. I am also hoping to improve my golf swing. I am getting tired of Mike laughing at me!
    The following pictures should show you why I think this place is special.







  23. -Gramps-

    Restless

    By -Gramps-,

    I suspect that many readers of this here blog of mine (notice my use of a bit of Southern Speak) wonder what most of my last few entries have to do with motor coaching. My initial response is: not much.
    However, there might be a connection.
    I have a restless nature. I can't sit still for long periods of time doing nothing. I have to be reading, writing, watching something very interesting, and usually commercial free, on the LCD. I might play a World War II FPS online. For you non computer gamers, a FPS is a First Person Shooter. My restless nature may have been a large contributing factor that helped produce the mindset that led me to become a citizen of the RV community. I have always thought about places that I have not been to and places that I want to return to. I think about places that are anywhere except where I am at the moment. That has to be one of the reasons I bought a Motor Coach. What does a MOTOR coach do? It takes you to other places. My restless nature also contributed to the purchase of my motor coach lot. I love where it's located, near the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Parkway is a road. What do roads do? They lead you to other places. I can take the coach down that road or some other road at a moments notice.
    Well sometimes I can do that. The reality is that I am still constrained by time, money and business responsibilities. But those things don't stop me from dreaming and planning and hoping.
    As I said, I have a restless nature. I am sure that I inherited it. My mother and father were the youngest of seven and six siblings respectively. My Mom was the only one of her family to move away. My Dad was one of two. Every other sibling stayed very close to the place where they were born. There is nothing wrong with that. I am still living just across the water from the city I was raised in. I am presently living in the city I was born in. There was a time I couldn't wait to get away from here and leave my parents behind. I did just that and then I moved back, close to my parent's home, but not too close. Then sometime later, my parents became somewhat restless living here so they moved away, back to where they came from and left me behind. They live in Lexington NC just north of Denton.
    Dad did manage to see a lot of the world long before they settled down here and then again in their cabin in the woods. My Mom saw some of it with him. The part she saw was inside the borders of this country; however she could not allow herself to travel with Dad overseas. The pull of family, and those country roads, was always too strong. The ties to Denton just would not stretch to Sicily or Manila or Barcelona.
    I wonder to this day what my life would be like if part of my childhood had been adventurously spent in Italy or somewhere. I wonder even more when I think about the places I have traveled to and the people I met there. Yes, I have had some opportunities to feed my restless adventure craving nature.
    I have been around the world in ten days. Diane and I have been on numerous cruises to many islands surrounded by a Caribbean blue sea. I have been to the west coast many times. Many years ago I met Danny Thomas, Ephram Zimablest Jr, Francis Ford Coppola. Many years ago I was friends with Kathy Lee Gifford before she became Kathy Lee Gifford. I used to work for Ted Turner before he became rich and famous. Diane and I worked for Jim and Tammy Bakker back when they first started and traveled with them over most of the Eastern half of the United States. I worked for Pat Robertson as a roaming news videographer. I have installed phone systems on merchant vessels in the Pacific, the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic. I have taken weapons classes just in case the ship I was on was attacked by pirates. Diane and I have been camping in our first coach during a terrible Cape Hatteras nor'easter. I have seen fall colors while driving the coach around Grandfather Mountain that are so gorgeous it made me want to shout. We have been to some great coach rallies. I have been to Disney World multiple times. I felt like a kid, and loved every minute of it. I have been awed by the Grand Canyon.
    All of these experiences, friendships and encounters now seem short and sweet.
    What it boils down to is that my restless nature, at times being transported by plane and now by coach, has driven me to collect a lifetime of experiences that constantly fly through my mind.
    When I am sitting in front of my computer and mulling all these memories I look out the window at my coach, and ask myself the same questions.
    The First question gets overridden by all the following ones.
    First One, how do I keep paying for that thing?
    The following ones: Where is that thing going to take me to next and who am I going to meet when I get there? When is the next time our coach is going to add to my collection of dreams, hopes and memories?
    I always hope it is soon.
    I think you might be starting to understand why I write so much about my past. My past, your past, each has so much to do with who we are, what we believe, what we hope for, and what we will become.
    I sometimes want to retire now, retire from the phone game and become a full timer, free to go pretty much where my coach can take me. Once I get there, if it doesn't work out the way I thought it would or if I just feel like it is time to leave, then I may just pack up the rig and go.
    That is what I would like to do, but I also inherited a sense of responsibility from my parents as well. I have to look after my family until all members can look after themselves. I have to be settled and stable. What I want to do, when I can do it, and what I have to be now seems so far apart. I don't want to give up, but there are times I think the distance between responsible reality and my dreams is so great that it might drive me crazy.
    Do you understand what I am trying to say? Do you understand how your past pushes you to dream for something better only to find that it may be slipping away? You may have to let go of it because it is the responsible thing to do.
    I am quite sure that my Parents know exactly what I mean.
    How is that for a lead in to the rest of my story?
  25. -Gramps-
    This part of my past is very hard for me to write about. I guess that is why I haven't blogged for over a month and it has been even longer since I wrote the previous part of this story. I guess I am afraid I run the risk of having people read this story and think I am crazy, just like the people in our church, close friends, and eventually family thought my whole family was crazy. They all thought we had "gone off the deep end." I am not sure what good, if any, these words will accomplish. But like my father, I am a writer, and as such I feel compelled to continue typing and let the reader be the judge.
    From Wikipedia:
    A miracle is an unexpected event attributed to divine intervention. Sometimes an event is also attributed (in part) to a miracle worker, saint, or religious leader. A miracle is sometimes thought of as a perceptible interruption of the laws of nature. Others suggest that God may work with the laws of nature to perform what people perceive as miracles. Theologians say that, with divine providence, God regularly works through created nature yet is free to work without, above, or against it as well.
    A miracle is often considered a fortuitous event: compare with an Act of God.
    In casual usage, "miracle" may also refer to any statistically unlikely but beneficial event, (such as the survival of a natural disaster) or even which regarded as "wonderful" regardless of its likelihood, such as birth. Other miracles might be: survival of a terminal illness, escaping a life threatening situation or 'beating the odds.' Some coincidences are perceived to be miracles.
    I have heard the word miracle tossed around a lot. It is used to describe someone surviving a bad car crash (I used it myself after I was in a fiery car wreck in California-but that's another story) or a plane crash. I have heard someone talk about the miracle of surviving cancer. I remember the Miracle Mets and the USA Hockey Team and the Miracle on Ice after the 1980 Olympics, but how many people have experienced a "see it with your own eyes" miracle of Biblical proportions and suffered the consequences of such a miracle? Not many in this land. When I was a child I wished for one, I prayed for one and I got one. I had no idea what would come along with it.
    The morning after Penni was healed I floated off to school. I figured I could tell everyone about this life changing event. I believed that all who heard my words would believe me and would be just as excited to find out that God is real, just as real as I knew Him to be.
    I, being naive, could not have been more wrong.
    As I was walking to school, my Dad was struggling with his own thoughts about the night before.
    I think it is told best with his words.
    I remember the night, every bit of it. I lay facing one wall and Catherine lay facing the other and we didn't say a word to each other all night. I don't know if there was any sleep or if I froze in one position and allowed my body to rest a bit, but I managed to get up the next day and go on to work.
    At work, I tried unsuccessfully to bury myself in whatever I was doing. My mind was preoccupied and I don't know what I did. I'm a metal smith and I might have made cornbread that day, I don't recall. In my mind was a turning and churning of "what if, what if? and if it isn't?, if it isn't?" and how to handle it. This went on until about 10 o'clock in the morning.
    Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I got to a telephone, called home, and when Catherine recognized my voice, in tears she said, "It's healed. And it looks great!"
    I don't know what my answer was to her, if I answered her at all. I managed to get through the rest of the very long day.
    I managed to get home at my usual time about 4:00 P.M. and as I pulled in the driveway, the screen door opened and this little 18-month-old girl came running out. Because of her foot, it had not Penni's nature to run on cement--she had always walked very cautiously. But she came running out and when she got to that little step in front of the house, she just passed right on down, past me and around the car, back up the step and over the door, turned around and came back down the step and around the car and back up a couple or three times before I could get hold of her. Finally she just came running up to me and I picked her up. I don't recall saying anything to her. I just remember picking her up and realizing then a kind of peace--that it really had happened, that this was no fantasy anymore.
    I walked into the house and I don't even know what conversation went on between Catherine and me. All I can tell you is that we were realizing that we'd had a visitation from the Lord in our home. It was Wednesday and we were going to church that night.
    We only lived four blocks from the church. We would often walk, but most of the time we drove because of Penni. That night when we started to get in the car, Penni said, No. She wanted to walk. As usual, I reached for her finger, but she shook her head and started running on down the street ahead of us....all the way to the church. I saw a whole new personality in the child. She was trying out new feet.
    I knew that one of the things we had to do was deal with Derrick about it because he didn't totally understand what had happened. He had seen us through the hassle of Kam's leg in a cast, for the same situation. He had also seen us ministering to Penni with corrective shoes, putting them on the wrong feet, and always helping her across the sidewalk, and holding onto her finger and so forth.
    When we did sit down to talk, Derrick explained in detail what had taken place when he had gone in that night to pray for her. He related that he had picked her foot up in his hand. Penni's foot had had no instep at all; it was twisted in at almost a 90-degree angle toward the other. He held her foot in his hand, which was similar to the therapy we had done before. In his hand he felt the muscles shape and move back where they were supposed to be. As he held Penni's foot firmly in his hand, he said it was almost like it wanted to force his hand open. He knew it was God because he had been exposed to a healing a few moments before on television. For a fourteen-year-old child this was a tremendous experience.
    We talked about it, and yet we knew we had to put it into perspective. We had to figure out what we could do with this, what we were supposed to do. I guess my question was Why? Why me? What had I done to deserve this? What was God looking for in my life that He would come and visit my home? What was it all about? What was my obligation now?
    I had not been taught this; I had not been exposed to this type of thing. It was not something that one could just get up before the church where we were going and testify about. I realized that there would be some problem with their accepting it, and yet there would also be a lot of problems with my denying it.
    I finally said to Catherine, "I don't know why, but God wants our attention and we'd better give it to Him. Above and beyond all other things that might happen in our lives at this point, we'd better give God our attention."
    So we pledged to do that.
    I found out real quick that some people didn't want to hear about this miracle. I found out at school the first time I tried to tell my friends in study hall. Some looked at me like I had gone crazy; some told me to shut up. One said he didn't believe in God so he could not possibly believe my story of a miracle. After telling me this, he got up and moved to the other end of the table.
    It wasn't long till the word got around the ninth grade that Derrick Parker was now some kind of religious nut. It was like being back in Denton, sharing stories of my traveling to Washington and being told "No one has ever been to there, it's too far away!"
    The hardest part was being cold shouldered by my friends who knew my sister, who could see for themselves but still said there is no such thing as a miracle.
    I didn't get it. How could one deny what one could see with one's own eyes?
    Apparently it was pretty easy to do, even if you attended church with the people who "claimed" to have had a miracle. It was even easier to deny what your eyes told you if the pastor of that same church didn't believe in miracles either.
    I wish I could tell you all the things that transpired after the people in the church saw my sister running up and down the hallways, climbing steps and being a normal, active eighteen month old. The things that transpired were shocking to me. We became the epicenter of a controversy.
    This controversy erupted out of the maelstrom of questions this miracle created. These questions were about the power of God and what our church believed.
    Let me some up the questions this way:
    Is God real or does the church just give lip service about him? Does God use His power through His Son Jesus like it says in the Bible or are we coming to church every Sunday for a Mythology-History lesson?
    The church split into two groups, those who believed what we told them and believed their own eyes. The second group, unfortunately the larger of the two, was composed of those who thought we were some kind of troublemakers and denied what their "lying eyes" told them.
    The pastor of our church was the leader of the second group as my Father soon found out.
    We were totally aware that God wanted to get our attention, so we were leaning in that direction like we never had before. Above and beyond anything that our church was teaching, above and beyond anything we had been taught in our lives, we were seeking the will of the Lord. By doing that, we were getting involved in home meetings in our house where we had prayer and studied the Full Gospel. We could feel the tension in the church growing like an epidemic. It wasn't just us, but we seemed to be the center of it.
    The word was getting out about Penni's healing. Anytime something like this happens, there's an aftermath. In an aftermath, there is some good and there is also some onslaught from the enemy. Our little Baptist church was very conservative in its doctrine with gracious, lovely people; but this was not a part of their program.
    Peggy Stewart, (one of our church Bible study friends) came to me one day and said, "Clay, you must tell the pastor." Well I knew already that I had to tell him because the evidence was there. I knew he was not the type of person who would understand with a lot of sympathy what was going on with us, so this was not going to be an easy task. He and I saw things a little differently and he knew anytime that I approached him that "Here comes the thorn in my flesh."
    I sought the Lord and prayed, Lord, You know where I'm coming from and You know what I'm facing, so if You really want me to tell him, tonight when we go to church, let him be available. This was not normally the case; he was very reserved and did not come out and mingle with the people a lot.
    That night when we went to church, we started down the hall and looked into the Sunday school office and there sat one person: the pastor, looking through a new Sunday school quarterly. It didn't seem like he was too engrossed in anything, so I stepped inside and said, "Pastor, may I talk with you a minute?" He said, "Sure you may." I imagine he already had some idea of what was taking place.
    I started from the beginning. I didn't hide any of the terminology and I didn't pull any punches. I told him that we had been watching The 700 Club with Pat Robertson and we saw a healing take place before our eyes on the television. Without taking a breath, I added, "and Jim Bakker turned and explained to the audience what God had done and we all heard. Derrick then went down to Penni's room and prayed for her and her foot was healed. We don't know why, but God has visited our home and we know it's real and we're gonna lend ourselves to Him and we're concerned about this church. I would like to have an opportunity to stand and tell the whole thing to the church so that there will be no rumors". I just spit all this out without giving him a chance to make any comment in return.
    Finally, when I gave him the chance, the pastor said, "We've not known your little girl that well, so we can't be sure of wha's happened. Since you haven't received a confirmation from the doctor and we plan our services quite a ways in advance, there's really no time or room for this type of thing, so I couldn't allow it to happen. And another thing, I need to talk to you further about what's going on at your house. We don't want any trouble in this church, so I want you to make an appointment when we will have more time to talk about this."
    That was the end of this conversation. I still had a lot to say. I made an appointment to came back.
    I thought that I was prepared to take my stand and to be firm about what I was going to say to this Baptist minister. It didn't take courage; I was anxious now. I wanted to go in and tear things up. When I got in his presence, I was ready to take my stand.
    The pastor has his own stand to take.
    "Clay, you know we're a Baptist church around here. I don't know how much you know about our denomination's background, but the Baptist church is a well-established church, one of the largest in the nations, led by men of many years of Bible research with many degrees and awards, men that stand strong and tall and are well-versed in their field. They are heroes of our time in the entire church world. They've set up the bylaws and the doctrines and of them we can be proud. They're our heritage."
    He continued, "What you are saying to me is not for us today. The healing as you've described it, is not a part of our doctrine. We Baptists, of course, believe in healing, but through the modern means that God has provided in this day. You see, in earlier times, doctors and hospitals and nurses were not available, so certainly Jesus intervened and He met the needs of His people just like we're meeting the needs of our people today, but through modern medicine means."
    He was very polite, very precise. He had done his homework, no doubt about it.
    "So, you see, Brother Clay, you're being swept into an emotional fantasy which is not for us and it will bring trouble, not only to your family, but to the church. And I will not allow it to disrupt things herere while I'm the pastor. It will bring nothing but trouble, and I'm asking you to be careful if you want to continue as a part of this church."
    I was starting to boil a little bit, I guess, because I knew what I was after and I was being careful what I was listening to-very careful. I was finding things in the Bible that confirmed all I was hearing from Pat Robertson and other Full Gospel ministers, so I was waiting for my turn to lash back. Just before I had a chance, the telephone rang.
    The pastor turned and talked for a few minutes and when he got off the phone he said, "That phone call requires me to leave. But we'll pick up right where we left off in a few days."
    A few days, a lot can happen in a few days. You can loose friends, your church, maybe even your family.
    I have to admit that of all the thoughts that could go through the human mind, I was battling with "What have you gotten your family into? What is all this that you have done?"
    I was getting letters from my family saying, "It's okay to be religious, but you can go off the deep end." I was getting letters and calls from Catherine's family that said, "What âre you two into? What's going on? What's happening?" I was trying to be very discreet in my explanations to them. They were Baptists too, you see, and I knew I had to be very tactful in any explanation that I gave. Fact and truth are always the best measures to take, so I wasn't denying anything, but I was being very careful in the way I approached my explanation.
    Catherine called me one day at work and I knew something was not right. She said, "We've got to go back and see the pastor."
    So we had another conference with him one evening and in that conference the conversation that Catherine had with him was not connected with reality and I finally reached over and asked her to be quiet and I said, Pastor, we'll end it here. We won't bother you anymore. We'll just do what the Lord wants us to do."
    He made some request that we not bring this back to the church anymore. I said, "Well, if the Lord asks us to stay here, we won't have any choice."
    The next night the deacon board came to our house.
    "Can we talk to you for a while?"
    I said, "Sure, sit down and make yourselves comfortable."
    "The pastor has asked us to come and to make sure that you not bring any more of this Full Gospel issue you and your wife are involved in back to our church. If you can't get yourselves uninvolved with this and just be a good Baptists,"
    One deacon would start to talk for a minute and he'd ask another one to explain. It was like they had a final blow, a package, that they were to deliver and no one had the courage to lay it on us. Three or four of them talked. I had asked them to sit down but only a couple sat down and the others were kind of pacing around.
    They continued to gave me a pretty good spiel about how much trouble we were causing....followed by "we may have to ask you not to come back."
    Finally I said, "Are you trying to tell us that the pastor has sent you asking us not to come back to the church unless we deny what has happened?"
    They said, "Well, that's pretty much the story."
    "Go tell the pastor he has no problem, we won't be back."
    They left our house.
    I can't exactly describe the realization that this was God. It was a heartbreaking experience but at the same time there was peace.
    After the deacons walked out, Catherine and I didn't discuss it a whole lot, but we went on to bed.
    It was now about Thanksgiving week and my wife's family was coming up to visit. I think what was bringing them to visit was curiosity more than need to visit with us. To be perfectly honest, I dreaded this visit, because it was not a time when we needed outsiders. There were many things that we needed to face.
    A few days efore the family was to arrive, Catherine called me from work and she said, "I need some help, I can't handle it. I don't know how to clean up the house."
    I came home and realized that, emotionally, she was not able to handle the very basics. I knew something was seriously wrong. I started relating back in my mind the break that she had had in the pastor's office and I realized that she had not been herself since.
    I took her to the emergency room at Boone Clinic and we got no consolation at all. I took her to see our friends Bob and Peggy Stewart and they prayed and Bob called me upstairs and said, "Clay, you need to get some professional help. We can't do anything. I didn't want to admit that there was something wrong, but yet I knew there was. I called and explained the situation to Pat Robertson and he said, "Get her out of town. Take a trip, go somewhere."
    My car was in trouble, so a neighbor let us have his car. We went up to Richmond and it was a night of horror. I had not slept Friday or Saturday night because I was attending to her. She locked herself in the bathroom. She attempted to somehow open the windows of the Holiday Inn on the sixth floor. Driving home, we came through Williamsburg and the boys wanted to go in and see a movie. While Catherine and the boys were watching it, I slept through the whole thing.
    It was a terrifying time in Richmond. The trip there was mostly quiet, the kind of eerie quiet before a storm. We checked into the hotel and then went next door to a Chinese Restaurant. I loved Chinese food, and I still do, but that dinner was without taste that night. We went back to the room and Dad gave me some change and told me to take Rod downstairs to the game room.
    We played some pinball, and some kind of computer quiz game, roamed around the lobby for awhile and then went upstairs. I don't remember sleeping much that night. The next morning I woke up to my sound of my mother screaming.
    "The world is gone!....Open the window and you will see that there is nothing there!"
    I ran and pulled back the drapes from the big window and told Mom that everything was just the same. Rod started to cry.
    "What's wrong with him?" Mom wanted to know.
    "He had a nightmare Mom, don't worry about it."
    We were all having a nightmare.
    After we checked out of the hotel, we walked down the street to a breakfast place. I knew I needed to eat something, and thinking this may be my last good meal for awhile I ordered a big omelet. We said a prayer and I ate with gusto, like I was worried someone would take it away before I could finish. Dad reached across the table, grabbed my hand and told me to slow down and taste it. I looked up at him and with a shaking hand grabbed my glass of water. I knew it wouldn't help anything if I lost control
    The drive home was not so quiet as the trip up. After we left Williamsburg we crossed the James River Bridge. As we reached the high drawbridge, Mom screamed that the bridge was out and dove to the floorboards.
    That was it, for me. I burst out in tears and then Mom became calm.
    "What's wrong with him?" She asked.
    What was wrong with me? I was watching my whole family come apart.
    After we came back home, I took Catherine over to Portsmouth Naval Hospital on the pretense that we were going to visit a friend who was there. I went in first to the emergency room and pleaded with the doctor.
    "We've got a problem. My wife is having a nervous breakdown and I need some help bad."
    "Well, bring her in."
    I don't know whether or not you've ever dealt with someone who's going into a total nervous breakdown, but one moment they're perfectly normal and the next moment they're someone that no one knows and the next moment they are normal again.
    In the emergency room Catherine talked with the doctor and she seemed perfectly fine so he looked at me as if to say, what are you trying to do to your wife? I walked up the hall and prayed, Lord, there's nobody else that can help me but You.
    At that point, Catherine made a statement to the doctor that was totally disconnected from reality and he said, "Wait a minute." He started making some arrangements and gave her some medications and said, "Take her on home. This medication will cause her to sleep. If you need to sleep, you take some also." I said, "I don't need a thing."
    "If you have any problems, call me back." said the doctor.
    We went home. Our folks came and it was a horrible two days that they were there. I cooked the Thanksgiving dinner and I wouldn't have wanted to eat that turkey because it might have had the marshmallows inside and the stuffing in the banana pudding. We got through the days but our relatives couldn't communicate with Cathering...They realized something was seriously wrong.
    On Saturday morning they left, didn't say a word to me, but on Monday afternoon two of her sisters were back with a whole different attitude. They didn't come back questioning and trying to slaughter me, they said, "Clay, something is wrong and we came back to help." In the meantime, I had already called the hospital and made arrangements to have Catherine admitted.
    One of the sisters stayed with the children and the other sister and I took Catherine over to the Naval Hospital on a Monday afternoon during the peak of the rush hour traffic. It was rainy and foggy and a setting for a mystery movie is the best way I can describe it. They gave me the paperwork and we headed from Portsmouth Naval Hospital to the psychiatric hospital.
    Bayberry Psychiatric Hospital sat way down in the deep woods of Queen Street and there was moss hanging down all around and a swamp that surrounded three-quarters of it. Its physical surroundings couldn't have been worse. It was the longest, hardest trip of my life through all of the traffic and the rain and every red light was red in my favor. I finally pulled up to this great, big steel-barred door and rang the bell and somebody came out and opened it his deep low voice said, "Y-e-e-e-s-s?"
    I gave him my papers and he said, "Come on in."
    They talked to us and finally they completed all the paperwork. When they asked Catherine if she would sign herself in, she looked at me for direction. By now, she would do almost anything I said and nothing else. If I said, "Comb your hair" she would comb her hair. If I said, "Put a little lipstick on she'd put a little lipstick on. I wasn't always sure where she'd put it, but she'd put it on. If I said, "Wear this" she would put on her dress. She might put it on backwards, but she'd put it on. So I was tending to a person who was almost a robot. So when they said, "Mrs. Parker, will you sign yourself in?" She looked at me and asked, "Is that all right?" and I said, "Yes, sign your name right there. Sign yourself in."
    They took her back to the back and came out with all of her clothes, her hairpins and everything, and handed them to me. That was my darkest hour.
    To be Continued of course.
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