-Gramps-

Nickolas is doing pretty good today. We have come to realize he doesn't hear very well any longer, and that he is now an elderly dog. We don't think we want to risk another try at any more procedures that require anaesthesia. I think I will just have to get him some smoked beef bones and see if they will help his teeth.

Yesterday morning started out normal, almost. I woke up with the memory of a disturbing dream. I was walking Nickolas, our cocker spaniel, down a long faded green hall. It reminded me of an old high school corridor, or maybe an old office building. It had a polished dirty brown vinyl tile floor. There were exposed fluorescent lights, the long two-lamp kind that flicker and make a lot of ballast noise. At the end of the hall was a metal door with a reinforced glass window in the top half. The bottom of the door had one of those metal kick plates. It seemed to be dented and had black marks on it. The door that opened into the hall was slightly ajar. The hall was long and Nickolas seemed impatient; he kept tugging at his leash. As the door got closer he suddenly jerked the leash out of my hand and went running for the door, with me right behind him, calling to him. Just as I was about to grab his leash he made it through the door, leash and all, and it slammed shut. I tried to open it but it was locked. The window, which had until now been dark, began to glow with a white light. I put my face up to it and could see a huge wall-less white space. There were many, many dogs in there, all kinds, most of them white, running back and forth, jumping around, some chasing each other. I desperately looked for my dog and caught a glimpse of him just as he was headed deeper into this space. I called to him but there was no reaction. I started kicking the bottom of the door and banging on the glass but it didn't do any good. The window went dark and I woke up. Diane was standing by the bed with Nickolas' leash in her hand. It was time for him to go to the vet to get his teeth cleaned and while under the anesthesia to also have this large fatty lump removed from his left side. Both these procedures were routine. He had been through it all before some four years earlier. Diane wasn't worried about it; she had been pushing me to get it done. My only objection was the cost, but then I object to the cost of most things in life. As I set there in the bed, the money wasn't what was worrying me. I reached over to Nickolas and said a quick prayer. "Do you want me to go with you?" I asked. "No, we will be fine... won't we, pup?" Diane responded as she snapped on the leash. "We are late, better get moving." An obviously reluctant Nickolas jumped off the bed. A few seconds later I heard the front door squeak and click shut. "I have a bad feeling about this," I told myself. However, it could just be an overactive imagination. At about 8:15 a.m., I was sitting where I am now, at my computer when Diane arrived back at the house. She told me that Nick would be at the vets until about 5 p.m. They were not sure when his procedure would start, but it might be early afternoon. At around 10 a.m. the phone rang. Diane answered it after seeing Churchland Animal pop up on the caller ID, which displays on our TV. I heard her talking and gathered something was wrong, so I went into the living room and sat down in front of her. It seems that they almost lost our dog while on the table. Usually the procedure is to give an injection to make him still and kill any pain, and then they administer a gas once the injection takes effect. They did that this time, but just after the injection his heart rate doubled. It went from 128 beats per minute to over 260 beats per minute. A momentary heart rate spike is not unusual, but this time his heart rate would not come down. After two minutes of this, even after the gas was started, they could not bring it down. They had to bring him out before his heart arrested. The vet, to use his words, was starting to feel a bit panicky himself. Nickolas gave him a scare, but by the time they called us his heart rate has started to come down and they expected it be back to normal shortly. He was alert, but panting a lot, and they wanted to keep him a few more hours to observe him. Diane asked a few questions, but they had no real answers to what happened. They could only surmise that maybe his heart had an electrical malfunction, or he had a reaction to the pain meds, although he had not had one four years earlier. The cause was just not known. Diane said thank you, hung up the phone, and broke down in tears. I was shocked, but then I realized I must have known something was going to happen. As usual, when I don't understand something, I jumped on the Internet and started searching. Could this have been caused by some medication that Nickolas has been taking? Or could he have an enlarged heart, a condition called DCM that cockers can get when they get older? What caused us to almost lose our best little friend? I don't know. I suspect it will not be easy to find out. I do know that God answered my prayer: He looked after Nickolas. Neither Diane nor I are prepared to live without him. The vet called back around 3 p.m., and this time I took the call. Nickolas' heart rate was back to normal, but the doctor said he would still like to observe him for a couple more hours and then we could come for him. After and anxious two-hour wait and a short drive to the vet's office, we picked up our pup at five o'clock. We first had a talk with the Doctor, who pretty much reviewed what he had told us on the phone. Nickolas came out of the back, very happy to see us, and we were overjoyed to see him. He hopped in the car, and we went to a local Red Box to rent a comedy, because we needed a laugh after the day's events. We also picked up a cooked chicken and some side salads at the local Kroger. The smell of the chicken drove Nickolas, who had been on a fast from the night before, crazy. I think that was a good sign. As of this morning our dog isn't quite is old self yet. He seems a bit groggy and tired. It's no wonder, after what he has been through. He is probably wondering what he did to deserve a day like yesterday, but like most dogs he will forgive us pretty quickly. When we leave on our next RV trip, I am sure he will be where he always is, on his mom's lap, looking out the big window at the passing world. Thank God for that.

Now this is the kind of thing I like to hear about. Those "cruise like" surprises you get while land crusing in your own rig. Nice story Mr Butler!

The Thankmas Party and the Christmas Bash Well, the weekend of November 20 was another short but nice trip. Diane, Nickolas and I, took off at about three o'clock on a Friday for North River Campground near the southern end of the Dismal Swamp in Currituck, North Carolina. We headed for our annual Good Sam's local chapter combination Christmas and Thanksgiving party; our Thankmas party. It is something we look forward to each year. It was supposed to have happened the weekend before at Camp Hatteras but the Storm of the Decade wiped out the road leading to Rodanthe so we had to move the location. We would have left earlier than three, but I waited until the last minute to purchase my gift for the party. We always have the give a gift/steal a gift ceremony. It usually works out better with a large crowd because someone will get into the spirit of things and steal something. When we have a small crowd, which was the case this time, things don't get quite so rowdy. I purchased a Mexican Train game in a metal travel case, along with a gift bag and some grocery items that Diane needed for the Saturday night pot luck and Turkey Dinner. It was a quick trip down. We setup camp and all was well until I tried to turn the 12 volts on for the water heater. I received a fault alarm. After some double checking I discovered I had no propane flow. Now why was that? It worked the last time I used it. Well, I switched to 110 volts and we left for the Friday night get-together without hot water to wash our faces first. We had some snacks, played some cards which was fun, and then went home. The next morning, after the group breakfast, my friend Jerry and I decided to take a look and see what was going on with the propane. The first thing we made sure of was that the tank was turned on. Which it was, but it didn't sound right. Usually when I first turn on the flow you hear a hiss, but we didn't get that familiar sound this time. We took a couple of wrenches and disconnected the rubber hose from the coach line and discovered some kind of olive oil like substance in the fitting. Once we blew that unknown substance out everything started working again. For most of the day I worked around the RV, repairing sweeps and some other small items. There was a group committee reworking our charter bylaws, so I stopped by the meeting room to offer some hopefully helpful input. Around five, we had our really good ThanksmasTurkey dinner followed by the gift swap. I was the master of ceremonies and I tried to liven things up a bit, but for some reason people were not in the spirit of stealing at all. I was the first one to draw a number and picked a gift which I later swapped. Afterward I did entertain us all with some tales of mine and Diane's first Christmas together as husband and wife and others piped up with some funny stories as well. We left the next morning pretty early, right after breakfast. As we were leaving we watched a bear cross the road in front of us. We were home by noon. For Thanksgiving, my daughter and her family drove up from Florida. I turned the coach into a temporary hotel room for her, her husband and the baby. We had a very crowded house for about four days. Diane loved it. I felt claustrophobic, so I hid in my office with my grandboys and played computer games with them. Austen and I swapped off sessions of Battlefield Heroes, a somewhat goofy online cartoon shooter. It was fun and helped me avoid all the Legos and Duplos scattered around the house. We went to my brother's house for Thanksgiving dinner along with about 25 other members of my extended family, including my parents. It was a very good dinner and lots of fun including a loud session of football watching. I really don't know how my brother and his wife managed to pull it off so well, but they did. Now this past weekend Diane, me, and our friends Gary and Janis traveled to the Beth Page Campground in Urbanna for the annual FMCA Colonial Virginians Christmas Bash. And it was just that, a Bash, a good one too. We planned on leaving on Friday around noon. Our two coaches would rendezvous at the inspection station for the Monitor and Merrimac bridge tunnel, the M&M as it is known around these parts, and then it would be about an hour drive to the campground. We'd set up camp and then have plenty of time to relax a bit before the group happy hour at five. Simple enough, right? It didn't work out quite that way. At 11:45 a.m. we were ready to go. That would give us just enough time to make it to the meeting spot. We headed out to the rig only to find that a car was parked on the street blocking the coach. Diane, on the walkie-talkie, tried to get the rig past it but it would not make it; just not enough room. So she walked up to the door of the duplex where she hoped to find the owner of the car and ask them to move it. I turned off the coach and then realized my tail end was still out over the road and I needed to move it. It wouldn't start. Dead. Nothing, No lights on the dash, no click, not even the dome light would work. The steps were dead, too. I was not getting any voltage from the chassis battery at all. So I jumped out of the coach, took a meter to the battery and I got 11 volts. My brain was racing now trying to figure out what was wrong, and how was I going to get this rig started and moved. Could we still make our trip? By this time Diane has found no one at home in the duplex and was standing behind me. "Can you jump it with the car?" she asked. Jump it? Wait, I can boost it! "I forgot about the battery boost!" I told her. I rushed back into the coach, hit the boost switch, turned the key and she started right up. Diane got on the phone with Janis to fill her in on why we are going to be delayed. We still had the problem of getting around the parked car. I fixed that. I had Diane back me straight back into the yard across the street, which is mostly gravel, around the car and then I made a forward right turn. She jumped into the coach and we were off. An hour and some minutes later, including the time it took to meet up with Gary and Janis, we arrived at Beth Page. Diane registered and we were led by a campground worker in a golf cart to our head to tail (or tail to head) site. It was really cold. My hands were freezing as we leveled, hooked up the power and ran out the slides. Lastly, I hooked up the water and discovered that the right door piston was shot. I found that out after the bay door dropped and hit me on the back of the head. Usually I bang into a door or the slide out not the other way around. I also discovered that there was no water. I knew that Beth Page was closed for the winter and opened just for this rally, but I didn't get the memo telling me to bring my own water or I would have arrived with more than a tenth of a tank. Gary didn't get the memo, either, and his fresh water tank was bone dry. We had no choice but to break down, go to the office, where there was one working faucet, and fill up. That's what we did, along with five other coaches. I left first, arrived at the office and with some help, threw my fresh water hose under the coach, hooked up and waited about 15 minutes to acquire three quarters of a tank of water. That was enough. While I was filling, Gary informed me his main slideout had decided to malfunction as he was bringing it in at the site. The bottom right corner had torqued itself so bad that the frame had broken lose from the outside of the coach. He had a heck of time getting it to come back in. With full tanks, or close enough, anyway, we headed back to the site and set up again. I was still having to use the boost to get the coach started so obviously something was going on, but I managed to get the coach leveled, slides out, power connected, not in that order, and the Snowmen that Diane had set out when we first arrived were still smiling at me from their place on the dining table credenza. I walked back to Gary's coach only to find out that now he can't start his coach either. I am beginning to find this a bit freaky. I suggested he use his boost. That worked and he was able to level the coach, which requires the motor to be running, and then he nursed his slides out a bit tentatively but they made it. At this point, Gary is now an unhappy camper. I don't blame him. I have been there a bunch of times. "What's going on with my battery?" he asks. "Not sure," I replied. "But since we both have the same coach and we both have the same problem, well it's weird, that's all I can tell you." Our common weird problem had to wait. It was almost five o'clock and time to head over to the happy hour, which by this time we both needed. I went back to our coach, changed into something a bit nicer, grabbed a plate of shrimp and a bottle of beer, shoved the beer into a picnic backpack, that I bought from one of our Sun chaser friends who got it at the Thanksmas party but didn't think they would use it, and we loaded everything and everybody into Janis's Vue and a couple of minutes later arrived at the evening's party. There was lots of fine finger foods there, including good sized shrimp, meat balls, cheese and crackers, hot wings along with brownies, cheese cake and other things that are easy to eat and easy to eat too much of. I did eat too much, but I didn't care. Along with the goodies we had pleasant conversation. Two friends of ours, Bill and his wife Mickey, were at our table. They are also members of our Good Sam's chapter. They didn't make it to the Thanksmas party and we missed them so it was very nice that they were at the Bash. Gary and I mentioned our electrical problem, slide out problems, and how aggravating it was. That was nothing compared to the lightning hit that scorched Bill and Mickey's stored coach. The lightning did some fourteen thousand dollars worth of damage to the coach and took months to repair. After hearing their story I thought about that old saying: "I complained that I had no shoes until I met a person with no feet" Many times our coaches may have a problem, but many times someone else will have a bigger problem, one that you hope will never happen to you. It's best to just keep it in perspective. After too many shrimp and meatballs (for me anyway), a couple glasses of wine, a beer (also for me) and a lot of Mexican train we called it a night, packed up and drove back to the coaches. After Gary, Janis, Diane and I said our good nights, Diane and I decided to curl up with Nicolas and a good movie. Diane had experienced some minor back pain most of the day. A bit of self medication at Happy Hour seemed to help, but she still wanted to ice it for a while. She curled up on the couch with the dog; I started the Curious Case of Benjamin Button spinning in the DVD player and settled comfortably in my Euro chair. It wasn't long before Diane was out like a light. I watched the movie by myself, and enjoyed every minute of it. As soon as the movie ended I was ready to hit the sack. I woke Diane up so she could go to bed and go back to sleep. The next morning all four of us, with Diane's back feeling much better, headed back to the conference center for a catered breakfast and another opportunity to eat too much. There were good biscuits, gravy, bacon, light and fluffy scrambled eggs, and pancakes. All of it fixed really well. I didn't overdo it. I know-you don't believe me. Bill and Mickey were at our table again and this time the conversation was about the remodeling of their Allegro Bay that was done down in Red Bay Alabama. It sounded like they had some really fine improvements made so we all agreed that sometime before the rally ended we would visit their coach and take a look for ourselves. After breakfast and back at the site, Gary and I decided to tackle this strange electrical problem we were both having. We used my volt ohm meter to try to trace down where this problem could be coming from. While we were at it a couple of other campers, Jack and Buddy, walked over to see what we were up to. Jack was a bit of an electrician so he said "let's tackle one of the coaches and see what we find out." After a bit of poking around inside the electrical control panel, which was located in its own compartment, and some crawling around under the engine, we discovered that both coaches were suffering from a manual battery disconnect switch not making good contact. What are the odds of that? After some manipulation to shake the rust off so to speak, and some squirts of electrical silicon spray, the problem seemed to be solved. One down, who knows how many more to go. Well, we had some hours to kill before the big dinner and gift giving/gift stealing (yes another one!) party that night. We decided to head into the little waterfront town of Urbanna and see what there was to see. First we stopped at an auto parts store so Gary could buy a new gas cap for his coach. He misplaced his somewhere between Tampa and Tidewater. I brought mine along so that the store could match it. I have found it difficult to get parts for my coach at an auto parts store, makes no difference which one. As soon as you say this gas piston, light bulb, gas cap, whatever part, comes from a motor home, the guys or gals behind the counter look at you like you just ordered a cheeseburger. On this occasion the store had a compatible locking gas cap, at a good price so that problem was solved. I asked about a basement door piston, but not having the bad one with me, there wasn't anyway to match it. That would have to wait for another day. While there we saw something unusual on the counter. It was a large block of cement with shoes stuck in the middle of it. I am not sure what that item was for, but it did make for a number of in-law and ex wife jokes that I don't think I will repeat here. Our next stop was a good size flea/collectible/antique market located in a metal building. There were a number of interesting things in there including some Blue Danube dishes. Diane has a small collection of those and left the store with a purchase of a cup and saucer. We visited a couple of variety stores. No being in the market for variety, no matter what kind, I purchased nothing. Diane bought something else but I don't remember what it was. We did visit a nice clothing store where I found a black shirt with vertical colored stripes. It looked Christmassy and more important, it was forty percent off. Diane bought it for me along with a nice fleece vest for herself. The last thing we did was walk up the street to Olivia's Seafood Restaurant. We all had a cup, actually a bowl, of crab and shrimp bisque that was to use their words "Food of the Gods" and it was. I also had a fried oyster and shrimp salad with balsamic vinegar dressing. It was really good. I have not had good fried oysters in a long time. We made a stop at the local supermarket for a six pack of libations and then it was back to the campground. Diane and I showered, she went first, and I scalded myself second. I can never seem to adjust the temperature of the water when it comes from the water pump. Then I put on my new shirt for the evening's catered dinner. Once ready we grabbed our gifts, our picnic bag containing glasses and a bottle of wine and we were all off once more. I forget to tell you that Beth Page had the meeting/conf room decorated really nicely. There are beams on the ceiling, columns that ran length of the room on both sides and all had lights on them. There was a nice sized tree at the stage end of the room and all the tables had red tablecloths on them with a nice centerpiece, well in the center of the table. The night's dinner was a house salad, pork roast, very tender, with scalloped potatoes, and seasoned long green beans. We also really great dinner rolls and dessert, which I skipped, of hot apple crisp with vanilla ice cream. I tried not to overdue it. Before dinner was served, I started out with my own thermos of hot cider to which I added just a bit of Captain Jack's favorite liquid, Meyer's Rum. Two cups of that and I was feeling pretty good. As soon as dinner was over and the tables were cleared the gift giving and stealing time began. This took awhile, too long. People didn't attack their packages. They unwrapped them like they were wrapped with money and didn't want to tear the paper. At first no one wanted to steal anyone else's present. That changed as the evening went along. There were forty presents to give out, one per coach with a couple of exceptions Diane and I being one since we brought two gifts. The gifts that got stolen the most (and three times was the max) were animated mechanical singing floppy eared dogs. Diane took her gift and stole one of those cute singing Cocker Spaniels from someone. The very next person stole it from Diane and left her with a metal traveling case of grill utensils. I liked that present! It didn't matter that Diane was the one that bought it and brought it. The evening was fun and it eventually ended. We all had our pictures taken with Santa, we gave toys to the Marines Toys for Tots program, and we were all full of pork and other things. The only unpleasant thing was I was called a Rat Fink by the lady who lost her nice wine carrier containing two great bottles of wine to me and ended up with a bottle of Crown Royal with two matching glasses that got stolen by someone else. Hey you can't make everyone happy! By the time the party was over, Diane and I were pretty beat. We went back to the coach and took Nickolas for a long walk, and along the way chatted with other campers. Then we hit the sack and watched an episode of The Closer on the little bedroom TV. Next morning we had a continental breakfast, talked to some other campers, including the nice lady who thought I was a fink. After breakfast Bill, Gary and I went back to Gary's coach to help shove his slide back in. The girls all decided to walk over to Bill's coach to see the remodeling. As we were driving to the coach it started to pour down rain. Gary, who had tried to bring in his slide before breakfast and it stuck, now ran it back out. It dumped about ten gallons of water on me at the same time. Bill and I then grabbed a hold of it, he lifted while I pushed and with Gary on the in button, we man handled the slide closed. Bill then realized he had the keys to his coach. The girls were standing in the rain somewhere so we rushed to the car to go open the door. We found three wet ladies standing outside, but they were under umbrellas so it wasn't too bad. We visited the coach and found some really nice work had been done to it. There were new lights, couch, dining table, new floor, and other things. Having seen it before, I could tell a major difference. We visited for a few minutes and then said our goodbyes. It took Gary and me a bit to pack up our coaches in the rain. After he had a basement door that wouldn't close and I had a sewer line pop off and give me a brown set of shoes, we finally got underway. We were home after about two hours of driving in the rain. Yesterday I helped Gary diagnose his slide problems. We took pictures which were sent to the manufacturer and I spent some time on the phone getting advice about how to repair it. I relayed that advice to Gary and today he called me to inform me that most of the major repairs he was able to take care of himself. We both still need to get our slides adjusted and we both have some other things we want to get fixed. The thing is we are helping each other. That's what it is about. Diane said that one of the reasons we are so close to our RV friends is because they are there to help when you have troubles and there to share your joy when everything is going well. Friends are really the biggest part of the equation. They are there to help your coach to improve your life, if you let it. I think I have read that somewhere before. Merry Christmas!

There is no cure for birth or death, save to enjoy the interval. -- George Santanyana Jonah gave Sarah a sly look. He was about to give her a surprise and I hoped he was not going to let the cat all the way out of the bag. "He is not really my little brother. He is my father." I am sure I gave Jonah the "now look at what you have started" look. Sarah had this somewhat puzzled expression on her face. "You're joking aren't you?" she asked, or maybe it was a statement. "You would have to be about..." I could see her mind doing some quick math. "You would have to be way past eighty, closer to ... wow!" She paused. Jonah quickly nodded his head. "Yep, it's been a long, long, time since Dad saw eighty in his rear view mirror. He is literally my old man," he said with an even bigger grin. Sarah was looking at me the same way she would a waffle that suddenly sprouted legs and starting dancing in the middle of the table. "Mr. Christopher, you sure don't look anywhere near that old," she said. She must have been struggling with believing this concept and needed an explanation, because she then asked: "Come on, how old are you really?" I stood up and grabbed my trouble making son by the arm. "We take a lot of vitamins, by the handfuls," I said. "We need to go. Thanks for the waffles." I hastily pushed Jonah from the kitchen, past the wooden grandmas and out the office door, the bell loudly proclaiming our exit, before she could ask me anything more. Jonah laughed all the way to the motor coach. For just a minute I wished he were 6 instead of 10 times that. That way I would have a better way to express the displeasure I was feeling at that moment. But all I said to him was, "Let's get packed up." By the time most of the morning had passed, Jonah and I were finishing up all the inside and outside things that we needed to do to break down camp and take off. Inside, we secured all loose items in their overhead compartments, fastened all cabinet doors, turned all seats around and returned them to their full upright positions. Outside, it was close to noon but still freezing. I dumped the tanks and packed up the sewer hose and the water hose. Both hoses fought being curled up and stuffed away like a couple of coldblooded creatures with minds of their own. Some fellow camper always walks over to watch you do this, but because the campground was practically frozen and deserted it was left up to Jonah to be my only observer. I was still perturbed at him. I thought he had made light of "my secret." Jonah constantly tells me that I guard my age like an old woman. As I was fighting with the gray tank flush hose, I reminded him that on the rare occasion that my age or any number close to it is revealed to someone, either by accident or on purpose, it makes them and me uncomfortable. And people don't like being uncomfortable. "That's kind of redundant isn't it?" he responded. "Not being comfortable being uncomfortable. Can you like being uncomfortable? Is it possible to be comfortable being uncomfortable? I need to ponder this," he said while holding his chin. "Oh, shut up." "Oh, lighten up little brother." "That's not funny." "I think it is. Come on, Dad, it was a logical mistake that allowed me to have a bit of fun. Why let it bother you? I am the one who should be upset. She thinks I am a 66-year-old man who looks 10 years older than his father who she thinks is about 90 years old. It's a funny situation." "Not to me. What what do you think she would have done if you had told her just how old I really am?" I paused and answered my own question. "She would have done what a person does when they think someone is crazy." "We take vitamins. That was a good one, Dad," Jonah said. "I think she would want to know what kind. Let's go tell her!" He laughed at me, again, obviously enjoying my displeasure with that idea. "Just kidding. Come on, it's time to go. If we're heading back to Florida we need to get moving." He pasued. "We are heading back to Florida?" "Eventually, but we are going to Cozy Acres first." "Oh, so the next stop on this trip down memory lane has to be someplace cold?" Our next stop was very cold indeed, and not just because of the weather. We had stayed five days in Smithfield waiting for the weather to improve and for some mail, composed of a few bills, a couple of checks, and a package, ironically containing vitamins, to catch up with us. We had stayed longer than I wanted to, so I was glad to be back on the road. It was about a three-hour drive by car from Smithfield to Powhatan. It would take us a bit longer in a 39-foot-long motor coach, of course. We did not need to stop for fuel, neither for the coach nor for ourselves. We had plenty of gas and energy bars. Jonah was behind the wheel, I was in the copilot's seat, with Alex on my lap. He would sit there for awhile staring out the windshield and after a few minutes the passing trees would bore him, so he would usually end up on the floor, on his dog bed, happily chewing on a rawhide that he took from his stash that he keeps under the dining table. Jonah said a quick prayer for a safe trip, and then loaded his King Crimson CD, into the player, fastened his seat belt, and pushed the yellow knob to release the parking brake. He slowly coached the coach out of its spot, glancing in the rear-view video monitor to make sure our towed car was following correctly, not wobbling back and forth. "Okay, all looks good," he announced. We drove past the office, Sarah unseen inside, and eased out of the campground. After a right turn onto the service road and after about a minute's drive we were zipping north on Interstate 95. We were headed to a secluded and comfortable campground in Powhatan, Virginia. From there we would drive the car to a spot northeast of Richmond, named Cold Harbor. It had been a very long time since I was last there. Jonah had never been there and I wanted him to see the site of one of the bloodiest battles ever fought in any war. I also wanted him to travel with me to a country church cemetery not far from the battlefield. There were many Civil War veterans of that terrible battle buried there, men from both sides of the conflict. Some men died on the battlefield. Some men died later, much later, but wished to be buried there. I planned to see the final resting place of one of those men. I wanted to visit the grave of my father.

There will be some surprises, for all of us I think.

As a kid I enjoyed serial stories in magazines. Works of fiction published one chapter at time. I read them and couldn't wait for the next installment. The next chapter. The number one thing that all good fiction writers say is common about writing is that writing should be about something that you know about. I know about communications, photography, history, RVing, and I know about myself and my family. I have also read that you should write about something that you love. I love all the above. (Yes, I can be a bit self-absorbed, at times.) So with those directions in mind I have written the first chapter of a novella or novelette. A novella is defined as a written, fictional prose narrative longer than a novelette but shorter than a novel. The novella has a word count of between 17,500 words and 40,000 words. A novelette has between 7,500 words and 17,499 words. So it remains to be seen what this will be. I don’t know where this work will take me, or us, because you the reader will be on this journey with me. I will try to make it enjoyable for us both, but I will need something from you. Your input is necessary. So please comment. If you don’t I will not know if my work is going to make you want to travel further on. Thanks. Gramps MORTALITY: Chapter One "It's a funny old world, a man's lucky if he gets out of it alive." -- W.C. Fields If the sun is shining through my motor coach bedroom skylight, wherever the location or whatever the time zone that happens to be at the time, I have the ability to always wake at exactly 7 a.m. If there is no sunlight shining into my bedroom, then I wake at exactly 7:30. I know because I always verify the time on my glowing blue-green cheap Timex watch. My wife used to tell me the time by pressing a button on her alarm clock and it would shine a red light with the time on the ceiling. But that doesn't happen now because that side of the bed is empty and cold. It is now morning and, like most mornings, I can hear my son Jonah moving around in the living area of our motor coach. He has already folded up the air mattress bed back into the couch. I can hear him pouring fresh water into the dog's bowl as he talks to Alexander, my elderly Cockapoo. That is a terrible name for a breed of dog. I prefer Spoodle as a better moniker. Alexander sleeps on the fold-out bed with Jonah. The dog doesn't seem to like the foot of my bed anymore, now that he realizes he has his choice of humans to curl up next to. Of course, my recent bout of restless leg syndrome, which causes him to fly off the bed in the middle of the night, may have influenced his decision to change his sleeping arrangements. "Dad, are you moving around in there? I taste waffles already" "Yes, I am getting up,". I answer as I crawl out of bed and slip on a pair of Tommy Jeans that has been neatly hanging on the back of one of the bedroom chairs all night. I pull on a long-sleeve green T-shirt that says "Outer Banks" on the front, slip my feet into some worn-out Topsiders and then hit the head. As I said, this morning is like so many mornings. We keep to certain rituals, with some variations. If there is coffee available in the office of the campground we are staying at, we grab our own mugs -- I can't stand Styrofoam cups -- and we walk over to procure some. If there isn't any coffee we make our own. If there is breakfast available, we make every effort to be there. This morning, like the last five mornings since we arrived here in the Smithfield North Carolina KOA, we are going to make our own waffles. The office has easy-to-use waffle makers, waffle ingredients of course, and real Mrs. Butter-Worth's syrup to go with them. None of that fake Mrs. Butter-Worth's will do. Jonah, who just finished feeding Alex his morning breakfast of the same little brown nuggets of nutrition he gets every morning, hands me my jacket. "Dad," he says as he glances down at my feet. "There is still snow on the ground; you need to put some socks on." "I won't loose any toes to frostbite, let's go." I almost fall on my skinny butt as my tread-less Topsiders hit the ice at the bottom of the two outside steps. It is cold so I zip my jacket up to my chin. Jonah closes the door, makes sure it is locked, and we slip and slide our way over to the office. We don't talk much as we carefully walk toward the waiting waffles. We mostly watch each other breathe the crisp air in and out, human steam curling around our heads. "Did you sleep well?" one of us may ask the other one. "Fine. How about you?" "I had one of those nasty leg cramps last night again." "You need to drink more water. That should help." Like most mornings that is about as exciting as it gets. We walk through the office door, me first, and the bell attached to the top announces our arrival. The KOA office is typical of most campground offices. A camp store in the front with vinyl sewer hoses and connectors, water hoses, soap, light bulbs, fuses, overpriced useful things that you buy in a hurry, well, when you need them in a hurry. Also for sale are not-so-useful things like wind chimes, ceramic thimbles, spinners, light thingies you hang around your neck, stupid things like wooden grandma back ends that you stick in the ground. Off to one side there is a rack of brochures of tourist traps and attractions. Some groceries on the self, a glass top freezer with Nutty Buddies and Eskimo Pies, maybe some pints of Ben and Jerry's. Every campground that Jonah and I have traveled to, it's the same stuff. The quantities and the quality may differ a bit, but the fact that it is always there is comforting in a way. "Good morning, Mr. Christopher," said the young lady in the yellow golf shirt, behind the counter, looking at me. I didn't respond fast enough for my son. "Good morning to you too, Sarah," answered Jonah. Jonah learned her name in the first five minutes of the first day. After five days I still didn't know what it was. Maybe I should have looked at her name tag. "Now I told you to call me Jonah," he continued, smiling that big smile of his. Sarah glanced over at me. She tried again. "Good morning to you, too, Mr. Christopher." "His name is George." I smiled at her and told her good morning. I guess I didn't smile big enough. "Mr.Christopher, there is a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen and the waffle makers are nice and hot, too. Go help yourself and if you need anything just holler." Jonah just laughed, grabbed me by the arm and led me to the kitchen. "Come on George; let me make you some waffles." If I let it, it could really make me mad when people think I'm not friendly. After dispensing myself a cup of hazelnut coffee, my wife's favorite, I sat down to nurse it and my slightly bruised ego. Jonah operated the waffle irons to his satisfaction and placed a paper plate with a one large plain waffle in front of me. He sat down with a plate of four waffles, with lots of butter and Mrs. Butter-Worth's dripping down the sides. He could still eat with the careless abandon of an athletic 18-year-old without it affecting his much older waistline. I also ate without much thought. Actually half the time I just didn't think about eating. I live on very few calories. I miss my wife's cooking. I miss sitting across from her when eating someone else's cooking. For over 50 years just having her there with me made everything taste better. Without her, there was not much taste at all. While Jonah was eating and I was nibbling, Sarah came into the kitchen with another camper. She was showing him how to operate the waffle irons and pointed to the chilled carafes of juice, and milk next to the coffee dispensers. As the obviously new guest started to pour some waffle batter into the iron, she turned and sat at the table with Jonah and myself. "So, are you two still planning on leaving today or can we help you to stay around a bit longer?" she asked. I looked up at her. "I think we will be pulling out today, kind of late tough. Is it okay for us to leave a bit after check out?" "Sure, as you can tell we aren't that busy. What with the snow and all. Stay as late as you like. If you decide to stay any more days, just come by the office tomorrow." "Thanks, Sarahâ", said Jonah. "We have enjoyed it here, especially the waffles." He gave her another one of his big smiles. I saw her face light up and I knew he had done it. He had opened the door. "Where are you two off to next?" She asked casually. Jonah answered just as casually. "We are not sure, maybe Florida, somewhere along the coast. Maybe I can talk George here into going back to Fort Wilderness, but I think he wants to go farther south, so he can warm up his ancient old bones a bit." I understood Jonah's choice of words, and he knew it too. "Mr. Christopher, are you going to let your brother call you ancient?" "How old do you think he is? Make a good guess now,'' prompted my still smiling son. "You don't look over what, forty-something...I guess forty five?" This comment really tickled Jonah, which is what he wanted. This was a game he liked to play with me, and that guess just egged him on even more. "Forty-five?" He grinned at me. "You are so close. How old do you think I am?" he asked. Sarah looked him over for before answering "mmmm..I'd say about the same. No, maybe a few years older...so fifty-five?" Jonah smiled at her. "Why, thank you, darling, but nope, I will be sixty-six on my next birthday." Sarah looked very surprised. "Really?" He looked over at me. "Isn't that right, little brother?" I just gave him the same patient smile I always gave him. I was thankful that Jonah didn't tell Sarah that at the exact moment Robert E. Lee was surrendering his sword to General Grant, that I was coming, kicking and screaming as they say, into this world.

Any Pixar film I don't have is on my Christmas List. The Incredibles is good, but I like the Toy Story films the best of all.

That is a hard question to answer because there are so many different types of slide out motors and mechanisims. You would need to be a bit more specific, like who makes it and so forth.

This past weekend, Diane and I took the coach, the dog (can't leave home without him!) and the grandboys to Virginia Beach, Va. We stayed in the premier sites at the Holiday Travel Campground. The premier sites are a bit larger pull-thrus than the rest of the sites. The campground is about 40 minutes from our home. We left about 2:45 in the afternoon and arrived about 3:30 or so. We didn't do much the first night except grill some burgers while the boys explored the playground next to us. Later that night, we moved back to the sitting area in the bedroom. The boys curled up on the bed, and I took a chair and read to them. We have been reading "The Magician's Nephew." It is book one or book six, depending on which release of the set of books, of the Chronicles of Narnia. After a few pages of Uncle Andrew's Troubles we decided to watch a movie. Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. My wife loves the movie and the boys seemed to like it as well. While the movie was playing, I snuck back to the bedroom, sat down in one of the rockers and put up my feet and opened a Clive Cussler novel. I needed some time to myself. It had been a rough morning. It seems that I can have a slow week, but the day we plan on leaving in the rig for anywhere, some phone system decides to go down for some reason. On this particular morning a major medical practice had trouble due to an expiring Internet IP address. This is not an easy problem to fix, so I figured it would take all day and our trip was going to evaporate. However, Diane decided that I would resolve the problem with time to spare, so she packed up the coach by herself while I drove nine miles away to the site. She was right. I was home by 1 p.m. We finished loading the coach with enough food and clothes for a weekend, pulled the coach out and hooked up the tow. The only thing left was for the boys to be dropped off by their Mom. The boys were on the pull-out bed while the movie played and so by the time it was over, they were out for the night. Tomorrow would be a Saturday with no emergency phone calls. I hoped so, anyway. Saturday morning began with plenty of sunshine. We ate a quick breakfast of cereal for the kids, cottage cheese and pineapple for Diane and me. Our dog, Nickolas, figured that he would be left alone for the morning to guard the coach, so he decided to sulk and not eat his breakfast. Hey, you can't please everyone! After breakfast we took a brisk walk around the campground, dog and all. After that we secured the pup in the coach, locked up and took the car to the Virginia Aquarium to catch the 11:15 showing of Disney's A Christmas Carol 3d Imax film. We planned to get there early enough to buy good seats. The aquarium was only 10 minutes away. We got there and found out that the first show was not full and we also had time to visit part of the aquarium, see the film and then see the rest of the facility. Sounded like a plan to me. So we watched the fishies swimming around, observed a SCUBA diving demonstration and then headed for the movie. I love wearing those goofy 3D glasses over my glasses. A Christmas Carol was, or should I say is, a really good film. Jim Carrey wonderfully plays Scrooge and all three Christmas Spirits. The 3D effects are mesmerizing. In other words, I highly recommend this movie. It should really put you into the holiday spirit unless you are a pre-converted Scrooge. After the movie we picked up where we left off in the museum/aquarium. We visited the aviary, just in time for the feeding of the birds with lots of dead mice, crickets, squid and all kinds of other appetizing things. We watched the otters for awhile, then walked back to the parking lot and drove back to the campground. At this point I needed to get ready for the event of the day. The official chili cookoff was set for 6:30 that very evening. It was four o'clock by the time we got back from the aquarium, so I need to get to work. I knew that there were about 11 entries and I planned to win this thing. Diane won the last time we were at this campground. As a matter of fact we were using the two free nights that were her prize for being the only one who entered the contest! Hey, a win is a win in my book. This time though, it was going to be a bit harder. I think I make a really good chili. It has a bit of a kick to it. My special ingredient is a bottle of lime and salt beer. There are a number of different kinds and I use what I can find at the time. I also use red, orange and yellow peppers along with lots of chili powder, black pepper and some other spices that, well, are my secret. Also, I add frozen corn for color and a bit of texture to go along with the kidney and black beans. Around 6 p.m. we headed over to the dining room where the contest was taking place. There were supposed to be 12 entries, but two were no-shows. I was number 11. The judges started taking small samples of each starting with number one. After they finished, the rest of us lined up and hit the Crock-Pots. I went for a white bean and chicken chili that tasted more like chicken soup with white beans. Two entries were made with cubed beef instead of ground. Both tasted like beef stew. No kick. As a matter of fact, the only one out of the five I tasted that had any spice to it was mine. So I was a somewhat surprised when the two blandest entries, that didn't even taste like chili, won first and second place. I have entered four or five cooking contests now and I cannot figure out what these judges are thinking or tasting. It must not have been the same thing I ate! Well, my grandkids, Diane, and the people running the event said mine was the best, so that's good enough for me. Plus, the boys really enjoyed themselves filling up on chili and bread, cheese and sour cream. We headed back to the coach and since we were kind of in a food mood, we stuck Ratatouille in the DVD player. That movie was also a lot of fun. You really can't beat a good Pixar film. Once again we timed it good. The movie ended and so did the boys. The next morning we had a quick breakfast and went and played a game of miniature golf. That was fun for all involved even though some of the holes were almost impossible to play. Afterward we packed up after meeting our camping neighbors, who toured our coach. By 2 it was time to leave. Our trip home was short and uneventful. We pulled into the driveway and unpacked the coach. It was a quick weekend, but sometimes those can be really good. By the way, the boys are named Carson and Austen. Two good kids. I think you would like them.

Exactly!

Woof! The last two entries of this blog have been kind of serious and sad. Too much for me, to tell you the truth. I think we should go back to having some fun. Gramps' rules for owning a motor coach, especially number four, are just that. So, in order to lighten things back up, I have decided to hijack this blog and post one entry for myself. I don't think Gramps (I know him as Dad, but he really is my person) will mind all that much. This entry is about Motor Coaching, but from a different perspective. I love traveling in the bus, as Mom (Diane to you) calls it. I love watching my people load the bus up with all kinds of interesting things. I think they carry too many things out there, but it isn't my place to suggest they may be over packing. I love to see what goodies they are bringing, especially the things that go into that big cold black box they call a fridge (it doesn't look like the fridge in the house!). Dad is a sucker for a couple of big brown eyes, so I usually end up sharing things like cheese and sardines with him. I love sardines. He split a beer with me once. I didn't like it. It tasted bitter and it made me sneeze. You may have read that on one occasion, he "shared" a lot of Turkey Soup with me. Now, that was a happening feast that a creature like me usually only gets to dream about! After awhile it makes me dizzy, all the trips out to the coach, boxes of cans, and crackers and clothes and stuff. I am always told to stay by the front door while they march back and forth to the coach parked in our driveway. After about 10 of these trips I can't stand it anymore, so I make a dash for the coach steps. Mom and Dad usually fuss at me a bit; sometimes they let me into the coach. Usually they send me back to the house. I will admit that I don't like that. When they finally get everything loaded, and checked and then double checked and I hear the word that it's time to hit the road, I am more than ready. At my age the steps can be a bit rough on the ol' back legs, but I get excited and take them two at a time. I have one responsibility, so the first thing I do is head to the back of the bus where a big white container with an air-tight lid is stored. That is my supply of chow and it better be there. The trouble is, I have not figured out how to let the folks know if it isn't. Well, so far after five years of checking, I haven't needed to. But you never know, there could be a first time! Moving down the road in the coach is great. I sit on Mom's lap and that gives me a terrific view out of our huge windshield. I love the air that blows on me, too. Dad makes it cold somehow. He must be a genius. Mom doesn't always like it as frigid as Dad, but with me on her lap she puts up with it. Sometimes I push a button next to Mom's seat just to see what happens. Usually Dad will say something like, "Why is your map light on?" or "Hey, what's going on ... the shades are coming down!" He gets really excited when the step cover starts opening on its own. I sometimes get sick in the car. I don't know if that is because it is a small moving space or if it is because sometimes I do not care for where it takes me, like to see Miss Vickie, that woman who hoses me down and then sticks a blow dryer in my face! But, the coach is a very different thing. It is relaxing. I can get down from my perch on Mom's lap; sleep on the couch or on my pillow on the floor or just grab some water if I want it. Try that in a big truck pulling a trailer ... Oh, arf ... I have to end this for just a minute. I hear Dad coming down the hall and I do not think he would be pleased to see me messing with his computer. He yells at the cat when she jumps on the keyboard, and yells really loud when he is writing at the time. Oh, in case you were wondering, the cat never travels with us. She hates the coach and would just hack up a big yellow hairball or two and leave them on the dash, right where I like to sit. Got to go ... I am back! I am not sure what else I can tell you. This is my first dog blog, after all, and writing is not that easy. Let me think of something else, oh ... I have enjoyed most all the places we have been. I love visiting rallies with lots of other coaches (hey, I get invited in all the time!) I love meeting other people, both two and four leggers. I love hiking with Mom and Dad on a trail through the mountains. The smells are exciting. I like the ocean, well running on the beach to be precise, the water I don't care for. Now when we travel to the beach, my Mom gets out my (I don't claim it!) tropical shirt and puts it on me. I can stand the shirt, but the hat ... one day when no one is looking I plan to chew that thing into tiny pieces! My favorite place to travel to in the motor coach is, for the most part, wherever my people are headed, but there is one stop that is really great: our new home in the mountains. It is the one place where I get to run around without my leash, and the other people there ... well, they are wonderful friends to my people. I have a friend there as well. Her name is Godiva. At mealtimes, everyone shares all kinds of tasty things with us both. I do prefer Dad's cooking. Now I am thinking about that soup again! I need to wrap this up, so: Here are my rules for owning a motor coach: Do not leave home without the dog in the coach. Do not leave home without the dog's food in the coach. Do not leave home without the dog's food bowl in the coach. Do not leave home without the dog's water bowl in the coach. Do not leave home without the dog's treats in the coach. Do not leave home without the dog's leash. It makes the person I am leading feel safer. Do not leave home without the poopy bags. I don't really care, but Mom and Dad don't think I should leave stuff on the trail for some reason. Go figure. Nickolas I hate the hat. But I love Mom!

I have an electric smoker that I use outdoors. It works really well for slow cooking a bird up to 20 lbs.

I'm jealous. Derrick

I wrote the story about Wayne two or three years ago, maybe longer. I don't really remember when I wrote it to tell you the truth. I wrote it in response to a young lady who was a member of a Medal of Honor online gaming clan who posted a request for prayer on our clan forums. Her fiance had just been killed in a car accident and she was devastated. The story was originally addressed to her. Shannon was her name. For the most part that was the end of it until two days ago. That was when I got the urge to post it on my FMCA blog. Which I did, yesterday afternoon just before Diane and I left for a local church event. It's funny how things work out sometimes.. Twenty Five Years Ago, This Month, Part Two. As of last night there is a definite connection between being a coach owner and what happened twenty five years ago. Twenty five years ago the 24th of this month to be exact. A week or so ago Janis and Gary our twin coach owners invited us to a special event at their church. It is a walk through play called Judgment House. This is a nationally sponsored play that takes place in many churches around the nation, but the subject of the play usually is based on some local tragic event. This event is used to illustrate and dramatize the final consequences of the choices, some good and some bad, that people make. We agreed to attend one of the performances of this play. I did not know much of anything about this play until the day we went, yesterday, last night to be exact. The subject of this drama was a bit of a shock to me. The play was called the Arlene Jones Story. This was the same Arlene that was my friend Wayne's girlfriend and fiance. Not knowing what to expect, I was not sure I could watch it all. I decided, since I try not to believe in coincidences, that for some reason, it was meant for me to see this play, so I made up my mind, took a deep breath and drove us to the church where we were met by Gary in the parking lot at about 4:45 in the afternoon. He took us into the staging area, the church gymnasium, and it was packed. I had heard that due to a wave of word of mouth that as many as 1400 to 1500 people were waiting to see the performance each night. I didn't think anybody even remembered the event. I had tried to forget it. But here I was, standing in line and a few minutes later, sitting in the middle of a church gym, feeling a bit uncomfortable, waiting with Diane and Gary in a crowd of chatting people, none of whom I knew at all, for our names to be called and then to observe a reenactment of what I thought was a completely senseless, and meaningless event. An event that cost me a good friend and, my first business. After a few minutes of just sitting there, with my left leg bouncing nervously, I began to feel uncomfortable, a lot. I started looking for the closest exit..just in case I needed it. We had some time to wait, so Diane and Gary got up to buy some popcorn at a concession stand in the back of the gym. This was the perfect time for me to make a dash for it. To leave this play before the memories that might come flooding back caused me to squirm, over heat, be ill, maybe even throw up or worse yet have a big nasty panic attack (and I have had them before), which would really make me do all the above. I didn't leave; instead I got up and moved to the back row, and sat down next to a man a bit younger than myself, with a name tag on, who was engaged in a rather animated conversation, and waited for a chance to introduce myself. While standing in line to sign up for the play I had overheard a conversation between one of the staffers and one of the attendees. From that conversation I learned that the son of Arlene was sitting in the back of the gym. His name was OC and now I was sitting next to him. It became apparent that, reluctantly for him, he was now a bit of a church celebrity. Ladies of the church both young and old kept coming up and introducing themselves. I patiently waited for a chance to tell him who I was. He turned to me and I put out my hand and told him that I was Derrick Parker, that I knew his mother and that Wayne had worked with me. He looked very surprised. We, with some two or three interruptions, had a short but extremely important conversation. Details that I had heard over the years, some big, some not, were verified, some corrected. I told OC things he didn't know and he did the same for me. I learned that the killer only killed himself after accidentally wounding himself with his own ricochet bullets from the fireplace in the living room. Once he knew he could not catch the boys, and escape from the scene, he finished himself off. OC learned that I had seen his Mom just a few days before at the trade show, and that I had tried to get Wayne to bring her to dinner on the night that they were both killed. His response was it just wasn't in the cards for them to live. I think then I realized that we both had been hurt, were still hurting...a lot more than we, or maybe just me, knew. OC told me that he would still be there after I went through the play and to come see him if I wanted to talk some more. I responded "okay". I wasn't sure that I would talk to him again. I wasn't sure I could even make it through the play. But I did. I don't think I can describe it that well for you. If I was an official theater critic, I could tell you that the play was a bit amateurish at times. I could tell you the concept of walking from room to room and seeing various scenes of Arlene's life and death play out, even the graphic ones, were interesting and effective, but for me it was not at all about how well the scenery and props looked or how well the actors performed. For me it was about something going on inside of me. I was watching the play, but I was also somewhere else at the same time. I was back in my office on the last day that I saw Wayne alive, or I was back in my kitchen when I got the terrible phone call, or I was in my car, miserably driving to an appointment that Wayne should have been keeping. At the end of the play is a scene of Heaven and of ****.I remembered my own private **** that I was in after Wayne's death and it was then I realized I had never really left it. I also realized the loss of Mike had only made it worse. I walked out of the last room, the last scene of the play and while my wife waited in the car, I went to find OC. I found him standing along the side of the gym, up against the wall, surrounded by a bunch of young ladies. Once again I waited patiently for a chance to speak to him. "What did you think?" he asked. "I think your Mother and Wayne would both have approved" I responded. "They would have appreciated some good coming out of that night." And then I said something I didn't mean to say. "Because Lord knows I haven't seen any good before now" OC looked hard at me, and then leaned in closer. "I haven't either, not for twenty five years, not until this week." Then I told him about losing Mike. That this was my second time losing a friend and partner. Then he wrapped his arms around me and said "Maybe this will give you some closure. It finally has, for me." He was only fifteen when he lost his Mom and the man that would have become his step father. He loved them both. Years before that he lost his father and yet now he could hug me and hope that I would finally be healed of my hurt. His concern for me broke my heart. He let go. I stood there with tears in my eyes. I could hardly speak but I managed to give him my card and said I would like to keep in touch. "That would be great, how about we go to lunch and just talk sometime? Would you like that?" "Oh yea, I really would." Then he was once again surrounded by others and I quietly walked to the car. I asked Diane to drive us to dinner, where we had a quiet conversation over soup and sandwich. I hate to admit it to my Baptist friends but I really wanted a beer. It was during dinner and over a short draft, that I realized a long string of events had led up to this moment. It started with a purchase of a Bounder that had a simple brake failure that led to a test drive that led to buying a particular coach, that led to a nice married couple contacting us with questions about the same coach, which led to a friendship that helped with one recent loss, and now... Now I realized that God had orchestrated something bigger; he used my RV and the RV world to provide the means to have many friends, but two in particular named Gary and Janis who without knowing it, were used by Him to open a scarred over twenty five year old wound that had never really had the chance to heal....until now. Now faith renews and the healing begins. Derrick

This blog entry doesn't have anything to do with the motor coaching lifestyle. Not directly, anyway. But the event does have a lot to do with how much I appreciate the friends that RVing has provided to my wife and I. Friends who have helped me get through the loss that I wrote about in The Course of Dreams. That story was about the second time I lost a close friend. This story is about the first. WAYNE In the summer of 1984 I moved my start-up small business out of my home into a small office in a really neat old building in downtown Norfolk, Virginia. I had a secretary, a salesman, and one installer -- me. My salesman was not giving the business much attention, and as a result was not very successful. I needed an additional person to spark a little competition. One fall day I was talking about this problem with the pastor of our church. He was familiar with my dilemma and my business because my current salesman also attended the church and the pastor also worked with me on large installation jobs. He suggested that I talk to a new member of the church named Wayne. "Wayne?" I said. "He retired from the Coast Guard; I don't think he knows anything about selling phones." My pastor assured me that Wayne could learn. I was not so sure. Wayne just did not fit the mold of the typical telecommunications salesperson. He was short, bald, with a full gray beard and most of the time wore all black clothes and sandals to church. He seemed like he was some kind of ex hippie to me. "What do you have to lose?" said Pastor. "Nothing except a lot of time and energy" I responded. But I agreed to talk to Wayne. Wayne had to retire on medical disability due to liver problems. I think he may have caught hepatitis at some point and he also at one time had a drinking problem. He was a Master Chief and the CO of a Coast Guard cutter, so he had some leadership skills, or so the Pastor kept telling me. I just needed someone who could help me; it sounded like the pastor wanted me to help him. I was not thrilled with the whole idea. I talked to Wayne after church one fateful Wednesday night. He told me that he wanted no salary or draw, that he would work on straight commission and he would learn the phone business. He was all smiles and seemed excited about working for me. Someone excited -- that would be a change in itself. I agreed to give it a try. Wayne would start the next Monday. I hoped he would at least show up with shoes and socks on. I did not see Wayne in church on Sunday. I don't remember if he was not there or if I was working. On Monday morning when he showed up at the office with a haircut, trimmed beard, dark suit, starched white shirt and tie and carrying a new brief case complete with gold name plate, I was completely shocked. "Where is my desk?" was his first question. I showed him one of the large computer tables that we used as desks in the back office. He wanted some documentation and brochures on the equipment that we sold so he could learn it. He sat down and started studying and about four hours later asked if we could chat for a couple of minutes. He told me he wanted to go out with me for a few days and see my customers, ask for referrals, and he wanted me to go on his first appointments with him. No problem. He also said that since I was one of the owners of the company that I should dress the part. "What?" "You can't go on sales appointments with me in jeans and work shoes; you need to keep some dress clothes here in the office that you can change into when I need you." I was trying to figure out where I lost control. I was worried about his dress and now he is telling me that I needed to change mine. This was getting weird. But it was obvious that the Wayne I knew in church was not the Wayne sitting here in my office. "If you need help shopping, we can go together." "I think I can handle it." "Good, a nice sports coat, dress shirts -- they don't have to be white -- some sporty ties and nice shoes should do it." I got over my shock and, I hate to say it, my resentment, and took his advice. We started to work together as a team. Wayne figured it would take a couple of months to get rolling and he was willing to foot his own bills and that is just what he did. We had lots of evening conversations as I helped him configure systems and taught him what was best for each of his prospects. He eagerly learned. We went to conventions together, and his prospect list started to grow. Bill, my original salesman, also perked up and started selling a bit more. Things started to look up. During this time I learned more about Wayne. He used to be a partying man. He was a good Coastie, but a bad husband until he became a Christian and started attending our church. Unfortunately, his wife did not like the new Wayne, a more patient guy who did not drink or swear or smoke, so she left him. She took their teenage son and moved to Florida. Wayne was still in touch with them and it was his son who bought him his brief case. Wayne kept generating leads and keeping appointments, but after a few weeks I could see that Wayne wanted to reel in his first sale. He was getting anxious and wanted to make something happen. It did not matter if it was big or small. It was small. But to Wayne the first one was big. After six weeks he sold a system to a small auto repair place that needed four phones. We would be installing it in a couple of weeks. During the two weeks, we started to plan our own trade show in cooperation with a wholesale food distributor whose owners (one being my brother) were the partners in my business. Hotel and restaurant people would be attending. There would be lots of food, and cooking demonstrations from Johnson and Wales University. The manufacturer of our phones sent Doug Stewart, a great factory representative, to work with us. It was a formal affair. The three of us looked sharp in our black tuxes and red cummerbunds. The evening was a great success. During the next two weeks Wayne talked to two major hotels and was sure that he would sell them, too. I realized that I had found a very good salesperson who also was now my friend, and I knew that I would soon officially offer him a partnership. The day came to install Wayne's sale. He helped me put it in, we trained the staff and they wrote a check for the system. Back in the office I wrote Wayne his first commission check. It was not that much. "Well, its small but it will pay for the gas to keep on going." Wayne said. I invited him over for dinner with Diane and I, but he declined, saying he was not feeling so well, his medication was not agreeing with him. He thought he would see Arlene that evening. She was a nice lady whose husband had been killed in Vietnam and she and Wayne had recently discovered each other. "That crazy ex real estate partner of hers has been calling and making a jerk of himself the last few days," Wayne said. "She's upset about it, so I'm going to go over to her place." For some reason I felt strongly that he should come to dinner with me, so I insisted he invite Arlene, but he declined. I became very uneasy and could not understand why. That night was an untypical sub freezing cold October night and very late when the phone rang. It was Bill calling me. "Derrick, are you awake?" he said. "Yes, what's going on?" "Derrick, Wayne is dead." There was a long pause while I really woke up. "Dead! How is that, why?" "He was killed and so was Arlene. That partner of hers shot them both. I was heading over there just before it happened but Steve (Bill's son) had a flat and I went to help him." I realized that I could have lost both Bill and Wayne. Arlene's real estate partner was upset that she planned to press charges against him for embezzling money out of the apartment complex that they owned together. She was also planning to sell the complex to cover the losses. He was not happy about this. Plus, he was not happy about her relationship with Wayne. The partner was a lot younger than her and, although married himself, had an obsessive crush on her. This was a volatile mix. The night he killed them he dressed up like a Ninja, all in black, including a hooded mask. He carried a whole bunch of ninja weapons to a field just behind a canal that ran behind Arlene’s house. This field was the property of my church. Bill's house was two doors down from Arlene's. He laid all his spears, throwing stars, and swords in the grass, loaded his Uzi, waded the canal and headed for Arlene's house. His approach set the neighbor's dogs barking and Wayne opened the door to see what was causing the noise. The guy shot him down, jumped over Wayne's body and went into the house where Arlene was in the living room. Her son and a sleepover friend were upstairs. He shot the living room to pieces, chased Arlene around the first floor of the house, and killed her and then himself. The boys were hiding in the stairwell and of course heard the whole thing. The news media was not too sharp and did not know that Wayne worked for me. There were stories on the front page of our local paper and it was the lead story on the local newscasts for about four nights. Not once did anybody contact me and I was very grateful for that oversight. I quietly attended Wayne's funeral at Arlene's church along with 300 members of the Coast Guard. The next day, as I was cleaning out Wayne's desk and shipping his briefcase to his son, it all sank in. My secretary became so upset that she quit and virtually so did Bill. My brother came to fill in, but that did not help much. Wayne sold; I mean I sold the two hotels that I mentioned, along with quite a few other things that Wayne was working on. The business continued for two and a half years until I sold it. I was depressed; I could not see any good coming out of the loss of my friend and partner. It took me a long time to realize that it is not that important for me to understand. God was still in control and loved me; that was all I really needed to know. In May of 1985 I almost lost my newborn son and my wife and it was the strength that I received from going through Wayne's death that sustained me and helped me to pray. They both survived. Wayne is still someone that I think about a lot. I just recently found the worn-out and faded Polaroid of the three of us at the trade show. Every now and then it does me some good to look at Wayne's smiling bearded face, looking sharp in his red bow tie. By the way, I now own a successful communications company that I started in 1991. My wife is my only partner. My first two customers were the same two hotels that Wayne would have sold. Life goes on. Derrick Doug Stewart, Wayne and myself at the trade show:

I received this email from the owners and developers of Deer Creek Motorcoach Resort. Dear Derrick, I have just finished reading you blog about the Course of Dreams. I can not tell you how touched both Barry and I are. For many reasons you could not know. Those of us who are entrepreneurs put a bit of our soul into each project, customer, job, bid and endeavor. The land that Deer Creek sits on has a whole lot of our souls; of ours individually, and as a family. On the outside we are please with the publicity and hope for a successful development but deeper down we are so happy to build a place were people can feel like home because it's been home to us for over 20 years. Barry and his dad bought the land where the building lies in the early 80s for a craft manufacturing business that supplied another business at the time. In fact we met in the arts and crafts business. After producing many products and fulfilling many orders in the building that is now the clubhouse we added the land behind to our horses. While we dated, I lived in NYC and Barry in Winston-Salem, we spend weekends on the mountain riding horsed and eating biscuit and gravy with his mom and dad. In fact, back by between the Busses' lot and the Vonas' lot we talked about building our first house. About 5 years later, Barry and I were married and after having our first child, Megan, we moved to the mountain to raise our family. The craft business had been closed several years and his dad didn't know what to do with the land and then one day at the age of about 58 hid dad said, "I'm going to put a driving range down there at the building". We were shocked and thought they had gone crazy but by gosh they built it! As we all loved the golf business we jumped in and worked, planted, built the miniature golf course, and eventually Barry and his dad built the par 3 course. We worked in that business through out the growth our three kids, his parent's retirement and lots of range balls going in the mud. As things have evolved and changed we are so please to have this beautiful place to share with great folks as you and Diane. Everyone feels like extended family to us and we cherish those great times on the back porch. We used to keep a picture from the movie Field of Dreams, we always believed "if we build it they will come." Knowing what you have gone through with the loss of your friend, we are grateful God brought you to Deer Creek and that you have found some peace and happiness. It really warms our hearts that the ground that has nurtured our family has the power to comfort you. We have always believed in the magic of the land. Thanks for your kind words. Laura and Barry

Back at home...do you find it hard to "decompress" after a great trip like the one you had?

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!

Rule 4: Owning a motor coach is a never-ending learning experience -- continued. Well, I had so much fun coming up with a list of things that I have learned over the five years that my wife and I have been motorhoming, I figured why not write down a few more? So here goes: I have learned that men need a precise set of directions when parking the coach. And women know just how to give them. For example: "I SAID STOP! STOP! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT STOP MEANS?" "DON'T BACK UP, YOU WILL HIT IT AGAIN!" "NO, NO, YOUR OTHER RIGHT!" "JUST LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE NOW!" It's always the other person's fault when you miss your exit or hit a tree. The people camping next to you will find out first that you forgot to shut your black tank valve. My grandkids think the term "stinky slinky" is really funny. My wife doesn't like the way our all-in-one washer-dryer ties HER underwear into knots. A small speed bump can throw dishes around the coach. A big speed bump throws the dog around the coach. Old tube socks make great bottle savers; just make sure they are clean. I'm talking about the socks. Don't drive on the zipper, it's scary and you may lose a lug nut cap. While going down the road, I don't like hearing, "What the heck was that noise!?". even when I am the one saying it. If Wal-Mart doesn't have it, I must not need it. It burns me when the RV spots at Cracker Barrel have a car parked in them. It burns me even more when the RV spots at Camping World have a car parked in them. Sometimes when driving under an overpass, I get the urge to duck! My wife will not let me stop at South of the Border and buy anything. It's been over a year since we purchased our coach and I am still finding loose screws floating around inside. If you don't pack up your patio the night before you leave, it will rain. Quick disconnects are great on the water hoses except when you forget to turn off the water before disconnecting. I have learned that: Before pulling out of a campground, if your generator is off and your roof air is running, you may have forgotten to do something. I have a very tough shore power surge protector. How do I know? Because I dragged it down the road once and it still works great! I believe that some interiors of motor coaches were designed by people who smoke something more than just tobacco. At some point during a long trip I will bang my head on a slideout. It's going to happen, I might as well get used to it. The dash AC is always too cold for the pilot and not cold enough for the copilot, or vice versa. Most coaches have the dash radio positioned where no one can easily read it or adjust it (without falling out of your seat). I would rather be out in my coach than take a cruise or a trip to Europe. That's good, because I own a motorhome and can't afford to take a cruise or a trip to Europe. A bad day motorhoming beats a day at home in bed with a kidney stone (I had one of those two weeks ago). Fuel is always too expensive no matter what the price per gallon. A Ham and cheese sandwich in my motor coach at a rest stop on the way to somewhere tastes better than it does at home. I have learned that when I am home (in the stick house) I am always counting the days until I am on the road again with my beautiful wife and the pup. Feel free to comment and add to this list of "learned" things. Oh, Remember Rule Number 1!

Sounds like the air up there was good for you.

Sounds like you have had a great time. Banding Hummingbirds, how do you do that? I can't catch my cat to put Frontline on it! The trip to NY sounds really interesting....why leave the country when Rving can take us to so many great places right here in the good ole USA?

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.

First off, the new Monaco is not the Monaco that built your coach or mine. I have been doing my own warranty work for many months. But neither of us should let the problems with the now nonexistant bankrupt Monaco stop us or anyone else from considering a coach built by the New Navistar/Monaco. I personally would try a different dealer and see if they can help you. The Roadmaster Fuel gauge should be fixable.

I understand myself just what you mean about rving transporting us to a less stressful world. A world were even grief can be healed.