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-Gramps-

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Blog Entries posted by -Gramps-

  1. -Gramps-
    Today I would liked to have posted a blog about how much fun it has been since Diane and I retired. I wanted to tell you about our adventures in the coach, describe all the new sites we have seen etc..
    http://www.myrandomviews.com/blog/2015/7/10/the-human-whisperer
  2. -Gramps-
    The movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” starts with snow falling over Bedford Falls, and the sound of people engaged in fervent prayer. These prayers to God in Heaven are coming from many of George Bailey’s friends and almost all of his family. I'm Not a Praying Man....

  4. -Gramps-
    Diane and I had a pleasant and mostly uneventful Christmas. I was busy trying to cure a large phone system suffering from hiccups for some days leading up to The Big Day. As a result I became a last-minute shopper (I have always believed I work best under pressure) and visited Macy's on Christmas Eve in the late morning. I intended to purchase just the RightSomething for my wife. Apparently many other procrastinating men had the same idea.
    After carefully shopping I found a Murano blown-glass heart pendant on a gold chain with matching earrings. Judging by the look on Diane's face as she unwrapped her present the next morning, my last-minute quest was successful. I am not sure what she was the most surprised at, the quality of the gift or the fact that I had the ability to find it and buy it; the second most likely.
    We hosted Christmas brunch for our families. We then broke with Christmas tradition, skipped a big meal, and took our kids, Joel and Christine, and Christine's boyfriend Rob to a neat movie theater/restaurant called the Commodore Theater. There, we ate dinner and watched Sherlock Holmes.
    The next week was a quiet one, and on Thursday night we had clam chowder and chips with our friends Gary and Janis. We played Sequence until 2009 turned into 2010.
    Now we are into a new year and some say a new decade. New Year's Day, when the ball drops, the balloons go up and the cork pops out, has past. The Holidays are over. Christmas, a time for overeating, overspending and overindulging in many other activities, is now a memory, one more, to be added to all the other Christmas memories past.
    Christmas day has always been the day that my internal personal calendar pivots on. I tend to look back on my life and ask what was going on around Christmas when I was 6, or 16. Hanging an ornament on the tree may trigger a trip down memory lane. Just like in the motor coach, the trip may not always be a great one.
    When I hang one of the handmade clothespin people on the tree, whether it is the fireman or the nurse or one of the Three Kings, I remember Charlotte, North Carolina, and the third Christmas that Diane and I celebrated as husband and wife. She was three months pregnant with our first daughter, sick every morning and even though both of us were working we were always broke. That Christmas we sat in our little living room in front of our little color TV with snack trays watching the Waltons while painting clothespin people to hang on our very dry Christmas tree. We could hear the needles falling off that tree that we bought on sale at some gas station. It lasted about six days. I dragged that stark naked tree out the back door on New Year's Eve, leaving behind a thick trail of needles leading to the living room.
    The white round glass ornament that has Silent Night etched on it is as old as me. My parents mailed it along with a couple of other antique glass ornaments and a string of bubble lights to Diane and me in time for our very first Christmas. We, along with our two kittens, were living in an old house in downtown North Wilkesboro, North Carolina. We had been married two months and, well, we were as poor as the field mice that shared our home with us. The house was two floors and we lived on half of the bottom floor and all of the second. Our main source of heat was an old oil burning circulator in front of the bricked up living room fireplace. It was cold our first Christmas and we barely had enough extra money for kerosene for the burner; there was nothing for a tree.
    My uncle Jonah, who lived up in the Blue Ridge on his apple farm, heard that we were in need of tree assistance. He telephoned us and said he had one we could cut down and take home. So we made the nine-mile trip up the mountain in our old Chevy II to get our first Christmas tree. We arrived somewhat early evening; the sun was starting to set over a line of 25-foot-tall cedar trees that grew beside my Grandmother's old farmhouse. No one lived in the house and Jonah was using it for storage. Jonah was standing there armed with a large handsaw. I figured a walk in the woods was needed to find a tree, some kind of pine, most likely.
    "Well, there it is," Jonah said while pointing to the first cedar on the left, closest to the house.
    "What?" I said. "You are going to cut down that tree, it's hugh!"
    "Just the top," he said with a laugh. "Up the ladder you go, and you will need this."
    He handed me the saw and pointed to a somewhat hidden 20-foot wooden ladder leaning against the tree. I looked up at the perfectly shaped top of the cedar. I could see that it would make a great Christmas tree, but I couldn't let Jonah disfigure this beautiful cedar that had been growing there for so long and I told him so.
    "I have to top them every couple of years, because they put out rust that's bad for my apples," he said. He went on to explain that it was a spore that was harmful to his apple crop and that the tree would not produce any if he cut it back.
    Gratefully, I climbed the ladder with the saw and took off the top 10 feet of the tree.
    Jonah and I tied it to the top of our car. It was almost as long as the car itself. It wasn't the easiest trip down the mountain, but we made it. Once home, I carried into our old formal dining room, removed the bottom foot of the tree so it would not hit the roof, placed it in an old Christmas tree stand that I found in the attic, added some water, moved it in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. We decorated it, and then stepped back for a look. It had a few strings of lights -- the old-fashioned big bulb kind -- and one string of bubble lights, a few glass ornaments, some ribbon ornaments that Diane had been making for awhile (with the hope of getting a nice tree), along with some tinsel. At the top was one of our cats.
    Diane and I standing there, hand in hand, agreed that it was the prettiest tree we had ever seen.
  6. -Gramps-
    Another lesson about my passion...Digital Photography. Its been awhile but take a look you might see something you like, or something that makes you just a bit hungry!
    http://www.myrandomviews.com/blog/2015/5/7/the-grocery-store-a-visual-exercise
     
     
  7. -Gramps-
    I can’t really tell you where my mind has been the last two months. The summer has been blazing hot and my creative writing juices seemed to just dry up. So, as a result, I have not posted a new blog entry since April something. Now it is time to fix that.
    It has been a hot summer so far, and a busy one as well. My biggest project has been installing the background music wiring and speakers, point of sale network, telephone system and computer network for a new restaurant in Colonial Williamsburg called the DoG Street Pub. The Pub, as I have come to call it, is a British Pub Fare restaurant with an American twist. They serve lots of craft beers, on tap and in the bottle, along with comfort food like fish and chips, bangers and mash, Scotch eggs and lots of other good things. The Pub opened to the public in June after a delay of about ten days. The goal had been to open Memorial Day, and that was why I was working so hard; to finish my part of it.
    In the early morning hours of Memorial Day, two days before opening, the interior of the place caught on fire. The fire started in a new light fixture that had paper in it. Not a good thing. I found out about the news online, and made a quick phone call to the project manager, who asked me to come make an inspection of all my work. At that point no one was sure what caused the fire, so I needed to make sure it was not some fault in my wiring or equipment. I drove to Williamsburg and spent the next few hours inspecting the wiring. Many speakers had to be removed because of water collecting in the ceiling.
    Remarkably the damage was minimal considering the extent of the fire. The sprinkler system extinguished it very quickly.
    None of my work was damaged. Seven days later the Pub had its soft opening, guests by invitation only.
    Diane and I drove our coach to Williamsburg, set up camp at the Anvil Campground, changed into some party clothes and drove over to the Pub by Six O’clock. We mingled with friends and strangers as the kitchen and wait staff brought sample after sample of the good food they had created. We had crispy Calamari Fingers, Fish and Chips, homemade split pea soup with lots of real bacon, crab and lemon, prime rib, lots of really good cheeses (I found out that I like Stilton cheese), steamed mussels, and of course really great craft beer and British cider. We left the pub stuffed and happy.
    The next morning we headed up 64 west to 81 south. Our home at Deer Creek MotorCoach Resort was waiting for us
    The DoG Street Pub is a gorgeous place with great food. I was very pleased to be a small part of it coming to be. If any of my fellow motorcoachers are planning a trip to Williamsburg, make sure you make a visit to this fine establishment part of your trip. You will not regret it
    I fell in love with the Dog Street Pub….this was fall number three for the year.
    What was fall number one and two you ask…..? Well, I am about to tell you.
    I will pick up where I left off in April:
    Diane, Teddy Bear and I left Greensboro just after lunch with Savannah, Georgia as our next destination.
    We hit Interstate 85 and drove through Charlotte on the way down south. Diane and I lived in Charlotte for about four years many years ago. We drove past our first apartment building complex which is visible from the interstate. It wasn’t a bad place as long as no one was shooting at us. We only lived there a year before we felt it better to move to a quieter area of Charlotte.
    Our trip took us around the city, past Carowinds. I was shocked at just how big Charlotte is now.
    Once leaving Charlotte, it was smooth sailing to the Oaks Campground just outside Savannah. We were fortunate to book an available spot there. Diane made a quick reservation by phone, just a few miles and a couple of I-95 exits from the site. Earlier we had discovered that all the KOAs and any other campgrounds that we knew about were all booked. It was Good Friday and the snow birds were heading north from Florida and they were packing the campgrounds.
    We drove the access road to the campground. It was a winding narrow thing deep into the moss covered woods. We arrived about five, checked in and happily discovered that there was a chef there selling very good bar-b-que from a place called Jacks’s that apparently is pretty famous in the area for making excellent pulled pork. Diane bought the last two plates he had while I set up camp. It really hit the spot for us.
    We had a quiet evening and left early the next morning for Jacksonville and points further south. I don’t remember anything eventful happening during our trip to Melbourne. Then again it has been three months and I am lucky to remember what happened last week.
    We decided (actually Diane decided) that we should stay at a place called Wickham Park in Melbourne. I had never been there before but Diane had scouted the place during a previous trip. The park has electrical hookups, water and a dump station. The back in sites are huge and grass covered. We backed up to a large cat tailed surrounded pond. Next to us was a disc golf course. I had no equipment to play with but if I did I bet I would be better at disc golf than standard golf.
    Our first view of the area around us was nice, but we didn’t spend any time sightseeing, we wanted to see our new grandson and his parents. We set up camp, settled Teddy down with a treat and headed out the door.
    A few minutes later we were introduced by his proud, happy parents to Gavin Thomas, our new grandson.
    I fell in love with my new grandson, just as I did with all my grandkids, but there was something very special about this occasion.
    Gavin was so small and so cute. I was mostly a quiet observer of Gavin in the arms of Jeri, his mother, and in the arms of Yia-Yia Diane, his Greek Grandmother.
    I grilled steaks for everyone. We had a very pleasant evening. Dylan, Gavin’s big brother, played Mario Cart with me. I also introduced him to Angry Birds on my tablet. It was Gavin, however, that was the center of attention and everyone, including Dylan, was happy with that.
    About eight o’clock we headed home to the coach. We didn’t want our visit to tire the baby and his mom.
    Diane and I had a great time with Tom and Jeri, Dylan and Gavin. We made it a point not to make our daily visits too long. They would have liked it if we stayed around all day, but I get tired of myself after about eight hours (and there is nothing I can do about that unless I am sleeping!) so I knew when to call it a day.
    There were some special moments. Tom and I went golfing at the local city nine hole course. We played eighteen holes and had a very good time. Tom thought it was funny that I always put sunscreen on my knees first…I don’t know why I do that. We all went together for baby’s first excursion to Del’s Freeze, a great ice cream shop.
    We spent five days and six nights in Melbourne and then it was time to head back north. Diane and I spent most of those five days with the family but we also spent some time (and money) on ourselves. We made a trip to the local outlet mall and filled the back of the Vue with shopping bags.
    We hated to leave Melbourne. Tears were shed by all but we needed to get back on the road.
    Originally Diane and I had planned on visiting Jeri and family then moseying across the state to Tampa Bay with a side trip to Tarpon Springs. We both enjoy Tarpon Springs and all the Greek folks that live and work there. We really like the restaurants and bakeries. We usually come home with a lot of pastries and cookies. This trip to Hela’s, our favorite place of all, would have to wait for another time. We lost a week on the road because of the coach breakdown so we decided to substitute a couple of days in Savannah instead.
    We arrived at the somewhat crowded (snowbirds still on the move) Richmond Hill KOA about five in the afternoon on Friday. Diane fixed some frozen PF Chang’s for dinner. We watched some TV and at nine called it a day. Both of us read in bed until we could not keep our eyes open any longer.
    The next morning, after a breakfast of microwaved Jimmy Dean sausage and egg biscuits, we jumped in the car and headed to the historic district of Savannah.
    We pulled into the parking lot of what I think is the Railroad Museum and saw a bunch of trolley busses parked there. Diane had already informed me that we would be taking a trolley tour.
    Okay, no argument here.
    We bought tickets for the Old Town Trolley tours and got in the boarding line for our seats. Once on board, we sat there for a while and our tour guide provided us with info about the tour. We were on a hop on, hop off, tour. There were a lot of stops and we could get off and on whenever we wanted to. There might be a short wait for the trolley to come by and of course we could end up with a different driver, but that is okay.
    We finally took off and started seeing the city with all its squares. We heard about the history of the district and about the movies made there, including one of my favorites, Forest Gump. I am crazy about that movie and I do a pretty good Forest impression. We found out that the park bus bench that Forest sat on is in a city museum now, which we did not visit, but we did visit Chippiwa square under the church spire where the movie was filmed. That reminds me. I found a white feather stuck in the door of our coach a couple of days earlier. How is that for a coincidence?
    We really enjoyed the tour. At lunch time we visited the Six Pence Pub. I picked that place because I wanted to sample their pub food. I suppose that the DoG Street Pub was on my mind. The Six Pence Pub was a location for the movie Something to Talk About starring Julia Roberts. We were invited to share an outside table with a couple from New York City.
    We ordered lunch. Diane had a thick corned beef sandwich and a glass of wine. I had Beef and Guinness stew served in a bread bowl with potato salad. I also had a tall glass of Strongbow Cider. Not bad.
    The conversation with our dining companions was fun. We talked about where we all were from, where we were going. They found it interesting that we were traveling in a motorcoach.
    We all admitted that we found Savannah fascinating. I told them one of my nephews was attending the Savannah Creative Arts Institute which had a large presence in the historic district.
    We talked about Forest Gump (how could we not?) and the significance of the film. I switched on my Forest Gump accent and impressed them as well as our server and she has heard a lot of people try to talk like him. She said I was channeling Forest Gump.
    We finished lunch, said goodbye and happy travels. Diane and I hopped back on a trolley and continued our tour.
    We visited a lot of places and were so smitten that we decided to come back the next day and just walk around on our own.
    I shot many pictures with my old but still good Alpha 100 dslr and then the unthinkable happened. I dropped my camera on the trolley deck. I have never dropped one like that before. It was on my lap without the strap around my neck. I stood up and it slid off and landed hard. That was it. It would not record any more images.
    I was heartbroken but we continued on with our tour for another hour and then we returned to the car and headed home.
    Back in the coach I tried to reboot my camera. No luck. Sony Tech support was helpful, but my camera was DOA.
    I had fallen in love with this wonderful city with its moss covered live oaks and its very friendly people and wonderful architecture. I was not going to miss this picture taking opportunity.
    I logged onto the KOA very slow wireless and did a bit of online research. I found a new camera at the Savannah Best Buy and then made a quick drive to purchase it before the store closed.
    I had no idea that I would be buying a brand new model Sony that had limited availability. The camera was not even officially available from Sony’s web store.
    I successfully bought the camera (the sales person had to get it out of the warehouse) drove home and spent the next few hours learning how to use it.
    Morning found us back in town, but not where we wanted to be. Somehow our old Garmin took us to the wrong end of Henry Street and we got stuck on small one way streets. Thank goodness we were not in the coach. Actually the houses we were driving by were quite beautiful
    After about an hour we finally made it to the place we wanted to be and parked the car in a garage. From there we just started walking towards the river.
    What a wonderful place Savannah is. I really had no idea. I had visited River Street over twenty years earlier but I did not remember it being so charming. The place was packed with people visiting shops, and eating in one of the many great restaurants. We roamed around, I took pictures and shot a couple of movies (my new camera also shoots video) and then we decided to look for a place to have lunch.
    We found a small take out place almost at the end of River Street called the Olympic Café. I walked in and heard the people in the kitchen and behind the counter speaking Greek. I looked at the food being served and knew we had come to the right place.
    "Kalispera" I said.
    The cooks all looked at me and answered
    "Kalispera!"
    "How may we serve you!"
    I ordered Greek Fried Calamari and Tiropitas, enough for two. I also ordered a bottle of good Greek Beer. There were tables inside, but Teddy Bear was with us so I carried our plates to a small table just outside the door.
    Man, it was all good. Diane stepped inside and I could hear her chatting with the owners, using a few words of Greek.
    She came out with two fat pieces of Baklava. We devoured them.
    She said it was the best she had ever eaten. I went in and bought four more pieces. So much for missing Tarpon Springs.
    We spent a few more hours on River Street and then made our way back to the car.
    We drove home. We were all tired out but we had a wonderful day. It was one of the best we have ever had on the road. We knew we would be coming back to this place one day soon.
    We had a small dinner, watched a bit more TV, and took a short stroll around the campground. We hit the sack early.
    The next morning we took off for the Smithfield, North Carolina KOA. We would spend one night there and after free waffles the next morning we would be four hours from home.
    I love Gavin.
    I am smitten by Savannah.
    It will be awhile before I see my grandson again and who knows when Diane and I can visit Savannah once more.
    In the meantime the DoG Street Pub is not far away.
    Derrick
    "Gramps"
    Posted from Deer Creek Motorcoach Resort.
  8. -Gramps-

    Where Is My Wallet?

    By -Gramps-,

    Where is my wallet? (The Buyers From Perdition Part 1)
    I was in a panic condition….my head was buried in one of my wardrobe drawers looking desperately for my wallet, which of course, contained all my credit cards, driver's license and other important pieces of plastic. Read More!
     
  9. -Gramps-
    According to my outdoor wireless thermometer it is currently 43 degrees Fahrenheit. I am sitting comfortably in my motorcoach listening to two things ... a worship CD and the intermittent sound of ice falling inside the fridge. I am defrosting and so is the fridge. As you may have gathered from my previous blog entries, or lack thereof, I have been pretty much frozen in place at home maintaining my business. Our coach has just been sitting waiting for us to come back to it.
    This last Tuesday we finally made it back home to Deer Creek Motorcoach Resort (the One in Galax Virginia!).
    The moment the automatic gate started to open and I had an unimpaired view of the hills, my heart started to melt. We unpacked the over packed car and hauled all our stuff into the coach. The first thing on our list (after putting out the slide outs and water connections and such) was to move all the stuff in the cooler to the refrigerator. I opened it and all the bottles of water and Arizona iced tea that had been in there since July 15th were frozen solid. I didn't want to deal with this right now so I loaded it up and placed some containers of hot water under the coils in order remove some of the ice that had built up around them. Once that was done, and all our other items were put away we headed out the door to explore our home away from home and more importantly to see our friends.
    The place has changed, a lot. There are coaches parked on newly poured pads and new cabins going up almost every day. The golf course has new green markers and the numbers have been changed. It is no longer my private golf course by default. There are plenty of players who use it now. That is a good thing. Golf courses, just like motorcoaches, need people using them. If both had souls they would long for people to use them.
    I sometimes think my coach does have a soul.
    I could have sworn I heard a sign of relief when we came through the door.
    "Finally, they are back, I hope that they have come to take me out on the road !"
    We will be taking the coach back to our stick house when we leave next week. The summer is over for us. It was short and not so sweet. Frankly I am relieved it is over. We look forward to a quiet Thanksgiving including a camping weekend in Williamsburg, celebrating Teddy Bear Day, followed by a good Christmas. We will spend some time with our FMCA chapter over the Holidays.
    New Year's Day plus one or two should find us heading to Florida and Fort Wilderness.
    A long peaceful road trip. It is just what we need. It will unwind the knots in my soul. Just thinking about traveling down the road makes me feel like a motorcoacher again. Once I start feeling like a motorcoacher again, I start thinking like one too.
    When I think like a Motorcoacher my head fills up with ideas.
    Here are a few.
    A clear plastic sewer connection is a good thing to use. That way you will see the juice box that your grand kids dumped in the toilet as it makes its final destination.
    Your tool kit should always include a small volt ohm meter. You can check your battery voltages, check for loose grounds (the bane of most 12 volt systems) and do an accurate check of fuses to see if they are still viable.
    Dental floss will work really well to make a quick repair of broken day-night shade strings.
    I carry a curved upholstery needle, outdoor UV resistant thread and fabric glue. Those three things will help you greatly extend the life of your awnings and slide out toppers. Run a bead of UV resistant Fabric glue along all your topper seams. It will keep the thread from rotting so fast.
    My supply kit also includes a couple of cans of spray-on silicon protectant. I spray that good stuff on my patio umbrellas, slide out toppers and various other cloth things that get exposed to the outdoor sunshine and rain.
    Don't buy cheap self leveling caulk. It doesn't self level but it will crack. I found out that the hard way and now I have to do a couple of roof repairs over again.
    I carry of lot of baking soda. It does wonders to clean out gray tanks and P traps. It gets rid of odors and cleans up the tank sensors.
    If you want to do something really nice for your spouse, buy them a Kindle. You will become a hero.
    A Kindle makes a great gift for the road. I gave my wife one inside a leather case with a built in light. She loves it.
    Satellite receivers produce a lot of heat when in use. Unfortunately most coach cabinets that house them are poorly vented. Add a vent and better yet, add a muffin fan. You just may save yourself a lot of aggravation and not miss the big game because your receiver baked itself to death.
    Note to Self : Cell Repeaters really do work in bad cell coverage areas, except when you don't own one.
    (I need to make an online call to Amazon.com)
    Amour-all Extreme Shine Spray on Detailing works really well on painted fiberglass.
    Hang a small wind chime on your tv antenna handle. That way when you forget to lower it before you pull out of the campsite you will get an audible reminder. You just might save your antenna and your roof.
    You can learn a lot by being a member of a Motorcoaching Forum!
    A cold day in the Motorcoach sure beats a hot sweaty day working in some stuffy, dirty, overhead pulling wires.
    I am back in the Saddle again.
    Man, I sure have missed it.
  10. -Gramps-

    It's Smokin!

    By -Gramps-,

    Our sixteen pound turkey is currently relaxing inside my electric smoker. It has been getting the smoke and steamed beer treatment for about two hours now with four to go. I keep checking the remote thermometer and making sure that the bird doesn’t finish its spa treatment too fast. This takes a lot of patience on my part but it will be worth it.
    Patience is the key, not just for smoking a good turkey but also to enjoying the Motorcoach lifestyle. In case you don’t already know it, rule number two of my rules for owning a Motorcoach is:
    Keep your temper on a very short leash or when owning a Motorcoach, patience is not only a virtue but a necessity.
    You can read more about this rule here:
    http://community.fmc...r-coach-part-2/
    Patience pays off in the long run. Exercising it will greatly improve your disposition and turn a bad situation or a coach you don’t like into something positive.
    Two weekends ago, Diane, Teddy Bear and I attended our annual Good Sam’s chapter ThanksMas party. This is our combination Christmas and Thanksgiving celebration. We eat, play games, eat some more (a lot more) and talk a lot. As at any gathering of motorcoachers (and that is what we are, no trailer owners in our group) we talk about our passion for motorcoaching. When talking about motorcoaching the conversation will include mishaps, repairs from said mishaps, the cost of those repairs and the advantage of buying a used coach over a new or vice versa. We enjoy the subject of motorhoming so much that I read all my one liners from Rule Number 4 for motorcoaching which caused a few flying elbows between husbands and wives as well as a few red faces.
    You can read more about rule #4 here:
    http://community.fmc...r-coach-part-5/
    The whole weekend made me realize that Diane and I are really at home in our coach.
    It didn’t start out that way. There was a very long list of things that were wrong that came with the coach and a number of things that went wrong later. I could have gotten mad and said:
    “This is a brand new coach and it shouldn’t have these troubles. I wish I had never bought the darn thing.”
    Actually I did say that a few times but I remained patient and did I what I had to do to get all the malfunctions functioning.
    My patience paid off. Our coach is now a very good one.
    My fellow motorcoachers in our club have learned the same thing. Stick it out, be patient, don’t expect everything to always be perfect. Just like life, that isn’t going to happen and you will only make yourself angry if you don’t learn to be patient and roll with it, whatever it may be.
    There will be troubles with your coach. Just be thankful when it works and for the friends it has helped you make and the places that it has carried you to.
    When people ask you “how’s your coach doing? “; you can answer “It was a turkey but now it’s smokin’!”
    Happy Thanksgiving!
    Gramps.
  11. -Gramps-

    My Name is Theodore

    By -Gramps-,

    My name is Theodore. I have had a lot of names in my short life; Beasley, Bailey and one other one that I don't remember, or maybe I just don't want to remember.
    I don't mind the name Theodore, but I like the name Mom and Dad use best ... Teddy Bear.
    I am Teddy Bear Parker. Being a Parker makes me happy. Can a dog be happy? Some will tell you that being happy is only for humans.
    Someone once said that a wild bird will fall frozen from a tree limb and never feel sorry for itself. How does anyone know what a bird or a dog thinks or feels?
    Let me tell you how I feel. I feel lucky. Most of all I feel safe. For the first time in a long, long time I have a family and I have a forever home.
    I know that I had some big paw prints to fill. Mom and Dad, and that's what they are to me now, loved their first dog very much. They try not to mention his name. They talk about how it has been a long time since they saw a dog running around the back yard so fast, or jumping up on their tall bed in the bus.
    I love the bus. The big window is so cool, because I can see so much and there is a lot of air blowing on me like the window is open and I know it isn't. The only thing I don't like is those noisy motorcycles flashing by.
    All of us went out to the mountains in the bus, not long ago. I met some really nice people there. I got to run with another dog on a golf course … that is what Dad called it. I am not sure what it is, but it was fun to have the whole place to myself.
    I try my best to have fun with Mom and Dad. Many a morning I will grab one of Dad's socks off the floor (Mom is always telling Dad to put his dirty socks in the hamper … that basket thing in the corner, but he doesn't listen.) I take the sock to the hallway and wait for Dad. When he asks for it I turn my head and then run around the kitchen table. Dad chases me and I let him get close before I take off again. It's a lot of fun. Mom and Dad both laugh and so does Joel. I give the sock to Dad when he offers me one of my toys. I don't want him to be mad at me.
    Fancy told me to ring the bell at the back door when I need to go out. That trick works really well. When either The Cat or I want a trip to the back yard all we have to do is shake it and someone comes running.
    So things are going really well. As I said, I know I had some big paws prints to fill.
    It has not been easy for any of us, but I also know that we are helping each other get over our past sorrows. Mom was so sad when we first met. She missed Nickolas so much. He had not been gone long before I came into her life. She thought about him all the time. Dad found some letters that Mom wrote to Nickolas. Mom wasn't sure she wanted him to use them, but she did say it was okay.
    Saturday, October, 30, 2010
    Dear Nickolas,
    It has now been a week since I last saw your sweet face. It seems like so much more. This has been one of the hardest weeks of my life, so slow, lifeless and unbearably sad. I knew saying goodbye would be hard and going on without you, even harder. I always said I never wanted a dog, and now I don't know how I ever got along without one. Now I don't know how I'm going to get along without you. I miss you almost every minute of every day. The house is so empty without you. I find myself looking for you at the end of the bed when I wake up in the morning. I listen for the sound of your nails clicking on the hardwood floors as I make my way to the kitchen. I no longer have a reason to step out the back door and walk around the yard, enjoying the fresh air, the singing birds, checking out the plants, waiting for you to take care of your "business." I forget to feed Fancy breakfast (and dinner) without you at my feet so expectantly looking forward to your meal. I look for you when I finish eating to share a last crust of bread or to lick my bowl; I miss how excited and appreciative you always were of receiving the smallest tidbit. I could go on and on about other things I miss, like you waiting for me when I step out of the shower, following me through the house as I go about my day, sometimes leading me – anticipating which room I might be going to next – looking over your shoulder to be sure I'm coming, greeting me so cheerfully whenever I enter the house – no matter how long or short my absence. Very little things, really, but very much like the punctuation marks that complete a thought, an act. With your bright eyes and your wagging tail, just your presence made every day a little brighter, everyday tasks a little lighter. Thank you so much for all the joy you brought to my life.
    I never imagined when you came into our home that you would take over my heart in such a way. I had always liked dogs, but never really wanted to have a dog. They seemed like so much more responsibility than a cat. I found out with you that yes, dogs are a bit more work. They must be walked, no matter how bad the weather, picked up after, groomed. Long periods of absence are difficult since dogs need someone to let them out. But Nickolas, you gave so much more than any cat I've ever had. It was never work taking care of you. It was all joy – well maybe taking you out in the cold and rain wasn't fun, but I'd give anything to be able to do it again.
    Sunday, October 31, 2010
    What a blessing to have had 12 years with you! How lucky that I didn't work and could spend most of my time with you. Dad said you were my shadow. Whenever anyone wanted to find you, all they had to do was look for me, you were sure to be close by. I've enjoyed walking almost as long as I can remember. It helps to clear my mind and calm my spirit. It doesn't matter whether it's the mountains, the beach, or the city, it has always rejuvenated me. But walking with you always added something extra. Your excitement from the word "walk" to the end of the outing was infectious. It was so evident with your bright eyes, your wide smile, your happy little "doggie trot," and your nose finding so many smells, even your persistent tugging on the leash. You were always so willing to go with me, never too tired or busy and people seemed much more interested in talking with you by my side than they ever were when I walked alone.
    I always missed you when we were apart; you at the groomers or me running errands or spending time places dogs just weren't welcome. I hated taking you to the groomers – you shook all the way there. You always forgave me though and were so happy to see me when I came to pick you up. Your Aunt Vickie was so sad to hear that you had gone. She helped me find pictures of you and talked about how good you were to Amy when she was learning to groom cockers.
    Monday, November 1, 2010
    I remember when I first fell for you. Christine started asking me, "Mom, don't you want a dog?" as soon as Molly became pregnant. My answer was always "No" She asked again when we were visiting her at her home in New Jersey and your eyes were just opening. You were pretty hard to resist, but still my answer was "No." Something happened when she had to bring your whole litter here so she could attend Jeri's graduation. Dad wouldn't allow any dogs in the house. We would stand amazed at the door to the garage and watch as one moment there appeared to be a cauldron of boiling puppies, tumbling, wrestling, moving, and the next moment a pile of dead dogs – everyone asleep. There came a moment as Christine and I were watching all of you romping in the back yard that I was captivated by you. You were sitting alone watching the craziness of your litter mates and I said, "If I could have one, I'd like that one."
    Christine ran immediately into the house yelling: "Da-ad, Mom wants a dog!"
    Dad looked at me in disbelief and said, "You don't want a DOG, do you?"
    I meekly responded, "Well, maybe."
    I took you with me to one of Joel's baseball games. You sat on my lap and it was so nice to have company in the bleachers ... usually I sat alone watching the games.The family went for a walk in the neighborhood, Molly and Chandler were walked by Christine and Brent, you walked with me, and you had the happiest little dog trot. Christine continued to place you on my lap and Dad's for the rest of her visit, by then you had wormed your way into my heart. Our lives were never the same.
    I had never owned a dog of my own before. Dad sternly said, "You can keep him but you'll be the one taking care of him and he better not have any accidents or chew anything up!" I knew I had my work cut out for me. I took you out every hour so you wouldn't have any accidents inside. We didn't have a fence then, so I had to take you out on leash and it was summertime so there were plenty of mosquitoes. I read dog training books from the library as fast as I could, I was so thrilled when you learned to "nose the bell" to let us know you needed to go out. You never had another accident after that. I kept you with me as I moved around the house to be sure you wouldn't chew up anything you shouldn't. Pretty soon I didn't have to ask you to come with me; you believed your place was by my side.
    I changed the sheets on our bed today and was immediately reminded of the way you would eagerly wait for the dirty sheets and blankets to hit the floor so you could pounce on them and roll around in them on your back, twisting and turning, moving your arms and legs, sometimes biting at them. I never could figure out exactly why you did that but you always seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. Sometimes I would join in the wrestling match, covering you with the sheets and tapping at your belly, ears, tail. It instantly turned a chore into game.
    Sunday, November 7 2010…
    It's been a busy week, Dad walks with me now, and I appreciate it. But I feel your absence on each walk. Christine and her boys came over today. They brought Bella, thinking spending time with her would help. I thought I was starting to get used to you not being around, but having her here made me miss you more than ever.
    Diane
    There are no more letters -- maybe because Dad did a lot of searching and then they found me.
    I met my new Mom and Dad the day after Thanksgiving. At first I wasn't sure about them. I was just excited to be out for a walk. It was the first one in a long time. I ran to the end of the leash and just stayed there. I think I was quite a handful. Dad said I pulled like a mule. Mom said she thought I seemed like a great big puppy. I guess I was. I jumped up on them and washed both their faces. Neither one minded that a bit. Mom was laughing and crying at the same time. There was something about the two of them that I could not resist. When Becky, the lady who brought me to Mom and Dad, said it was time to go and Mom led me to the car, I jumped right in. I knew right away that I wanted to be with them. We drove for a long time and they took me to the Bus. They gave me toys and treats and took me for a long walk down "Dog Street" in someplace called Williamsburg. I met other dogs, and lots of people. It was great.
    Mom, Dad, Joel, they are my people, my family. I love them with everything in me.
    I hate being separated from them … it makes me anxious, but with Mom's help I am getting used to having time by myself.
    I have learned that Mom and Dad always come back for me.
    They have learned that I will always be there, waiting for them.
    Nope, it hasn't been easy, but it is getting better all the time.
    I am Teddy Bear Parker, a very lucky dog.
    Oh, Dad, thanks for helping me write this.

  12. -Gramps-

    Half a Half In pictures

    By -Gramps-,

    June, July, August. I took a lot of pictures because our life in the mountains provided a lot of great opportunities to do so. The rest of the year was even better...you will see!  June, July, August Travel Blog Pictures

  13. -Gramps-

    A Half Year in Pictures

    By -Gramps-,

    I thought I would  tell a happy story. It is a picture story, about what we have done,  and where we have been, the first half of this past year. I have heard that pictures are worth a lot more than words.Take a look, if you please: Half Year in Pictures

  14. -Gramps-
    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.
  15. -Gramps-
    A couple of days ago, I started to clean old document files off my laptop. For a computer geek like myself, this is a bit like cleaning out my closet. I may not need a certain shirt, it has a stain, or it doesn’t fit, it needs to go, but I still want to hang on to it.
    My Favorite Things (then)

  16. -Gramps-

    Tips and Hints

    By -Gramps-,

    Over the last ten years, Diane and I have learned, discovered, or otherwise stumbled upon a few things that have helped us during our adventures on the road.
    http://www.myrandomviews.com/blog/tipsandhints
  17. -Gramps-

    Family

    By -Gramps-,

    I believe that I am a pretty good motor coach pilot. I still believe that, even though I hit my mailbox while making a sharp turn into our driveway. Obviously I didn’t pull up the street far enough and turn sharp enough, but no real damage done, except to my pride.
    My car driving skills while making service calls … that is another thing altogether. I tend to talk on my cell too much while driving. I get distracted by the radio, the voices in my head, and the vehicles in front of me. The last thing really bugs me. I can be behind a dump truck, or a bus carrying seniors, while talking to a customer on the phone and I will blindly follow the bus down some street and then wonder how I got there.
    If you were to ask Diane about it, she would say that I followed it because I couldn’t help myself, that I did it instinctively, like a salmon swimming upstream.
    “You think so?” I would say to her.
    “Yep,” she might reply. “You are an old man and subconsciously you know you should be on that bus.”
    “Very funny. So how do you explain my following a dump truck?”
    “I can answer that. Because when you have rocks in your head you are magnetically attracted to trucks hauling large quantities of the same material.“
    Well, I don’t make stupid driving decisions when driving the coach. Not many, anyway. Our first year as owners of a motor coach was the worst getting into scrapes which included hitting a fence (actually the fence hit me), a mailbox, a tree, a tree, (no that is not a typo) a rock or two (they hit my coach windshield). I think that is about all. Oh, I ran over a low rock wall with our second coach, the one we have now, and I hit a telephone pole (actually the pole hit me).
    If I were to list all the mishaps including bangs, bumps, holes, rips, and things that make you say, “What the heck was that!” along with all the things that break on their own … I might have to ask myself the following question:
    What in the world has kept me in the RVing (motor coaching) world for the last seven years?
    That question is easy to answer.
    Family.
    It is the people we have met, the friends we have made that keep me looking forward to hitting the road again even though I might hit something else or it might hit me.
    We RVers, we motor coachers, are a rare breed. I don’t know how to explain it to people who don’t do what we do how easy it is for us to make friends.
    Just the other day I was at a Sonic Drive In next to a Lowes. At the edge of the Lowes parking lot was a good -looking 36 foot motor coach. It had its jacks down and its slideouts extended. Sitting in a lawn chair on the grass was a man named Bob and his black lab. Bob was taking it easy, smoking a cigar and seemed to be without a care in the world.
    I walked over and started talking to him. When I told Bob I was a coacher as well, he gave me a big smile and started telling me about himself. Bob was visiting his daughter, a Navy officer, who was soon to be deployed to the Middle East. He and his wife had traveled from Arizona to see her. I told him about myself, my family and my coach. We talked for over an hour and parted as friends. Something tells me I will see him again one day.
    I think we have the old American pioneering spirit still living in us. We are descendants of the people who loaded up their covered wagons and headed west. They would rally up at some fort on the trail. They shared food, and drink and stories.
    These stories were about their journeys and the friends they made along the way. They would make new friends as they would travel together. If someone’s wagon broke down, or a horse died, they would pitch in and help their fellow traveler in need.
    We do the same thing now. I have helped repair a stuck Workhorse or two. My wife and I have been to lots of rallies and fed lots of people. People have looked after us. Our coaching friends on the forums, at campouts and especially at Deer Creek Motorcoach resort helped us though some tough times this last year.
    I don’t think that Barry and Mario had any idea what kind of community they would be giving birth to when they conceived the idea of building a motor coach resort. Deer Creek is more than a resort with clubhouse, golf course and a lot of handsome coaches parked on pretty lots. It is not just a resort … it is a refuge. It is a fort full of good people.
    We are family. I would not give up this life for anything. I will continue to hit the road and take the risk that something unexpected might happen. Most of the time that unexpected thing is good, like meeting someone like Bob and making a friend, possibly for life.
    That is the best thing about being a member of the motor coach Family.
    Hopefully I won’t have to buy a new mailbox anytime soon.
    Gramps.
  18. -Gramps-

    A Quick Weekend

    By -Gramps-,

    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.
  19. -Gramps-
    I went into the waiting room and had a good cry. My wife's sister held me tight and she said, "It's all right. We don't understand, but we love ya and we'll see you through it and it will all be all right. Clay, you're a good person. We don't always agree, but you're a good person."
    She had come on my side enough to minister to me. The sisters went back home with the two girls and left me with the boys. The doctor said, "Make your arrangements to care for your family for several weeks, several months, maybe forever because this is a very serious case."
    I believe that it really would have been easier to take my wife to her grave than to leave her at that hospital. If that had been the case, I would have had no choice; it would have been a decision that was finally made. But the unknown and the wonderings and the whys of reality were very difficult.
    I remember thinking this as I sat by myself for a few minutes afterward. The house was quiet and the boys and I got together and had a talk. I remember Derrick, age 15, and Rodney, age 13, saying, "Don't worry, Dad, we'll make it. Everything will be all right."
    I called the pastor of the church because I knew it would spread throughout the neighborhood very rapidly. I told him what had happened and he said, "I was afraid it would come to this" He made some effort to tell me how he had warned me. I just made the conversation as short as I could, tried not to be rude, and got off the phone.
    Catherine's sisters agreed to keep Kam, and Penni, as long as necessary. I am sure that when they finally arrived in Denton, North Carolina it was a chance for the whole family to come by and examine Penni's new foot. They knew about the healing, so I have no doubt that they questioned everything. Whenever the Lord has done something, it will stand up to questioning. If the Lord has moved in my life and I have been healed or delivered or set free of something, I can bear the brunt of the questions because when His glory is manifested, it will stand the test.
    The boys and I tried to start putting things together a little bit in order that we could just live. They saw the predicament that I was in and they were very good. I would go over each night to visit Catherine and they would stay home and do dishes and fold laundry. I would come home from work and we would all pitch in and start cleaning and try to keep things as near up to par as we could. I just felt like this was necessary. The Lord was good even in times like this, because I didn't have the physical strength to face people at work or anywhere.
    I was a metalsmith and, as I recall, an expert welder. As it happened, I was the only welder around and there was a big project at work that required my skills. For the first several days, they put me back in a welding booth to do some work. It was an opportunity for me to be by myself and hide my face behind the welding helmet and cry inside. God just allowed that as a hideaway for me for a while.
    As the word passed through the church, a dish garden came to my house on behalf of Catherine's illness and was left on our steps. The doorbell rang and no one was there when I answered it, just the dish garden. I supposed it came from the ladies of the church. We kept it around for quite a while, or pieces of it, as a reminder to pray for them.
    We had a few friends that kept calling. Of course, Bobby and Peggy came over each day to check on me and she pitched in and helped prepare food and so forth. But I was numb, I couldn't pray, I couldn't read my Bible. There was just a numbness inside. There's no other way to explain it. I just kept going step by step. I tried not to ask "why?", I tried not to ask "œwhen?", I just tried to keep the things that I had to do done and somehow or another I would sleep. It was almost like I would turn everything off and I'd finally go to bed and sleep.
    The only thing I could do was watch the 700 Club. They called me and said brother Pat wanted to see me. He pulled me into an office and we sat and talked for about forty minutes and cried together and prayed together. He gave me a ray of confidence, of hope, and said, "God will not allow these things to end up in this situation" He's a Deliverer."
    Though I was still numb inside, I kept hearing this from a man who I respected. "God is a Deliverer and He will not allow things to remain in this state." Pat was a very precious friend.
    On the 700 Club each night, if I had not called in to give a report, Pat would ask, "By the way, have any of you counselors heard from the brother whose wife is in the psychiatric hospital?" If there was no report he'd say, Brother, if you're listening, give us a call. We want to know how she's doing." So I would call and he would read it back over the air. This was encouraging. He said, "I want you people to fast and pray for this sister."
    I remember one night Pat came on strong against pastors who were mistreating their people who were filled with the Holy Spirit and believed in the Full Gospel. He poured it out heavy-real heavy. By realizing that there were some people on my side, it didn't change me within, but it gave me a ray of hope. I continued to just hold on.
    I would go over to the hospital to visit Catherine and, of course, they wouldn't let me in to see her. The first few trips I could hardly find anyone who knew she was there. I would go over and tell them I was there to see Catherine Parker and they would say, "Who?" I'd say "Susan Catherine Parker." So the lady would go back and say, "Yeah, she's here." And I'd say, "Well, may I see her?" And she'd say, "No, you can't see her. She still in solitary."
    "What's the report?" I would ask.
    "Well, no change," would be her response.
    I finally had a session with the caseworker that, I suppose, was the psychologist. He took down a history of the troubles that we'd had in our marriage, and the troubles Catherine had had as she was being raised as a child, and what might have brought this on. He asked me an awful lot of questions. I didn't get a chance to ask him any.
    Finally I had a talk with the doctor who happened to be a very devout Methodist Christian. He had some understanding and I felt freer in his presence. He said to me,
    "Except for what God can do, make your plans for your wife never to recover because it's one of the most serious cases I have ever seen that has come on without a history. Many times there will be a history and you will see it come and go, but there's no history of this in her family, no history of it in her life."
    I said, "How long?" He would give me no estimate of how long she would be confined.
    She was not in a coma, but she was totally unaware of reality; all of her talking was disconnected from reality. They had asked me for pictures of the family, so I took pictures of our kids. They did what passed for a brain scan in those days and they showed her those pictures among other pictures that they had. There was no reaction, no change, when she saw a picture of her own children. I found out later that she saw no difference between pictures of her own children and those of a stranger.
    One night that I was there, a little nurse who heard me ask about Catherine asked, "Are you Mr. Parker? Come with me."
    She called me back to her desk and she started telling me, "There is something different about your wife. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I just have a feeling that she's going to be all right."
    Whenever I would come there for a visit, she would always meet me, call me back, and give me a little briefing. All of this took place over a few nights, but it seemed like months.
    One night sometime during the first week, I came back home from the hospital, laid across the bed, and cried out, "Lord, why?" I cried--not with tears, but with a total spiritual effort and said, "Lord-help me! He heard my cry and spoke to me and gave me a clue as to when she would come out of this "coma" or whatever it was that she was in. And then He clearly told me when she would come out of the hospital. It was so clear that I got up, turned the light on, and marked it on my calendar. As I recall, I marked a Tuesday.
    The next time I went over, they said, "Your wife came to today; she called for some help and said she wanted to know where she was."
    Catherine realized what was taking place around her. She related to me later that when she came to, it was like she had been asleep and woke up. Although she had been in the same little room now for five or six days, she said she did not recognize her surroundings. She thought she had been kidnapped and that I didn't know where she was.
    The nurse said, "She came to, she knows where she is, she's answering questions," I said, "May I see her?" The doctor told me I could see her tomorrow.
    Well tomorrow was her birthday, that's what the Lord had told me: that I would see her on her birthday. I asked if I could bring the boys.
    On December 10, 1968, we went by the supermarket and got her a little cake and some cards. We knew we couldn't take her any gifts but we could do that. They gave us a room where we met and she just seemed to be so much herself. I thought, "Well, praise God, it's all over."
    We talked and had a real good visit.
    The next day I went back to see her knowing everything was going to be all right, but she did not remember our visit the day before. It went on this way for quite a while. I could see her, but she wouldn't remember my being there the day before. All she would know was just me at the time I was there.
    In the middle of all of this, there was a flu epidemic taking place. First Rodney then Derrick and then I came down with the flu. We had to call for some help, so my sisters came up and helped us a bit, and they went over to see Catherine. I look back now and see that the Lord was exposing so many people to what was taking place.
    After the Lord told me when Catherine was going to get out of the hospital, it brought hope. When I would go back day after day and see that she didn't remember, it brought discouragement again. I don't remember if I said, "Lord, but You promiseed!" There didn't seem to be eneough improvement.
    It was getting close to Christmas. Holiday cheer and our present situation seemed mutually exclusive. I couldn't think about Christmas trees, presents or anything like that. I was having enough trouble just getting Rod and myself to school on time.
    One morning I just felt terrible. I couldn't think straight and I was an hour late to school. I think I should have stayed home because at the end of the day I was sick as a dog. I kept the flu for two weeks and missed a lot of school days. My brother came down with it also and poor Dad had his hands full. I remember one night after work around bedtime, he lost his temper over something simple and used words I had never heard him use before or since. It shocked both Rod and me. Dad apologized and we said our good nights. I could have sworn I heard him crying in his bedroom.
    As the days went by, and Christmas was just a couple of days away, our Aunt Hazel, who had been nursing us through our sick days, left before she came down with it herself. We boys managed to put up a tree, hang a few decorations on it, including the old antique glass balls. Dad and I made a wooden model of the Apollo Eight Command Module and I hung it from a string that was tied to the top of the tree across the high peaked ceiling of our living room to the top of a closet where I had placed a globe of the moon. Each day as the mission got closer to the moon I moved the model to mark the occasion.
    Christmas Eve came and my Mom was allowed a visit home. I am not sure she knew where she was, but we tried to make the best of it. I like to think it was a new beginning, for the Parker Family. I held on to that hope while I listened to Astronauts Landers, Lovell and Frank Borman read from the book of Genesis.
    "In the Beginning, God created the heaven and the earth...."
    The Lord and I are talked and I said, "Lord, send her home in her right mind and I will do whatever I have to do to make sure this never happens again."
    I guess I had been somewhat of a chauvinist as a husband and had stood my ground "this is your job" and "that is mine" and so forth. I don't think I was too hard-nosed about it but....
    I needed to receive mercy. In order to receive mercy, I had to give it. I had to learn mercy, learn compassion, and learn sympathy and patience and many other things.
    The doctor had talked to me about what they were doing for her and then told me about the treatment they do for mental patients. He said, "We don't know how to treat mental patients yet, we're just doing some ball-park guessing as to what we can do. We're going to try some shock treatments electrical shock and insulin shock."
    One day I went over there to visit and she came out with all of her get-well cards in her hand and she told me some things that had happened to her while she had been in the hospital a few days before. I saw that she had moved into a new state, that she was starting to stack up one day on top of the other. When that happened, they allowed her to come home.
    I brought her home for a few hours one Sunday and when I did, it was like she had never been there before, because on the way over she kept saying, "What's the name of our street? What does our house look like?" and asking questions. As as soon as she saw our house, it snapped back into her memory again.
    On one of the visits she said, "Let's get in the car and drive around to all of our friends' homes so I can see their houses and that way I can remember what they look like." We had a picture album of our church, so we sat down and she would read and look and say, "Oh, yeah, I remember,I know them!"
    Once when I went over to visit her in the hospital, she and her roommate (who was about in the same state) were laughing and they said, "You know we can't even remember our children's names?" So I took pictures her pictures of the kids, and went over each one's name, and how old they were.
    I took pictures of her sisters and showed them to her and told her who they were and which getwell cards were from whick sister. The shock treatments had totally destroyed all memory. It had to be fed back in. It's like a computer where someone has pushed the delete button and then you've got to put all the software back in. I believed we could do it together.
    The doctor was encouraged and said to me one day, "She is responding 100% more than we expected to these treatments, so you're going to be able to take her home."
    He gave me a date. I don't recall if he said "a week from Saturday" or "next Saturday." I felt like she was ready to come home. Of course, I was anxious and I could see that she needed me and I needed her and the boys needed her. I felt like if we could just get back together again, that everything would be all right.
    The day came when I was to go pick her up. I made some quick preparation and went over there to find that no one knew that she was supposed to be discharged from the hospital. The doctor had signed no papers, left no word, and he was out of town until late the following Monday night. This was the first time they had really let me down on things they had promised. I was so despondent. They wouldn't even let me see her that night. I came back home and had a tough weekend.
    Early Tuesday morning I called and said, "Dr. Pyle, you promised me I could bring my wife home this past Saturday and I went over and..."
    "No, no, I didn't. It was Saturday..."
    He gave me a date that was for the next Saturday.
    "No, you told me last Saturday." I was getting a bit frustrated.
    "No, it's next Saturday. Let me pull her chart."
    He went and got her chart and said, "you're right...I did tell you last Saturday. I am so sorry. Why don't you come get her today?"
    I was at work and as soon as he said that, I hung up the phone, went and told my boss, got off and headed home. I started straightening up the house a little bit and looked and realized that I hadn't turned my calendar. When I did, I noticed it was Tuesday and there was a big red circle around today's date! So I knew that God was the Deliverer and He was working it out.
    I got everything ready and went over after her. The traffic was heavy and I stopped at a stoplight. I looked over at the Bible lying on the seat and read Mark 19:2 where it says "Now go and tell your friends what great and mighty things the Lord hath done for you."
    God is a Deliverer. When I look back and see all the things that we went through and then remember the moment when I looked at the calendar and saw the mark around the day, I knew Who was in charge and that He had made available to us the strength to go through the trials. And I know when He said, "Go and tell your friends what great and mighty things the Lord hath done for you." that he was talking to me.
    It was good to have Mom home but it wouldn't be easy. I spent many hours trying to figure it all out. I take that back. I have spent years trying to figure it all out. I believe that the loss of two parents, a bunch of stressful life changing moves and then this wonderful, inexplicable miracle and its aftermath was just to much for the mortal mind. But all is well that ends well isn't it?
    That's it. Part Four done. Why, why have I felt the need to write about these things? I don't know. Maybe I have thought about my own mortality a bit more after losing my close friend a year ago this week. And when one thinks about one's mortality, then memories come flooding back. Or like my Dad it is just Mark 19:2 talking to me.
    Hopefully there will be nothing but rving related stuff posted here from now on. But don't bet on it.
  20. -Gramps-
    We have all had them, moments when we are so overjoyed to be motorhome owners and those other moments, the ones where you take a deep breath and ask yourself: "Why did I ever buy this big blasted thing?"
    Stuck!
    A few years ago, when Diane and I were still Bounder owners, we spent Christmas with my parents and my daughter Christine's family. We took the rig down to their home in Lexington, N.C., and parked it in their backyard. It was not a bad place to camp. Dad provided power and water and he told us we could dump our gray tank down the side of the hill that we were parked on.
    We had room to set up our patio, and a nice lighted path through the woods led up to the house. Behind us was a shuffleboard court. It was a fun holiday. I roasted a turkey, we played games and other members of our extended family showed up to see the coach and join in the festivities.
    The first couple of days the weather was a bit chilly, then on Christmas Eve it warmed up and started to rain hard. It poured all night and most of the next day. The day after Christmas, our last day, it was nice again, not warm but comfortable. We played a lot of shuffleboard, ate leftovers and enjoyed ourselves a lot. That night Diane and I started packing up the rig to leave the next morning.
    The morning of our departure it was really warm. It hit the seventies in the sun and everyone was outside to say goodbye to us. I had to back the rig down the driveway past the shuffleboard court to a downhill point off Dad's driveway where I would then pull forward and make a right turn to exit. So with Diane guiding me I backed up, but a bit too far to the left and backed off the road onto the spot where my Dad's vegetable garden used to be.
    Now, before I started to back up Dad warned me I needed to keep to the right, close to his grape arbor so that when I left the driveway I would be on hard ground rather than on top of his old garden, which was now a lot of mud. While backing up I heard his grape vine scraping along the side of the coach. Worried about a damaged gel coat, I eased over to the left, which turned out to be a big mistake.
    The passenger side of the coach missed hard ground; the driver's side was on rock. The passenger side started to sink; the driver's side didn't.
    My heart dropped to my shoes as the coach listed to starboard. I jumped up from my seat and tried to go out the door. My steps wouldn't open because the ground was in the way.
    Dad was standing on his driveway, that place I longed to be, just looking at my muddy predicament.
    "I guess you didn't hear me tell you that you were too far to the left?"
    "No, all I could hear was your vines dragging down the side of the coach!" I said with some emphasis. "Now what do we do? It looks like it's about to roll over!"
    "We can get it out," Dad said. "I'll be right back."
    He took off at a fast walk for his workshop. Diane, Mom and I just stood there looking at my mud-covered coach, the steps stuck open. I was thinking very big expensive tow truck, if one would even come out this far, and I doubted that would help anyway.
    "A tow truck can't pull it out of that hole," Dad said.
    He was standing there with an armload of boards while reading my thoughts.
    "Here's what we are going to do," he said. "We put some boards under the jacks, lift the coach and then dig the mud out under the wheels and put boards down. One rear wheel is on rock so we should be able to move it, once we get it upright."
    We gave it a gallant effort. The jacks lifted the rig, we dug and put down boards, but as soon as we raised the jacks the coach pushed the boards back into the mud and couldn't make it out.
    Now I was starting to panic.
    "Don't panic." This time it was Diane reading my thoughts.
    "I'm not panicking," I lied. "I just don't know what we are going to do."
    "Yes, you are. Just take a deep breath. We will figure out something."
    I think this is the point where I took a deep breath and asked myself, "Why did I buy this big blasted thing"
    We all know the answer to that: Because I wanted to.
    I heard Dad talking on his cell. He hung up.
    "Well, I just talked to Marion and he is sending help."
    Marion was my cousin who owned a construction company in the area. He said he would be over and not to worry because if he couldn't get it out no one could.
    That didn't make me stop worrying.
    While waiting for Marion and his solution, whatever that was, we leveled the coach again. Just as we finished I heard a loud vehicle coming down the driveway from the road. Marion was heading our way with a bulldozer.
    He told me his plan of attack. I told everyone that I only wanted directions relayed from Diane, because I knew everyone would want to help and I was scared and confused enough already.
    I got in the coach and pulled up the jacks. Marion, with a chain connected under the coach and attached to the dozer, yelled, "Ready!" and started to back up. He dragged the coach until the front wheels were on solid ground and then yelled "Hit it!"
    I punched the gas pedal and with the roar of the motor and mud flying everywhere, and to the sound of cheers from my family, she came loose. Up on the driveway she went.
    A good motorcoach moment: Coming out of the mud.
  21. -Gramps-

    The Black Ribbon

    By -Gramps-,

    Part 1 "That Day"
    Recently Diane and I were given two large gifts. These gifts allowed us to escape from work, from our day to day routines, to recover from disappointment and hurt, to be refreshed. These gifts allowed us to spend time with many friends, including our closest ones, to learn new things, and to have a whole lot of fun in the process.
    These two gifts were tied together by time, distance, and a long black ribbon.
    Sometimes a black ribbon is a sign of mourning.
    On December thirty first of this last year, Diane and I signed an agreement to provide an exclusive option to sell my business. We set a cash price for the purchase and a date for that option to be exercised.
    We agreed that I would spend the next six months training the buyer’s personnel to look after my customers and their equipment.
    So for the next six months we took very few trips in our coach. We had a couple of weekend campouts with our FMCA chapter and in May we took a weeklong trip to the Blue Ridge for a Parker Family Reunion. By this time all looked well for me to retire and the new company to take over. Diane and I promised to travel to Florida to see our daughter and to pick up the grand boys for a few days so she and her husband could take a cruise together. We also made other travel plans as well.
    I guess you could say that with only a couple of weeks to go before the closing that we could now start to count our chickens….we could look forward to retiring after twenty three years of being self-employed.
    We planned to sell the house and live full time in our coach. We started downsizing, making plans to sell some things, and give lots of things away.
    The day before the closing, actually about eleven hours before, the other company killed the deal. They did not want to spend the cash, they would only purchase if I loaned them the money at terms totally acceptable to them.
    I refused to do that. I had no other choice. I could not loan them my financial future.
    Just like that our dream for retirement vanished.
    Diane said it felt like she was a bride left standing at the altar.
    That analogy seemed to sum it up pretty well.
    We mourned for the life that we thought was about to start.
    I was not devastated, not completely anyway, because being the pessimist that I am, I told myself right from the beginning that something could happen that might stop this deal and I should have a backup plan. I needed a way to keep going even though I was tired and worn out from the long term responsibility of running my own business.
    The first thing I did after the air came out of the balloon, was to contact my customers and inform them I was not retiring, which they had no problem with. One of the ladies I work with when hearing the news said "Thank God! I was praying you wouldn't leave us."
    I suppose I could have responded with "well, at least God answered someone's prayer." But I didn't.
    Actually contacting my customers was the second thing I did.
    The first was I prayed to God to give me the wisdom and the courage to keep going for as long as I needed to.
    God answered two prayers.
    I wisely rebuilt my company website. I also created a company Facebook, Pinterest and Google Plus Page. I updated my oldest field test and office equipment. I attended out of town training classes in order to be certified to sell and service Vertical's new telephone equipment. I did things that the other company should have done in order to become successful at their new venture.
    In essence I sold my company to myself.
    I rebooted and it worked. I received plenty of work. I did not take a day off, except for a couple of Sundays, for the next two months.
    Just after Labor Day, things began to slow down. That was a good thing because that gave Diane and I time to plan to take the one trip that we refused to cancel after “that day”, as she and I refer to it, happened.
    We were not going to miss the GEAR rally in Asheville, North Carolina. We had not attended a GEAR rally in three or four years. This one looked so good that six months earlier we had paid for the trip. We planned on arriving early as volunteers and extending our visit to Asheville by a few days simply because we love the area so much.
    The trip to Asheville became present number one.
    On a sunny, pretty Friday in late September, Diane and I loaded up the coach for what we hoped would be a quiet two week trip to the gentle Blue Ridge Mountains. It was one of those unseasonably warm days that can fool you into thinking short sleeves is all you need, but we knew better so we carried clothes out to the coach that covered three seasons. I find that golfing shirts work well for all occasions.
    We left the next morning around ten thirty with the intent to drive to a point mid-way between Portsmouth and Asheville. Our target was the appropriately named Mid-Way campground and RV Park located just off I-40 near Statesville, NC. We planned to stay there for two nights and do absolutely nothing for the only full day we were there.
    Our trip down was uneventful other than the fact that I could not get our generator to start when parked for lunch. Diane wanted to use the microwave and I flooded the genny when I held the starter down for too long. Diane settled for a cold tuna fish sandwich instead of the hot chicken patty she had hoped to eat.
    We arrived at Mid-Way just after three. The office parked us parallel between a hill and a, what you could call a small lake or large duck pond. There was a fountain in the middle to keep the water moving and a lot of baby ducks were floating along like one of those carnival duck games. It was very peaceful and quiet. The phone never rang once the whole time we were on the road, well if it did it was family calling, not customers.
    It was easy to park the coach on our spot. It was not so easy to level it. I used about twenty of my many Lynx blocks under the wheels and the jacks to get it level, but in the end I prevailed.
    I tested the generator and it started without a hitch. That was a relief.

    Saturday I washed the coach roof after climbing up there to see if a limb that fell off the oak tree we were parked under had done any damage. It had not, but my new slide out toppers were filthy from pine needles and road dirt. We were not supposed to use a large amount of water but I could not let it go, so I carried a few five gallon buckets of water, one at a time of course, to the roof to wash it.
    Just as I was about to finish, Diane said “how are you going to rinse all the soap off?”
    Just then it started to rain.
    “I think God is taking care of that for me!” was my response.
    Sunday morning I climbed up on the roof again to remove the many acorns that were laying on the toppers. I didn’t want them jamming up the works when I retracted the slide outs back in. We soon pulled out and had some excitement when making a very tight turn uphill between trees on the left and a drainage ditch on the right. It can be fun taking a forty foot coach around a thirty foot curve.
    Diane kept saying I was getting too close to the edge and I told her hang on because I had to get the tailpipe past a tree, which I did successfully.
    In just a few minutes we were back on I-40 heading west. It was only a couple of hours later that the mountains started getting larger and larger in the front window. We stopped for gas and filled the tank. We added the weight of a full gas tank to the weight of a full water tank. The hardest climb was still ahead of us…so much for getting good gas mileage. I was confident that our UFO coach would make it up the mountain regardless of all our liquid cargo.
    About noon we arrived at the Western North Carolina Agricultural Center. Now this is the only time when things went a bit array. We took the wrong turn at a fork in the road so to speak. We turned left when we should have gone straight. We ended up on a very twisty one and a half lane road with no place to make a u turn. Diane is on the phone with Andy our chapter president, who was already at the venue, and he is telling us to turn around, Diane is relaying this message and I am saying, none too kindly, that I cannot do it…..yet. My fear was that I might not be able to do it at all. I hate being lost, especially when driving the coach. I wasn't actually lost but you know what I mean.
    We finally came out of the woods to a major intersection and I found a place to reverse our route. We made it to gate seven and with a little guidance from Andy and a couple of other chapter members we parked our coach. I needed to use quite a few Lynx blocks again but I had no trouble with that considering the rehearsal I had a couple of days earlier.
    Our good friends Gary and Janis, who should have arrived after us, were already parked due to the fact that Gary did not make the same wrong turn that I did. I was not the only one who made that mistake however.
    The next day there were volunteers directing traffic. Good thing too.
    It was absolutely beautiful in Asheville. Being parked on a large parking lot was not bad at all. We had full hookups which included fifty amp service. Gary and I shared a sewer connection but that presented no problem at all. The only question was what to do with all the water I was hauling and no longer needed. I figured at some point during the coming week I would just use the water pump and dump it down the sewer.
    That first afternoon we registered our coach, one of some four hundred that would attend the rally, plus vendors, and we made some plans for later that day.
    Gary, Janis, Diane and our good friend Jerry, decided to make, what for us is a pilgrimage, to the Moose Café. This great eatery is located next to the Asheville farmer’s market just around the corner from the Biltmore Estate. We left around four thirty for what should have been a half hour drive. Due to an accident, which was flashing on my Verizon GPS, it took an hour and a half. I told our three companions, who had never eaten at the Moose Café that it was worth the longer drive. It was.
    Most of us had the smoked pork chops, which came with the largest buttermilk biscuits you have ever seen. They have great country side dishes, all freshly made from ingredients that come from the farmer’s market next door. The meal was really good. I finished mine off with fresh blackberry cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of that warm sticky berry stuff.

    We covered a lot of subjects during dinner. We talked about the upcoming rally, the vendors and seminars we hoped to see and what we would do during our down time. We also talked about our non- retirement and I told them more details about what happened back in July.
    Most of our friends and family already knew about it falling apart and many gave us their initial response of “It must be for the best”, or “It will work out for good”, or “it just isn't the right time.”
    All of those responses are absolutely true, but I didn't always want to hear any of them. It just seemed like too simple a thing to say.
    Our friend Jerry lost his wife almost the same day we lost our dream and that really put things into perspective for me. I watched him stay upbeat and cheerful with his friends even though he had lost Charlotte, his best friend in life. I figured that going into some dark place just because I couldn't retire and travel “right now” really wasn't the thing to do.
    I still had a good life to live with my wife and best friend so I best get on living it.
    We decided to do just that and while In Asheville we were going to have some fun.
    Diane told everyone we planned on taking a white water trip while there. Gary and Janis had never done that before. Jerry had done it quite a few times. We asked ourselves, why not book a trip for the very next morning?
    We found some flyers in the information stand in front of the café and later that night, after a stop at Wal-Mart for tooth paste and other things I needed, I hopped online and started looking to book five people for a trip down the French Broad River early in the morning.
    I didn't have much luck. The season was over for most of the rafting companies and some sites would not take a booking our size. I would have to wait until morning and make some calls.
    The next morning at eight ten am, I contacted the Blue Heron Rafting Company. I asked them if they could squeeze in five people and they say sure, if we could be there around nine fifteen. Wow, that did not give us a lot of time to make our way forty-five miles the other side of the Blue Ridge Parkway, but we said we would get there. They said they would wait for us as long as they could.
    We quickly packed changes of clothes, water, snacks and people in Gary’s car and took off like a bat out of you know where.
  22. -Gramps-

    At Rest.

    By -Gramps-,

    Nickolas is gone to the place where good dogs go. His life on this earth ended just the way he wanted it to end.
    In memory of him I reprise these words:
    The Human Whisperer
    Nickolas, the family pupster here!
    I asked Dad if he would let me post again. Last time, I hijacked his blog and posted on the sly. This time he said okay.
    I wanted to leave him and Mom a note. They may need what I write here one day.
    I am almost 85 years old now, in relative terms, and so I can say that chances are I have a little bit of time left, but only a little.
    I don't worry about the end of my life. Mom and Dad do that for me. They comment on how white my face is compared to how it used to look. They talk about how slow I am to get up from my nap in front of the TV. They don't like for me to wear myself out going up and down the coach steps.
    They concern themselves with how hot I am, because I pant a lot. Mom bought me this slick blue water-filled pad to help keep me cool. I am not crazy about it but I sleep on it, and that makes her feel better even if it doesn't do much for me.
    They really worry about a tumor that is growing on my left side. They talk about how much they hope it isn't cancer, but if it is, what they can do about it?
    Mom and Dad, especially Dad, could stand to learn a bit about life from me.
    Like I said, I don't worry. I don't worry about that lump or much of anything else.
    I don't give much thought to the squirrels that I can't chase around the back yard anymore. Actually, I never worried about them when I was younger, either. The moment one takes off up a tree, that's it for me. I find something else to think about-like breakfast.
    I can say for sure that life is far too short to spend time worrying about anything, except dinner.
    I love both of my people a lot. They have always given me a good life. I still have a good life even if things are changing. I can't hear much of anything anymore. I used to hear the brakes on Dad's old truck three blocks away. Mom was always amazed when I went to the door to wait for him, long before he pulled up in front of the house. Now I am sometimes surprised by him at the door instead of the other way around. But that is okay. I still follow him to his office desk, furiously wagging my tail, and he never fails to give my back a good scratch.
    Sometimes Dad is so tense when he gets home at the end of the day. I know it is my job to do something to help him, so giving the dog a good back scratching does as much, if not more, for Dad as it does for me.
    There was a time when Dad and Mom were saying something about Dad having a kidney stone. Dad was in pretty bad shape. I saw him on his knees next to his bed. He was sweating and moaning. The pain was so intense that Dad was starting to panic. I jumped up on the bed to be near him. I kissed his nose and then lay down.
    He put his hands on me and buried his face in my side. I did what I was supposed to do, I soaked up his pain. It took a little while but Dad calmed down and I could sense that he started to feel a bit better. I usually stick close to Mom, but Dad needed me, so I stayed right there with him for the rest of the day.
    During our last trip out in our coach (I like to call it the Bus) Mom and Dad watched this movie about a person who helps to heal horses. This person is called a horse whisperer. Dad says that I am a Human Whisperer. I am not sure what that means, but if being a Human Whisperer means being there for my people, reminding them that life should be lived mostly in the present and that love and kindness are what keeps us going, then that is what I am.
    I love my people. They are like gods to me. They are bigger and stronger than me and I trust them to look after me. I hope my love for them is a reminder that there is a greater power that is stronger and bigger than they are who loves them, too. I think it does.
    Many years ago we were on a camping trip, in a tent; this was before we got our fancy bus. It was a beautiful fall day and Dad grilled T-bone steaks for their dinner. The smell was great. I knew that they would share the best part of these wonderful smelling things with me.
    They would give me the bones.
    I was so excited to get one. Dad looked at me, happily chomping away, and then he looked at the mountains around us and the woods with all its bright colors.
    "This is just a bone", he said.
    "What?" Mom asked. "What are you talking about?"
    "This life and this world is just a bone" Dad said. "This is just a taste of what God has in store for those who love Him. We should learn to love life and Him more."
    When the end of my life finally comes, just before I take my last nap, I hope the last thing I see is the love for me in the eyes of my people. I hope the last thing I feel is my Mom rubbing my head and my Dad scratching my back. I hope the last thing I do for them is to whisper that I love them and that life is good, keep on living it well, and thanks for giving me such a good one.
  23. -Gramps-

    FIRE and RAIN

    By -Gramps-,

    Fire and Rain.
    That is the headline of our local paper this morning. I thought of it as the title of my blog entry days ago, but I wasn’t fast enough to use it first.
    The headline sure fits our present situation. The Dismal Swamp has been on fire for weeks. The fire has thrown a big cloud of smelly, acrid, blue smoke that moves around which makes being outside an unpleasant experience. The only hope to ending the fire was a time of heavy continuous rain. Well, we are getting that now, as I write this.
    It has been some week for my family. It reads like the plot of some bad short story...”The Parker Family Saga” written with 2000 words or less.
    Here is the synopsis:
    Saturday….Mom of wife dies from Stroke.
    Tuesday….Daughter has really big baby.
    Wednesday…Family (minus daughter) attends funeral of Mom of Wife
    Thursday….Father of family goes back to work and hopes to finish 2 month long project.
    And has to make hurricane preparations at same time
    Friday….Father visits customers to help batten down their phone systems and still works to open a large medical practice. Comes home and does as much as he can to get ready for a hurricane.
    Saturday….Father sits in from of computer and writes blog, hoping to post soon in case power goes out.
    Sunday...gives thanks to God that family made it through one crazy week.
    Also gives thanks that the Fire is out and the Rain is gone
    Makes for quite the story don't you agree?
    Derrick
  24. -Gramps-
    I said that 1968 was a tough year for my family. It was. It was also a tough year for the whole country. The Vietnam War was going badly. Bobby Kennedy was killed. Martin Luther King was killed. There were riots, anti-war demonstrations. Everything and everyone seemed stressed out. Some say the only thing that saved 1968 from being a total loss was the Apollo Eight mission around the moon. I will always remember the Astronauts reading from the book of Genesis and reminding us, me, who was, who is, still in charge.
    Eighteen Months Part Two.
    I could name this entry Fish out of Water (in more ways than one) because that is exactly what it felt like.
    It didn't take long to realize that we came from a different world and that we would not fit into this small town.
    I got along fine with my Denton cousins and their families, but that is where it ended. It is always hard to come into a new school halfway through the year, but to come from a school with twelve hundred students to a school with less than a tenth of that amount was more than rough.
    I caught it from every member of my class. I didn't think like them, I didn't dress like them and I certainly didn't talk like them and they constantly reminded me of those facts. They didn't believe that the school I left was as big as it was and that we changed classes six times a day. They had no concept of large grocery stores, shopping malls, large airports, aircraft carriers, or anything much outside of their community. The biggest thing for some of those kids was to visit Thomasville, a somewhat larger town nearby that made lots of fine furniture. There they were awed by the Big Giant Chair, in the center of town. I told them I had been to Washington DC and seen the big giant capital and all I got in return was a bunch of boos, calls of liar, and some line like "No one has ever been to Washington, it's too far away!"
    Worst of all they called me a Yankee. I hated that. I told them they had no sense of history. I reminded them Virginia was the home of Robert E. Lee. I also reminded them that during the War Between the States (Lord help you if you call it the Civil War), Richmond, Virginia was the capital of the South! But that didn't stop them. They didn't seem to know anything about the Mason-Dixon Line or Petersburg, or Cold Harbor, or much else. I became the official Yankee of the class and there was nothing I could do about it.
    I didn't make things better for myself when I said that when General Sherman made his march to the sea, he took his army around Denton instead of burning it down because he didn't want to do the South any favors.
    I was sent out to the hallway for that remark.
    Things were no better for my brother. One day he took a large piece of lava my father picked up when visiting Mt Etna in Sicily, to school for his fourth grade show and tell. He showed it, told them about it, and the class ridiculed him. They said something to the effect that he was nothing but a story teller cause that stupid old rock could not have come from Mt Etna, "Because No one has ever been there, it's too far away!"
    Some kid in the class said in his best southern drawl, "Now I bet you will be telling us your old man has been to that big Volcano in Hawaii, what's it called Mt Killawhale or something?"
    "You mean Mt Kilauea? Sure, he has been there a bunch of times."
    That did it. With shouts of "Liar, Liar pants on fire!" my brother found himself at the wrong end of a ten year old fist.
    For show and tell at dinner that evening, my brother's exhibit was a black eye and a note from his teacher saying that my Mom's son was being a class distraction.
    We were The Yankee and the Class Distraction. The boys on the Porch.
    It didn't help that during this time, our father was rarely seen by either of us. He found a factory job in Salisbury with a company called Fiber Industries. They manufactured polyester thread, which they sold to numerous other manufacturing companies, such as Hanes, Burlington Mills and others. Polyester pants were popular in those days, so the factory ran twenty four hours a day; seven days a week and my father worked the swing shift. Some days he worked noon to nine pm. Some days he worked three to midnight, or midnight to nine am, but never nine to six. During the evening, when we were home from school, he was either working or sleeping.
    We saw each other on the weekend a few times, but on those days we were usually on our land clearing trees, trying to get the spot ready for our new home. Living on the front porch and in one bedroom of my Grandfather's house was becoming old really fast.
    Once our terrible school year (we had the grades to prove it) was over, things improved some. Dad was still working strange hours with lots of overtime, but now that we were out of school we did see more of him. The family savings was growing, but the nest egg was not allowed to get too big because it was necessary to make a couple of trips back to Norfolk to repair broken pipes and a broken bathroom wall, courtesy of our renters.
    Rod and I were starting to turn into country boys. We ran around barefoot, raised chickens, got ourselves a big dog and I bought a rifle. It was only a bb gun, but who knows what I would have wanted next. I was starting to adapt to my surroundings, but I am sure Dad was not. His peace of mind was starting to wear out. He wasn't comfortable with how our lives were changing. Five months and no new home, and it would not be long before another school year would be upon us, and being a long distance land lord only added to his unease.
    In late June of 1967 we made our big trip to Montreal, Canada. It almost didn't happen. A few weeks before we were scheduled to leave, my brother came down with a case of viral pneumonia. It wasn't his first time, quite the contrary. This was something he got quite often. He would cough, and hack, run a fever and his lungs would get so full of fluid that he had to stand on his head to drain them. It took him about two weeks to recover from this episode. I was afraid our trip was lost, Mom and Dad said not to worry, but I could hear them at night, discussing the very strong possibility that we would not be going.
    A few days before the trip Rod's illness seemed to get worse, and then I got sick. I suppose it could have been the stress of the idea of not making the trip of a lifetime that caused me to get ill. I had a blazing headache, a terrible sore throat, and plenty of nausea. One hot night, I couldn't sleep, and my head hurt more than it ever had. Dad, having two sick boys to deal with, figured that if one of them was unconscious, maybe we would all feel better, so he gave me a Darvon capsule. It did make me quiet, but it may have mixed with some cold remedy that I had also taken, or I may have been allergic to it. I don't know. I do know I had a terrible reaction to it. It didn't start out so terrible, but something was wrong. During the night I felt like I had water running down my face. It was really strange. I ran a hand over my face in the dark. My cheeks felt large and spongy and I could feel bumps on them.
    I got up, ran to the other end of the house, to the back porch and then to the bathroom. I turned on the light, looked in the mirror and starting screaming my head off.
    I looked like something from a cheap horror movie. My face, arms and chest had broken out with large hives. Big red welts with white bumps covered my face as well. My cheeks had swollen so that only the end of my nose was visible. One eye was swollen shut; the other was red as an apple. I looked, in a word, hideous.
    Dad reached the bathroom first, took one look at me and went white as a ghost. Mom came up behind but he wouldn't let her see me. She insisted, pushed around him, saw my face and started to laugh. I know now that it was hysterical laughter, but at the time I could not figure out what was so funny. I told her so too.
    "It's not funny!" I wailed. "Look at me! I think I'm dying!"
    "You aren't dying" Mom responded, "You look like you stuck your head in a bee hive."
    Actually, that was a pretty good description, but I didn't appreciate its accuracy.
    I threw up.
    Not a pretty picture, a big red swollen head spewing all over the bathroom.
    Mom stopped laughing. "Clay, I think you better take him to the hospital."
    Dad, thinking the same thing, got me cleaned up and half carried me to the car.
    It was thirty miles to the nearest hospital in Lexington. I had my head in a trash can the whole way there. Dad drove like a mad man.
    If we had lived in Norfolk, a trip to the hospital, civilian or navy would have expected results. You would go to the emergency room, see a nurse, then a doctor, be poked, prodded, a thermometer jammed under your tongue, blood pressure taken, what ever. The main thing is you would just walk in and see somebody.
    We arrived at the Lexington hospital. There was no emergency room. We had no choice but to go to the front door. By this time I was feeling very dizzy and light headed, and my heart was racing a mile a minute. Dad had to carry me.
    The door was locked. No one in sight but there was a door bell. Dad pushed it and finally someone came to the door. The person was a janitor not a doctor. He said can I help you, and before anyone could answer, he took one look at my face and well, seemed to get sick himself.
    He pushed open the door, grabbed a wheelchair that was close by. I ended up in it and found myself being pushed down the dark green hall to a desk where a nurse was sitting looking over a clipboard. She looked up. My face sure could produce a powerful reaction.
    I looked at her. She stared at me. Along with the big nasty hives, she saw something in my face, because she quickly opened a drawer and pulled out a plastic container and handed it to me.
    Yes, I threw up again.
    "Oh my stars honey, you sure are a mess, let's see what we can do to help you."
    Her kind voice seemed so distant.
    She asked my dad some questions, about what medications I took, what I had to eat and so on. She took my blood pressure, and stuck a thermometer under my tongue, which wasn't all that easy considering how hard I was shaking and how stiff my jaw was. Then she picked up the phone and called the doctor on call. After about a minute, she got up went to another room and came back with a tray on which lay a syringe and a cotton ball. She rolled up my pajama sleeve, dabbed the alcohol soaked cotton ball on my arm and then stuck me with the needle. Whatever was in that syringe started working almost as soon as she squeezed it.
    My heart rate dropped, my nausea went away, and at that moment I just wanted to go to sleep.
    The rest of the night is just a blur. I remember waking up the next morning, feeling well, a bit hung-over, and hungry. I made my way to the breakfast table where I proceeded to frighten my sisters, which tickled my grandfather. Obviously I was still a handsome sight, as handsome as Quasimodo. It didn't take long for the cousins to hear about the new face in town. The two oldest girls, Dawn and Pam, decided to look after me. They told everybody else to have a look and then leave me alone. They fed me lemonade, and iced down my ugly fat face. In a few days I was a good as new.
    At the end of June we left for Canada.
    I will tell you right now that our vacation was absolutely great. We stayed in hotels, rode Monorails, and trains, roller coasters, a Hugh Ferris wheel, ate out, went shopping in large malls, saw, heard, touched and experienced things at the Expo that were fantastic. We concluded the trip by staying with old Navy friends in a cabin on the shores of a beautiful lake, Otter Lake, in Ontario to be exact. We went boating and fishing. The only bad thing was the kids we met, thought that Rod and I talked funny, like real Southerners. They would come over to our cabin just to hear us speak. I found it amusing, but I don't think my parents did. Well, Dad didn't anyway. The trip gave him time to think. He was thinking it was time to make the trip home. Home to North Carolina, but ultimately back to Virginia.
    Our Canadian adventure ended all too soon. We headed back to North Carolina.
    July soon ended. We did have some good times. We hiked, fished, and went swimming. Papa killed some of my chickens and we ate them, well that part wasn't so good.
    Dad gave notice to our renters that we would be coming back. We gave notice to our relatives that we would be moving back to Norfolk. None of them wanted us to leave. Papa, my normally strong grandfather, broke down and cried. My Mom was miserable. She knew it was the best thing to do, but she didn't want to give up her dream of being close to her family while living in her house in the woods.
    Sometime around my birthday, in August 1967, Rod, Dad and I went back to our home in Norfolk. We would spend the next two weeks scrubbing floors, cleaning out cabinets, painting walls in order to get our home back in order for the girls.
    It was a tremendous amount of work. We cleaned during the day, slept on the floor at night, ate off paper plates. It was a male bonding time. We made the house ready and just before the start of the new school year, Mom and my sisters arrived. At the same time, the moving company that back in February, moved all our stuff out and put it in storage, now moved it all back in.
    It took us some time to unpack boxes, get settled in, enroll in school and try to pick up our Norfolk lives where we left off. It wasn't easy. Dad spent a lot of his time looking for employment. He was hired by a commercial heating and air conditioning supply company but it wasn't much of a job. In late November he found a Civil Service position. He went back to working on navy aircraft. He would speed the rest of his working days in Civil Service employment, driving to the same base that he retired from, and happy to do it.
    Christmas 1967 is not a time I remember many details about, except we were broke, again. I remember participating in my high school Concert Chorus Christmas cantata wearing dress shoes I borrowed from Dad. We drove past the ships on Christmas Eve; at least I think we did. I am sure Dad put out presents for the girls. The old glass ornaments were on the tree. 1968 looked like it would be a good year, nice and quiet. We were back in our home, had our old friends back, we were back in our neighborhood church, same neighborhood schools we could walk to. All seemed right with the world.
    February ... Soon it was one year from the day Dad retired from the Navy.
    We received a call from Denton. Papa had a stroke.
    We rushed back to Papa's house.
    It was so sad to see my Grandfather, who had been so active, looking after his farm, his animals and all his grandkids, including us, not able to do anything for himself. We had to leave after just after a couple of days.
    He would only live a few weeks. It just didn't seem real, another trip down to Denton for another funeral. My Mother was devastated. It was crowded but quiet during the drive down. Mom quietly cried almost the whole way. When we pulled into the driveway of Papa's home, our home just a few months earlier, she broke down. There was nothing I could do except hug Penni, who just didn't understand what was happening.
    We were there for about four days and it was time to leave again.
    My poor Mom now had lost two parents, her dream house and her family all in less than eighteen months. We had also pulled up roots twice during that same time. All of us were sad, exhausted and not sure what our future would bring.
    My grandfather's death was a sad time made even sadder when it was discovered there was no will and as a result the family decided to auction off everything he owned with no exception. So in March we made another trip to Papa's farm to help with the auction. I asked for a birdhouse that Papa helped me build that I had left hanging under the eves of one of his barns. No, that had to auctioned off as well. I tried to buy it myself but three dollars wasn't enough.
    Something happened to us as all of Papa's possessions were being carried away by strangers. We all felt like a part of us was leaving as well.
    We made our way back to Norfolk and once there a dark cloud settled over our family, over my Mom and over me. Mom struggled with grief and guilt. I struggled with her and with school, I argued with my teachers and both my parents and my siblings. I became impatient and angry, and Mom didn't know how to deal with me and became even more depressed. Dad tried to hold everything together but it was almost impossible. From March to May things got really bad.
    We truly needed a miracle.
    We received one.....
  25. -Gramps-
    As I write this our precious Nickolas is fading from this world. I gave him the pill that will allow his suffering to end. It is the hardest thing I have ever done, but I had to do it. He has been sick for five days now. He could not hold down any water or food.
    This thing came on so suddenly. We rushed him to the vet where they could not find the cause. It would take blood work, more needles more pain and maybe even more surgery to even begin to find out what is wrong. .
    It was impossible to put our loving dog through that again. Something just didn't come out right after the surgery to remove that awful lump from his side. He couldn't control his bladder, he started to loose muscle tone, and he drank water by the cupfuls. We put him on PPA, a very powerful incontinence drug and that seemed to help. For awhile he seemed to make an effort to be his old self, but I could sense he was depressed and he started to fade before our eyes.
    I prayed constantly for him. I have not had a conversation with God like the ones I have had the last couple of days since my son was born. I almost lost Joel and my wife back then, but God answered a sinner's prayer and because of the combined work of God and the doctors, my son and wife were made well and whole.
    This time my prayer is not getting the response I hoped for. Nickolas just got worse. Does that mean that God is not listening? Does it mean he doesn't care to exercise just a little bit of His universe creating power to fix my little dog? I can't answer that in words. God is who HE is, faithful to the end. I know that He loves me, my wife, and my dog. Sometimes, in the midst of a tragedy a bigger thing may be happening.
    Our dog is so, so, sick but once again Nicolas is giving something special to me. He looks me in the eyes and I can see appreciation and love. I know that its there. I cannot make him whole but he trusts me and Diane to look after him. My prayer changed from "God heal him!" to God help me to help him.
    I will admit that I do not understand why my simple prayer is not given the answer that it asks for, but I have to look to God the same way Nickolas looks at me, with simple trust. That's all I can do. I am grieving, but if I get angry, then I loose more than just my pup; I loose my relationship with The God of the Universe who sent His Son to make things right between the Father and me. This will be Nickolas' last gift to Diane and me. She and I have held hands, held each other, and prayed together with more passion than we had in years. That is surely a good thing.
    We will rise above this loss, this huge loss. It will not be easy but it is what Nicolas wants us to do.
    A few minutes ago Nicolas asked to go out into our yard. He layed down in the grass, which is something he never does. I could see him smelling the air, the birds were singing and suddenly there were more of them than usual and Nickolas just watched them fly around him. I think he was saying goodbye to this life. He was preparing himself to leave this earthy place.
    Right now he is asleep on our deck. Unless God does work a mircle I do not expect Our wonderful dog to wake again.
    It will be so hard to live without our Coach Buddy, our friend, my wife's shadow, her constant companion. But live we will.
    So help me God.
    Goodbye Friend, you were so loved.
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