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-Gramps-

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  1. -Gramps-

    Better than Chocolate

    By -Gramps-,

    It is very quiet around the house. There is no tapping of little doggie nails on the hardwood floor. No tinkling of a metal dog tag against the side of the food bowl. There is no cheerful crunch of the doggie eating his breakfast.
    Life continues to go on. Diane will laugh at a joke, e-mailed to her from one of our friends, when it arrives in her mailbox. She will cry when a sympathy card, snail mailed by one of our friends, shows up in the standard mailbox. She also cries after taking a phone call from family or friends.
    Diane was really moved when Miss Vickie, owner of Salty Dog grooming, sent a card and a dish garden.
    I mostly mope around, feeling sorry for myself.
    It obviously isn't going to be easy to recover from this loss.
    I find myself googling puppy sites, wondering if we should consider another dog.
    Wisdom says it is too soon.
    Exercising wisdom, in and of itself, does not remove the pain of loss.
    I have heard that chocolate makes one feel better when one is hurting.
    If we stocked much chocolate around here, I would eat it all.
    I am hitting the Chips Ahoy pretty hard.
    Prayer is better for me than chocolate or cookies. It is easier on the waistline.
    I look out my office window at our motorhome and I can't help but think how much we will miss our pup the next trip out. Nickolas was such a large part of our life in the coach.
    He spent his last good week with us at a motor coach rally.
    Diane and I hosted the event. It was for the Workhorse Chassis Motorhome Club. WCMC is a FMCA International chapter. The rally took place at Camp Hatteras, in Rodanthe, North Carolina, the first week of October. Fifty nine coaches were in attendance. We called it The Sound and the Sea Rally.
    The rally was a lot of work for me and Diane. Fortunately we had a lot of help.
    We planned all the events for the week, decorated the tables with shells, hung large kites and windsocks from the ceiling and on the wall, provided printed name tags, ran the fifty/fifty lottery and we were a two-person complaint and problem department.
    We catered most of the meals, had lots of seminars, (including a Wi-Fi and computer security Q&A session provided by me) and, on the last night, my son's band "Long Division" played.Their set started out a bit rough, but once they adjusted the volume for a bunch of non-college folks, it ended up sounding really good.
    I booked an absolutely hilarious comedy lecturer who had the audience eating out of his hand!
    I happened to be the lecturer and my subject was my Rules for Owing a Motorcoach.
    Actually, I was pleasantly surprised at how well the whole week went. The formal surveys turned in by the attendees were mostly positive. The last day, I helped some people with coach problems get their jacks retracted, their steps in, and watched them pull away. I then went kite flying, four at once, with Nickolas sitting by my chair.
    Unfortunately, about half way through the week, we noticed that Nickolas was not feeling very well. We were not alarmed, but by the day after the rally, he was not doing well at all. After we returned home he just got worse until the end.
    Sometimes the two of us find ourselves just sitting and staring at each other. We both know what the other is thinking. Diane is holding Nickolas' favorite blanket, I am looking at his favorite spot on the floor wishing that my four-footed special someone could still fetch my slippers for me.
    I don't bother to go fetch them for myself.
    Diane and I continue to move forward. Each day gets a little easier, but our hearts are still raw to the touch.
    Today my daughter Christine is over with our grandsons and Bella the sweet Bulldog. Tonight we will watch Toy Story 3 and have a few laughs. Tomorrow, well, it will just have to take care of itself.
    This weekend we are hoping to return to Camp Hatteras. We will be attending our Good Sams Chapter Christmas/Thanksgiving party campout. Diane and I are looking forward to being with a lot of friends. It always helps to be with friends, especially RVing ones, when trying to get over the loss of a friend.
    I should know. This makes two for me.
    Gramps
  2. -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.
  3. -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.
  4. -Gramps-

    A Premonition?

    By -Gramps-,

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

    Still Fighting

    By -Gramps-,

    This is a very strange thing to report, but Nickolas is back at the small animal hospital at NC State School of Medicine. It has been a long and very weird night.
    It seems that the pain pill I gave our dog, a dose big enough to knock out a full grown man, didn't do much to our dog but allow him a couple hours of very deep sleep. Diane who had been keeping vigil beside him, out on the deck the whole time wating for him to finally slip away, came to the door to speak to me. I was looking out the door and suddenly Nickolas popped up his head, turned and looked at Diane, then got up and came to the door. She and I just stood there in shock. I opened the door and let him in, and he went immeadiately to his water bowl and slowly drank from it. Then he looked up at us, laid down and went to sleep. A real sleep.
    Diane and I looked at each other. I had no idea what to do. About an hour earlier, just after we decided to end his suffering, I went out to the coach to get my camera for one last picture. While out there I thought of how empty the coach would be with out Nickolas in it. I lost it and told God just what I thought of my pup dying. I hope the neighbors didn't hear what I was saying, coach walls are not all that thick, but at the moment I was reminding God of his abliity to heal a small dog, of all the prayers that had come from my wife and myself and if nothing else, I still needed Him to get me through this.
    I looked at Nicolas sleeping peacefully, obvioulsy there was still some life in him and he was not as ready to leave us as it appeared.
    I just stood there in a kind of stupor and then I told Diane, " That's it, we are going to take him to the animal emergency hospital right now.....grab your purse."
    I made a phone call to the hospital, told them of our situation and they said bring him in ASAP.
    We did, and to make a long story short, after a lot of fluid, a pain injection, and blood work and some other things, we took him back to NC State where he is presently in a good but guarded condition. With medication to treat his pancreas, iv fluids, and iv supplements, he has the chance for a surgery free full recovery.
    What else can I do except thank God.
    I will keep all of you, the members of my Coach Family posted.
  6. -Gramps-

    Why Don't He Write?

    By -Gramps-,

    I know someone must be asking that question. I have asked it myself. I don't have a good answer. The bad answer is that there have been lots of distractions the last few weeks. The first distraction being caused by the need to look after a pup named Nickolas.
    Diane and I decided to subject him to some pretty extensive surgery that, thank the Lord, appears to be mostly successful. He is missing part of three ribs, some chest wall and a big malignant lump on his side. I have been amazed at how quickly he has recovered. However, a problem still remains. The shock of surgery seems to have made an old dog older. Since coming out of recovery he has an extreme thirst, and as a result of that, well, he doesn't always make it outside on time, and he can't make it through the night at all without waking up wet the next morning. That has required us to put him to bed wearing some special waterproof doggy jockey shorts. Nickolas doesn't like the idea that he is wearing diapers, so we don't use that word around him if we can help it.
    Our pupster looked awful after surgery. His back and side were shaved and he had staples running from his belly to his back. People looking at him just cringed. When I looked at him, I just hurt. We lived full-time in the coach for almost 10 days at Deer Creek after he came home. He spent four days at NC State School of Veterinary Medicine in Raleigh, North Carolina. We needed to keep him in a confined space. No, running, no jumping and no climbing stairs was allowed. He went in and out of the coach on a portable ramp. It was not fun for him or us.
    Things improved rapidly and he received a good report on his last visit to the vet school, which took place on our way home from Galax. We spent the night in the State Fairground campground. We were all alone in that huge place. It was just across the street from the school, so staying there could not have been more convenient.
    Since coming back to our stick house, things have been very busy. Lots of phone work and customer service calls (nothing new there). We have also had to make lots of follow-up calls to vets, trying to cure our dog's incontinence problem. Now we are looking at the possibility of Cushing's disease, or Addison's disease or diabetes or maybe just old age. No one knows for sure, even after a lot of blood work, urinalysis and other things that keep draining funds from our retirement account. Poor Nickolas remains in an agitated state, never knowing when the leash being clipped on means that the car will take him to some location where unpleasant things happen.
    I have a theory that Nickolas needs to be left alone. Let him get over the loss of ribs, muscle, and having a lot of pain and confusion. Treat him like a normal dog and he will heal himself.
    No one really liked my theory, for awhile. Finally the decision was made to treat his "leaking" problem with drugs and see how that goes.
    We have a FMCA international rally to attend this weekend. It is the Workhorse Chassis Motor Club rally and I am the host and rallymaster. I have been working on this rally for over a year and I know that Nickolas is looking forward to it as much as I am. The rally takes place at Camp Hatteras in Waves, N.C. Nickolas loves a good romp on the beach and, by golly, I'm going to see to it that he gets one.
    He has comtributed so much to our lives.
    The whole point of his surgery was to try to make Nickolas' life last a lot longer. I am praying that his life continues to be a good one.
    I owe Nickolas at least that much.
    Gramps
  7. -Gramps-

    The Rally

    By -Gramps-,

    When I write a blog entry about a current trip in our coach, I tend to just write it in a matter of fact style, like the following:
    Well a lot has happened in the last week. Diane and I hosted an FMCA chapter rally at the Deer Creek RV Resort in Galax, Virginia during the last weekend of July. The campground Is located just across the golf course from our home at the Deer Creek Motorcoach resort. Some people call the golf course Derrick's Nine Holes, because I am the person who plays there the most.
    We had fifteen coaches from the Colonial Virginians show up for the rally.
    The rally went great, for the most part. We arrived on Wednesday evening and our fellow Colonial Virginians started arriving on Thursday afternoon. Thursday morning Diane and I did a lot of shopping at the local Wal-Mart (where else would we go?) for lots of stuff to provide a full meal for everyone on Friday night. We left the store with hamburgers, hot dogs, sausages, potato salad, cole slaw, baked beans, cookies and a lemon cake. Our co-hosts Bob and Stephanie planned breakfast for Saturday and Sunday Mornings. For Saturday morning breakfast, we had French toast sticks, pancakes, sausage, and fruit. Sunday was a continental breakfast with Danish, Bagels and Saturday's breakfast leftovers. Saturday night everyone went to a wine and cheese party at the Deer Creek Motorcoach Resort (Not the one in Florida) clubhouse. That was followed by a pot-luck supper. We had a golf tournament planned for Saturday Morning but due to drizzle and fog we had to cancel. Those who planned on playing didn't mind. We all enjoyed the cool mountain weather, which was a nice change from the terrible heat back home.
    Not much emotion or story in the above. Let me try to add some of that for you.
    I have been working pretty hard lately. No days off for some six weeks and that includes July fourth. Even with all those work days I have still been under quite a bit of stress to get it all my projects done. I know, that seems to be a recurring theme in my blogs: Stress. It seems to be the nature of my business and my nature to let stress sometimes get the best of me. I am working on correcting that. I would like to save the best of myself for my God, my dear wife, my kids, my rving friends as well as other friends and of course, my dog.
    Unfortunately there wasn't much of the best part of me on the day we left for the rally. We pulled out a bit late in the morning, and just as we hit the road I discovered, actually Diane informed me, that she turned off the fridge because it was alarming. There was no propane flowing to it, even though our tank was full. At the same time I discovered that the dash air was not cooling. These two problems started to make me hot. I asked her why she didn't tell me this before we left. She said she didn't want to bother me, I was getting customer calls all morning and she didn't want to add to my problems.
    Add to my problems? No dash air, the propane is not working? How could that add to my problems?
    I knew that the immediate, but temporary solution to this was to turn on the generator. This would allow us to run the fridge and the roof air, but all I could think about is how much is this going to cost me to get these problems fixed? I stared to over think this situation and this fueled my soon to get worse state of mind. After all it was going to be one of the hottest days of the year with no dash ac. I just got back from a long trip to Elkhart to fix the slide and now two more problems. When will it end?
    Maybe my blood sugar was low from skipping breakfast. Maybe I was just worn out from all the work pulling cables through hot fiberglass insulated ceilings for days on end. Maybe it was because this has been a tough year to find work, get it done and then get paid for it. Maybe it was because I was worried about our dog, who was scheduled for surgery the Friday after the rally. Maybe it was all the above.
    I lost it. I ranted about my business, the coach, and only God knows for most of the drive to Galax. Diane, bless her heart, just sat there and hardly said a word. She just let me vent. I don't remember most of what I said. I am sure it wouldn't be worth repeating anyway.
    When we started to climb I-77 just north of Winston-Salem, North Carolina, I finally calmed down. I looked over at Diane and apologized for being such a jerk. She had tears running down her cheeks and she managed to mouth the words, "its okay" to me.
    I didn't say another word until we reached the gate to the Motorcoach Resort. Diane pushed the remote, the gate opened, we drove through and it was like a switch was thrown. I started to feel better. We set up "camp". It was after six thirty by the time we finished. We went to dinner with our neighbors Judy and Gordy. They both noticed that I was looking a bit ragged, and Diane calmly told them I had been working hard lately, to put it mildly.
    For most of the night I lay awake thinking about the day's drive.
    The next morning I was swamped with phone calls from multiple offices belonging to one customer. Diane and I were at the Wal-Mart at the time, I was shopping for golf balls when the first call hit me. The problem was not with my equipment, it was with their internet provider. I told them that, but they wanted me to take care of it because they didn't know how to talk to the great big nasty internet company.
    It took me until eleven pm that night making phone calls, but I did get the ball rolling to solve the problem for them.
    Friday I was determined to give all my attention to the rally. I managed to do that. I helped people check in, set up tables, did a bit of decorating, set up a sun canopy and my grill. I cooked forty some hamburgers while Bob did the dogs.
    We had a great meal for everyone. The food was good and the service was quick. Afterwards we talked about the golf and mini golf match, and reminded everyone where Saturday's meal would be served. I was beat and left for the coach while Diane played tiles.
    Saturday's breakfast was great. Saturday's weather wasn't. It rained all day. Actually I think it rained the next three days off and on. I wanted to have the golf match but what's a little rain when you are in the Blue Ridge Mountains? We all made the best of it. Some people went sightseeing; some just sat around and talked. I sat around and listened to the people chat. I wanted to be reminded that the world isn't just about me. That is one of the ways owning a coach has improved my life, by allowing me to be involved in other lives outside of work. It's like medicine to me. I need to remember that.
    Saturday night we had the wine and cheese party. I answered questions about Galax and the surrounding area. I also answered questions about the resort.
    After dinner I provided some minor entertainment. I told them all about my FMCA blog with its rules for owning a motor coach and then I read rule four to them. I will remind you that rule four is "Owing a motor coach is a never ending learning experience". Rule four also includes a bunch of one liner, truisms, that some people find quite funny. Fortunately all the guests at dinner did the same.
    Sunday morning was foggy but not for long. By noon most everyone had left. Everyone said they had a great time and hoped to return next year.
    Monday, August second, was my fifty seventh birthday. The best thing about it was that I wasn't working. We didn't do much that day but sit around the coach, do a bit of walking, and we went to dinner in town. The food wasn't all that good but the company was great.
    The next day Diane and I drove into Sparta North Carolina and found something that we both liked. A store with Columbia clothes on sale for half price. I bought a bunch of nice things. We came home and ate leftover hamburgers, watched a bit of TV and called it a day.
    Wednesday had a different feel about it. Diane wanted to do laundry and clean up the coach a bit. She planned on leaving the next day for Raleigh, NC to stay with her cousin Elaine. From there she would take Nickolas to the NC State School of Veterinary Medicine. Nickolas was scheduled to have a malignant tumor removed from his side. This could be an extensive operation with loss of some chest wall and some sections of ribs.
    I planned on staying behind to work on the Motorcoach resort's WIFI. That was okay by me considering how much I dislike hospital waiting rooms.
    I had already ordered a new high powered access point that hopefully would broadcast to the fartest end of the resort. Diane left with Nickolas just after lunch, so I found myself all alone.
    I made arrangements to borrow an extension ladder and so just after Diane left I was at the top of it mounting the new transmitter. All was going okay until a big thunderstorm came out of nowhere. Lightening chased me off the ladder. The rain started coming down in buckets and then we lost power.
    I managed to mount the transmitter but without power I was done. My WI-FI install would have to wait.
    Fridays are usually pretty quiet for me. Not many phone calls. The Friday of Nickolas surgery was no exception. This was a good thing. I wasn't in the mood to talk much anyway. I thought our pup was going to be in the OR early, but it didn't happen until six that night. He came out around nine. Diane called me to say that everything went well. The doctors wanted to keep him there until Monday. My time in isolation would be a bit longer than expected.
    I didn't do much the next two days. I finished a book, watched some movies, made some minor repairs to the coach roof and unstopped the propane line. That was about it.
    Diane and Nickolas arrived back here at Deer Creek about two hours ago. The poor pup looks a bit scarred and stapled but he is doing well considering.
    We will be here a few more days. We need to give the dog a bit more time to recuperate before we head back to the heat in Tidewater. Once we get there its back to business, the coach will stay parked for a couple more months. I do need to get some Freon for the dash AC.
    Didn't I mention that? According to our resident RV doctor, there is nothing wrong with the dash AC that a good dose of Freon can't fix. It seems I got upset over almost nothing.
    I am working on that.
  8. -Gramps-
    It was an amazingly (is that a word?) fun thing to watch that ball zoom over the fence, but I, we, still have a game to win.

    The Last Inning (The Giants and the Phillies-Part Two)
    Once again, I have to corral all my players back into the dugout. They are still whooping and hollering and Chris is really pleased with himself.
    "Did you see that coach, did you see that? Blam! Right over the fence. Sorry I hit your van, coach."
    I hadn't noticed that the ball bounced off MY car!
    "Hey, that's okay," I said. "I'm just glad that you hit it out of the park, it was great. Now take a seat and let's win this game."
    Chris ducks inside of the dugout, but before he sits down he grabs the wire fence, gives it a good shake like a caged animal and yells at the Giant's pitcher.
    "Hey Pitch! That's what you get for laughing at me!"
    The whole park hears that outburst.
    I can't let that go, so I turn around.
    "That is not necessary, Chris. We don't gloat. It is not good sportsmanship. You will apologize to the pitcher now."
    "Sorry Pitch!" Chris yells again.
    "Coach, you need to get your team under control!"
    "No problem Blue, I am taking care of it."
    I ask myself, "What is the ump's problem? He seems to be a bit slow today."
    "Chris, after the game you make sure you shake the Pitcher's hand. Understand?"
    Chris, looking a bit deflated, sits down.
    The ump walks over and hands something to Chris.
    It is the home run ball.
    "Great hit, kid."
    Chris's face lights up.
    "Thanks, Ump!"
    The ump nods and says "Batter up!"
    I send Jeffery to the plate and tell him to go get a hit.
    Jeffery, grinning, jogs over to the batter's box.
    "Play Ball!" yells the ump as he pulls down his mask.
    Jeffery stands there and takes six pitches, three are strikes, without moving his bat a bit.
    Bottom of the fifth
    Phillies 8, Giants 2
    I do not want to let my team relax too much. This is Little League. Earlier in the season the Cubs scored seven runs on us in the top of the first. We beat them 20 to seven. We could have scored more if the 13-run mercy rule had not stopped us. Things can happen, so I just want to shut the Giants down and end this.
    As Joel heads out to the mound I tell him to keep on pitching the same way he's been doing it. He nods at me.
    The Giants leadoff is a big lefthander. Joel throws the first pitch a bit outside, and the batter fouls it back. Joel throws to the same spot. This time the kid looks at it.
    Ball one.
    Chris, who is now catching for Joel, shifts and gives Joel an inside target. Joel throws; the batter swings and takes it for a base hit over CJ's head to right-center field. Both Jeffery and Ian make a mad dash for the ball.
    I swear, because they argue over who is going to get it. By the time they figure it out, the runner is way past first.
    Ian tosses to CJ, who turns toward third, but there is no play.
    The leadoff is safely on third.
    "Shake it off Joel, no big deal, just get the batter!"
    Giving up a triple does not faze Joel. He throws his next three pitches for strikes. The batter goes down looking at the third one.
    One down and two to go. Play is at first but we have to guard the plate.
    The next batter goes for the first pitch. He hits a high pop over the first base line. Chris is on his feet in a second, follows the ball and catches it in front of the bleachers. He turns and looks at the third base runner.
    Two outs and one to go.
    I don't know how Joel is doing it, but he bears down and throws three hard inside fastballs. He makes the batter look like a deer caught in the headlights. Three pitches, three strikes, backwards K.
    The Inning is over.
    That triple was the best hit the Giants have had all day and Joel made sure it counted for nothing.
    Top of the Sixth
    The Score is still Phillies 8, Giants 2.
    Shawn leads off. He fouls the first pitch (good for him!) and then takes four straight pitches, all balls.
    Jonathan is up next. First pitch is a ball, second pitch outside for ball two. The third pitch hits my batter right in the helmet. It doesn't bug him a bit as he jogs happily to first.
    The pitcher and Zac get into a bit of battle. Zac fouls off the first two. The pitcher throws two for two balls. Zac fouls off another one and the pitcher heaves two more pitching errors. Zac heads to first.
    WC virtually repeats Zac's at bat and earns a walk with no place to put him.
    Shawn comes home.
    Phillies 9, Giants 2
    TJ walks on five pitches, and Jonathan scores run number 10.
    Ian, well Ian just stands there and swings and misses the last pitch he gets, the third one.
    The Giants have one out on us. They are now facing the top of our order with bases loaded. Not good for them. Not good at all.
    The Giants pitcher knows things are not good and that knowledge must make him really nervous. His first pitch hits Matt in the side, and he reaches first as Zac crosses home plate.
    Phillies 11, Giants 2.
    Matt is on first, TJ on second and good ole WC on third. CJ, who is on deck, moves to the plate.
    I am standing behind the backstop just in front of the first base side dugout. I can see WC on third base and I am watching him and my other runners. They are set and ready to run on contact.
    CJ can hit and I know he wants this one bad. He fouls the first pitch. He hits the second one to the outfield past first base but it lands foul.
    Everyone on my side of the field is yelling so loud it hurts my ears.
    The next throw is in the dirt. The catcher scrambles for the ball. The pitcher runs in to cover the plate.
    My third base coach is waving WC home, but he hesitates.
    What is he waiting for? Run!
    WC breaks for home but that seconds hesitation may cost him.
    The catcher throws the ball to the pitcher, who steps in front of the plate just as WC runs into him. They go down together. The pitcher comes up showing the ball.
    "He's out!" Yells blue.
    WC gets up and starts arguing with the ump.
    "He was holding me!"
    I walk over as my third base coach comes running in, grabs the umpire and points back to the Giant on third base.
    "Ump, he grabbed my runner's shirt! WC would have been safe!"
    The Giants coach is now out of his dugout and we have a real "situation" here.
    "Come on, Ump, this is crazy."
    My base coach is not going to take this.
    "Ump, I am telling you. My guy was interfered with."
    The Ump looks at everyone.
    "I didn't see it. The runner's out!"
    WC looks very unhappy. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it toward third base.
    The Ump takes one look at that and tosses him out of the game for unsportsmanlike conduct.
    My base coach just shakes his head. My parents and players are booing the umpire.
    I tell everyone on the bench we still have one out left and the bases are loaded.
    I tell WC that he did great the whole game, but he should not throw his helmet or his bat.
    He tells me he is sorry.
    I was feeling bad about the Giants situation, but after treating WC like that, I have lost my sympathy.
    First base is open, with two outs.
    I grab CJ.
    "Look, it's 1 and 2, with two outs. Get on first anyway you can."
    "You got it, Coach."
    CJ is a team player. I know he wants the big home run, but now he settles down to business.
    The pitcher doesn't. He throws four straight balls. CJ is on first, bases are loaded again.
    "Way to watch em CJ!"
    Joel is up. He wants to round the bases and he will wait for the pitcher to make a mistake again.
    It is a battle, but Joel has the first pitch advantage. It is a ball way outside. The second one Joel fouls off. He fouls off the third. The count is 1 and 2. The fourth pitch comes in, low and inside, ball two.
    Joel steps out of the box. He adjusts his gloves, takes a couple of swings and steps back in. Here comes the pitch, way high for Ball three.
    The Giants coach calls time. His pitcher walks over to the base path. I can't hear what is being said but both the coach and his player look agitated.
    They don't want another walk, they only need one out, so they need to put the ball in play and get the easy out.
    Here we are again, 3 and 2. Pitcher throws and Joel fouls it. Pitcher throws again, same result.
    The tension is thick in the air, spectators on both sides are yelling to their players. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, waiting for the next pitch.
    This game is really fun. My son is up to bat. What could be better than that?
    The next pitch is slow and hangs over the plate. Joel hits it and runs for first. My base runners take off at the same time. It is a long, slow fly into left right field. It lands between the two outfielders; both are running for the ball. By the time they get there Joel is halfway to second base. TJ crosses home plate. The Giants second baseman is frozen on the base path. Joel pushes him out of the way and crosses second. Matt, between second and third, needs to pick it up or Joel is going to run into him and CJ. I see the throw coming in as the second baseman wakes up. He takes a couple of steps into the outfield to catch it. Joel is almost at third. Matt and CJ make it home.
    My players start pouring out of the dugout.
    The Giants bench is yelling to the infield.
    "Throw it home! Throw it home!"
    Joel rounds third. He might not make it! The throw comes in but it is way too high. It sails over the catcher's head.
    The Phillies rush home plate and surround Joel as he crosses it. The folks in the bleachers are jumping up and down. The guys practically carry Joel off the field.
    Phillies 15, Giants 2.
    We have a 13-run lead. Mercy Rule is in effect. The game is over.
    Not quite yet.
    The Giants coach rushes out of the dugout yelling at his catcher, who has retrieved the ball, to tag the plate. He is claiming Joel didn't touch home. Joel says he did. Joel's team was all around him, so I couldn't see the plate at all.
    The Ump just stands there.
    "Blue, I'm telling you he didn't touch the plate." says the Giants coach.
    I am thinking that I would never pull this kind of stunt on his team. There is no way that the ump is going to call out a kid who just scored an inside the park grand slam.
    "Runner's out!" The Ump yells.
    "Come on Ump, he ran all over that plate and everybody knows it!" My third base coach is getting mad.
    The Ump has made his call.
    "Play Ball!"
    Back in the dugout I lean down to Joel.
    "You did step on the plate didn't you?"
    "Yea coach, I did. I know I got a home run ... but its okay, we are having fun, let's just play ball."
    "So what you are saying is; let's give them one more at bat and show em what we are made of?"
    "Yea, coach, we don't let up, Joel will get em!" says Matt.
    I am very proud of my team and we are having fun.
    What could be better than that?
    "Okay. Phillies hit the field!"
    They run out of the dugout with a yell. A couple of parents come over to me, including Diane.
    I walk with them back to the bleachers and shrug my shoulders at the parents.
    "Hey coach, what are going to do about that?" one father asks me.
    "Nothing, the guys want to keep playing."
    They did. With his team yelling the whole time and the Phillies fans adding to the noise, Joel worked three Giants batters, including two from the top of the order, to a 2 and 2 count before he struck them all out. The last two went down without swinging. With the last out the team gives Joel a hugh cheer.
    The game between the Giants and the Philles is now officially over.
    Phillies win 14 to 2.
    The scorekeeper from the Giants walks over to Diane to compare scores.
    Diane looks at him.
    "I don't know how you are scoring it, but my son got a grand slam."
    "Yeah, he did and he also got three up and three down, quite a kid you have there."
    "Thank you" is her smiling response.
    Joel got his grand slam (off the record), and Chris got his big home run. I coached a game that, obviously, I would never forget.
    Years later, a few days after Joel was graduated from William and Mary, Diane, Joel, Nickolas and myself were staying in our motor coach at the Stone Mountain RV Resort outside Atlanta, Georgia. One day, during our stay, at around 5 p.m. Joel and I were sitting just above first base at Turner Stadium (named for my old boss) in Atlanta. We were watching the Braves take on the Florida Marlins. It wasn't a very exciting game but it was a beautiful June night. Like that time from years before, I was at a baseball game with my son. We were having fun.
    What could be better than that?

  9. -Gramps-

    A bit about Wi-Fi

    By -Gramps-,

    It's been awhile since I blogged and a lot has happened since the 23rd of May or whenever it was since I last posted.
    I say a lot has happened, but not really. Diane, Nickolas and myself traveled to our spot at Deer Creek Motorcoach resort, the one in Galax, Virginia, not Florida. Barry, the owner and developer, asked me to point that out.
    While there, I did my best to improve my golf game and beef up our Wi-Fi. The golfing was fun ... more about that later.
    A bit about our Wi-Fi.
    It is not an easy thing to do, cover an area the size of a driving range, which is what Deer Creek used to be, and allow owners to log on from inside their coaches. Most stock Wi-Fi devices, be it a router or access point (it's a bit complicated to explain the difference), cover a 100-foot radius well.
    I am not trying to cover a radius at Deer Creek. I am trying to project the signal in a half circle uphill with some coaches sitting higher than the one in front of it. In a few spots a coach blocks the line of sight of the coach behind it to the Wi-Fi router. I fixed this by adding a third access point with a high gain antenna on the roof of the clubhouse. This plugged my coverage holes, but still I need a bit more punch to get to the far corners of the resort. That will be fixed by adding an inline antenna amplifier to the mix.
    That will be taken care of during our next trip out there. As well as making a change to beef up "Internal security."
    Let's talk about public Wi-Fi for just a minute. A lot of RV parks, including the one next to Deer Creek Motorcoach resort, offer free Wi-Fi. Some of these networks are unsecured, meaning you don't have to have a password, or network key, as it sometimes called, to get onto it. If it does require a security key, the only thing that key does is keep some people without one from getting onto it. Let me tell you something else that the key may not do. It will not protect you from other people in the campground, or at some other public Wi-Fi who are logged on with you.
    Public Wi-Fi works a bit on the honor system.
    You could be sitting at a restaurant logged on to a hotspot with an encryption key and thinking you are as safe as if you were on your home network. However, the person two tables over could be looking through your files. You see, if you have your computer set up to share a printer and or files, you could be exposed. You should turn off printer and file sharing when you don't know if you are connected to a network with client security.
    Vista and Windows 7 will ask if you are connecting to a public hotspot and will turn that feature off if you tell it to. Xp also will let you turn off file and printer sharing, but you have to know where to go to do that.
    I know what most of you are thinking: I don't use file and printer sharing, and I renamed my Windows workgroup, so that helps secure me also.
    The first part is mostly correct. The second part isn't. Renaming your workgroup to something else doesn't help at all. Renaming only hides computers near you from showing up in a certain screen and keeps you from showing up on other XP computers. But, and this is important, if you know where to look other users still can be found. The connection is still there.
    It comes down to this. Most public hotspots are provided by the use of small, inexpensive routers and access points, most of which do not provide isolation from one user to another and it is up to you to look after yourself.
    If you have a network in your coach with multiple users, it becomes a bit harder to do this. If you disable printer and file sharing, your laptop will no longer talk to your desktop, or you and your spouse can't communicate, and your laptops won't communicate to each other. To fix that you may need to get your own wireless router and set it up to repeat the public signal. That way you stay logged on to your own network and you can isolate it from the rest of the RV park.
    RV parks spend more time trying to get coverage and keep unwanted people off their WI-FI network as opposed to trying to protect their guests from each other.
    Remember this: When it comes to public Wi-Fi you have to look after yourself.
    Maybe that should be a rule!
  10. -Gramps-
    It has been a year, this week, since I started blogging here at FMCA.com. Boy, time sure flies when you are having stress. I have had a boat load of just that over the last year, I am talking about stress.
    It started building up more than usual around Christmas 2008 after I realized something was physically very wrong with Mike, my friend and business partner. By late March he was gone. Many of you know the story. He "passed over," to use that innocuous phrase, just after our trip to the FMCA convention in Perry, Georgia.
    After the rally we traveled on down to Florida to visit my daughter, her husband and new son.
    It was a good thing that I was away with family when Mike died. I don't think I could have handled witnessing Mike's last few moments alive in the hospital. During some of our last phone conversations, it was usually me who broke down and cried. Mike didn't care for that at all. He was always joking and kept telling me that he would be okay. I couldn't figure out if he was trying to reassure me or if he was just in denial. I guess it was a bit of both. I didn't want to loose him. We had been friends for twenty years. I didn't like looking at what my future would be without him. It didn't look good to me all.
    I was partially right. It hasn't been all good so far, but it could have been a whole lot worse if not for this site.
    On March first of last year I stumbled upon the FMCA forums. I joined and wrote some kind of blurb introducing Diane and myself. The next thing I knew I had an e-mail asking if we would take a profile survey, which we did. Not long after that, we were on the home page in the Meet the Member feature. I didn't realize at the time that this was a rather new Web site and it, just like my motorhome, was about to improve my life in many ways.
    That brings me to the purpose of this one-year blog entry.
    To say thanks. I want to thank Todd of the FMCA.com staff for making this blog and the good things it has done possible.
    I want to thank Gary and Janis, who googled "38PLT UFO," found our FMCA profile, made a phone call, and soon became great close friends. They have helped me make it through this last year. Diane and I wouldn' know what to do without you.
    I would also like to take this time to remind all my friends here of my Five Rules for Owning a Motor Coach.
    It never hurts to have a review.
    1. Owning a motor coach improves one's life ... if you let it.
    2. Keep your temper on a very short leash, because when you own a motor coach patience is not only a virtue but a necessity.
    3. Enjoy the view! Don't be in a hurry to get there, wherever there is. It isn't just the destination that matters; the journey is good for you, too.
    4. Owning a motor coach is a never-ending learning experience.
    5. Always remember rule number one.
    These rules are important. Forgetting them has consequences, and they are not pleasant ones. All of the rules have a flip side. A motorhome can make you miserable ... if you let it.
    If you don't keep your temper on a short leash, what do you think will happen? I threw a walkie-talkie against my garage door once. Don't ask why. I will tell you that I remember that display of behavior every time I use that scratched-up radio. I was able to put it back together after it flew apart. I learned from that experience. If I quit learning, I will just make more mistakes.
    If you have not read my archived entries about these rules why not take the time to do so?
    You might just learn something about yourself in the process.
    In closing, I have enjoyed my year here. I hope that all my readers, however many, have gotten something positive from my little blog.
    Thanks for viewing.
    There will be more.
    Derrick
    AKA "Gramps"
  11. -Gramps-

    Better Than New!

    By -Gramps-,

    Click on any thumbnail above to see a lot more pictures!
    Gary, Janis, Diane and I are good friends. We travel together and we both own the same coach. It is a Holiday Rambler Vacationer XL, model 38PLT built on the Workhorse UFO chassis. The UFO has the engine in the rear and it is gas not diesel. We get a lot of comments when we pull into a campground together or separately.
    For example:
    "Man, your coach sure is quiet, what's wrong with it?"
    (Nothing)
    "Well, it sure is a funny sounding Diesel."
    (That's because it isn't a diesel, it's a gas pusher.)
    "No Way! Nobody makes one of those!"
    (Well, Holiday Rambler made mine.)
    "Are you sure it's gas?"
    (Well, it was the last time I filled the tank.)
    "Man I have never seen one of these going down the road."
    (You may have, you just didn't know it.)
    "That's crazy, a gas pusher? Where's the engine in it?"
    (Ahhh...I think it's in the rear.)
    Is this that UFO thing I have heard about?
    (Why, yes it is!)
    "What is a UFO anyway?"
    (It is a diesel coach that runs on gas.)
    Jeff Daniels says "Always remember and never forget; you're not a real American till you've been behind the wheel of a Recreational Vehicle."
    I agree with that but let me add this: People sure think you are an odd American when you tell them your Recreational Vehicle's gas engine is in the rear. Even the techs in Elkhart thought we were an unusual group of coach travelers. Personally, I think one of our coaches should be in the Elkhart RV Hall of Fame one day. We have been there and I know just where they can park it.
    Better Than New! Pilgrimage to Elkhart Days 5 and 6
    Tuesday morning came early. It was cloudy and cold. Gary and I had our coaches ready for their short trip to the service bays by seven twenty. Roger and Walt were there to pick them up ten minutes later.
    We told the guys how pleased we were with their work so far. I asked Roger if he would repair the second hole in the bathroom floor, and he said he would. He had cut a piece of vinyl from the floor inside the plumbing compartment next to the washer dryer to fix the first rip. That was a small square. He wanted to replace a whole section this time. I felt sure he could figure out something.
    I also added recalibrating my leveling system, and would they please inspect the roof (another thing I forgot to tell them the day before. It seems I misplaced my list and was going from memory).
    Walt told us that Ed from BAL still had some work to do on the slide outs and that Tim Belle the tech support manager wanted to meet with us in about an hour. I had had a number of very helpful phone conversations with Tim and was looking forward to meeting him in person.
    Roger hopped into the drive's seat. I asked him what he thought of the UFO chassis.
    "Yesterday I almost started it twice. I noticed that the tack was moving so I didn't, it's just amazing how quiet it is." He said
    I told Roger that I often turn up the rear camera microphone to listen to the engine.
    I have almost started the engine twice myself. I can only imagine what kind of terrible grinding noise that would cause. I hope I never hear it.
    Our rigs were moved back over to the service bays. I informed the ladies they would have to wait in the car, if they didn't want to wait inside because we needed to meet with JD and Tim and I wanted to take some pictures as well. That was all right with them.
    Gary and I walked over to the shop to see JD Adams, the manager of ESC. JD had talked to us both on the phone and I meet him briefly the morning before. He met us in the shop and introduced us to Rod and Mike, whom we had not met yet. We then went into Gary's coach where Ed from BAL was hard at work on Gary's main slide out.
    We chatted with him and with the other guys until Tim arrived. Tim told us what they had done so far which included installing new cables, all new standoffs (the bracket on the outside of the slide out that the cable attaches to.) and most important a bigger high torque motor that would move the big slide out much faster. What they planned to do today was change the seals on the outside. We told him how much we appreciated it.
    Walt had some questions about repairing Gary's basement door, and Roger had already started repairing my bathroom floor.
    I could have hovered around there for a long time watching these guys work.
    It is easy for me to loose track of time when I am with a bunch of technical guys. With my wife and the dog just sitting in the car on a cold morning; I could loose enough time to get myself in trouble. I suggested to Gary we take pictures and then rescue the ladies.
    We took pictures and then rescued the ladies. Diane was sitting and shivering with the car engine running. She was looking more than a little cold.
    "You okay?"
    "Yeeesss," she said with chattering teeth. "Can we get going now?"
    "Sure, the museum doesn't open until ten anyway so we would have just been sitting there."
    "I'm okay."
    I was relieved to see she wasn't obviously upset with me.
    Just before we pulled out, our neighbor from Quebec pulled in, truck and trailer. I didn't even notice he was gone. Before he could get more than a few feet off the road his truck died. He had pulled his fifth wheel around to the other side of the service building to fill his water tank.
    Well, Gary and I couldn't just leave him stranded like that so we spent the next fifteen minutes trying to jump his truck and get it moving again. We started it, but it wouldn't run long. He had to unhitch the trailer and move the truck to where he could plug in a trickle charger.
    That was the best we could do for him, so we headed off for the Elkhart RV/MH Hall of Fame Museum and Conference Center.
    Just for your information the MH stands for Manufactured Housing not motorhome.
    When it came to sightseeing in Elkhart, this was the highlight of the whole trip.
    We were the first people through the door that morning. JD had given us three free passes and we expected to pay for one ticket but the two gentlemen curator/guides who met us at the door said that would not be necessary. We signed the visitor's registry and the self guided tour began.
    The museum is divided into four main halls. One is the supplier's hall, the Go RVing hall which has new rigs on display and the RV Founders and Ingram Halls which have a fantastic collection of antique housecars and house trailers.
    Diane and I visited the supplier's hall first. There we found displays of towing equipment, RV appliances, including some that are also residential, along with displays from RV clubs and campgrounds. There was also one from Workhorse. It was a display of the UFO chassis. Of course I had to gravitate toward it. There was a video that I watched that showed some of the first people who drove the chassis and the first owners. I found it fascinating. I had to tell Diane about it so I went to get her. She walked over, looked at the video for about ten seconds.
    "That's nice" she said. "Let's go look for Gary and Janis."
    Feeling somewhat deflated, I followed her to the Go RVing hall. I walked past everything and went straight to the Damon Avanti that was parked near the front window. It is a small Class A with Euro Styling and is powered by a front engine Navistar diesel engine. Nice rig, but we didn't look at it for long. Next we visited the Founders Hall.
    I was amazed at the assortment of Motor Houses. I looked at the older towables but I really wanted to spend more time looking at the motorized rvs. I was impressed the most by the Mae West Mobile and the Tennessee Traveler with its pot bellied "furnace". I know that most of us are used to a lot of comfort. I have to wonder what earlier House Car-ers, who drove with their backsides resting on wooden benches would think of our plush seats and air ride. I bet they would think we are all a bunch of motor homing weenies.
    We left the museum sometime around twelve thirty. I remember because I took a phone call just before we left and I noted the time. It was the only one I had the whole day. A miracle!
    Our next stop was Das Dutchman Essenhaus in Middlebury. It is this large complex with an Amish style restaurant, an inn, shops, and bakery. They serve lunch home style; some may call it country style. We had about a half hours drive to get there, because we planned on taking the scenic route trough Amish country. We arrived forty minutes later and ready to eat.
    The restaurant is a huge place. It must seat three hundred people or more. There was hardly anyone there. I guess the tourist season had not geared up yet. We told our server we were there for the home style lunch. She informed us that would include fried chicken, home made egg noodles, green beans, mash potatoes and gravy, corn and our choice of pot roast or ham. We chose the pot roast.
    It wasn't the best country style food I have eaten. That distinction is a toss up between the food served at the Daniel Boone Inn in Boone North Carolina or a little hole in the wall called Lazy Susan's in Spruce Pine North Carolina. As I said it wasn't the best but is was still very good. For desert I had fresh strawberry pie with ice cream, of course.
    After lunch we explored the place a bit. It had this big meandering country store that took up the four outside walls of the inn. We also visited some other shops and climbed the stairs to the top of a grain silo that had been converted into an observation deck.
    Sometime around three thirty, quarter to four we were ready to head back to Elkhart.
    We took the interstate back so it was a rather quick trip. Once again our coaches were parked in their spots, power connected, jacks down and slides out. Once inside, I soon discovered that my tank was full of water. I would not have been surprised to find mints on our pillows.
    The bathroom floor looked perfect. I went outside the coach to check the main slide sweeps. They had been replaced. I checked the roof and saw that my big bedroom skylight had been resealed. There were a couple of other spots that looked like they had been touched up as well.
    I visited Gary's coach and we inspected the work done on his slide outs. We could tell that Ed had extended a couple of cables instead of replacing them. Gary and I had talked about doing this a couple of times ourselves. However, we were not confident in how to go about it or what type of connector to use. Now we knew, but of course we hoped we would not have a reason to do it. Gary told me that Walt had blocked off a heating vent behind his loveseat. The hot air trapped itself back there and was virtually baking the couch so at Gary's request Walt took care of it.
    We had given the techs a long list of things to do. It appeared they had done them all and they repaired the damage from my encounter with the telephone pole.
    It was obvious that after two days with ESC our coaches were now better than new.
    The four of us visited for awhile, talking about the trip and what we had accomplished so far. We were all in agreement that it had been worth the journey, no doubt about that. The last thing we discussed was what time to leave in the morning. I said we can't leave too early, not until we pay our bills.
    I had my doubts about coming to Elkhart, it was a long way there and I always get nervous about leaving my business for long stretches of time. Of course I never really leave my business; it follows me wherever I go, but I was sure glad we made the trip.
    I knew that I had a good coach, and now with its many problems fixed, I could start to really enjoy it.
    Diane and I ended our evening by driving to the Elkhart Riverwalk Park. The park runs right beside the river, on both sides, and twists itself around for two miles. It is a great place to stretch one's legs and that is just what we did. Nickolas loves to take walks like this and he led the whole time. Diane and I talked Galax. We looked forward to being back there in just a couple of days. We talked about the trip, things back at home, just simple stuff that old married couples, who travel in a motor home, chat about.
    By dark we were back at the coach. After dropping Diane and Nickolas off at the door. I drove to a dollar store to buy some bottled water. While there I purchased a set of sheets, after calling Diane to ask her about them, some snacks and a few housekeeping items.
    While paying for my goods, I struck up a conversation with the young lady cashier. She had seen our coaches come down the street. She also told me her husband was a framer for one of the trailer makers. They were very busy. They had an order for 700 rigs and were working overtime to get them done. I thought that was great news. I hoped that the class A market would soon do as good.
    Back in the coach, Nickolas and I shared a bag of kettle cooked potato chips while watching NCIS. Not long after that it was bed time. Tomorrow it was back on the road. We would be stopping at a KOA somewhere near Canton, Ohio and we hoped to be out of Elkhart around nine.
    Day 6
    As usual Gary and I were up early. We were getting our coaches ready to hit the road. Gary had hooked up his tow car the night before. I was under the hood of my car pulling the ignition fuse which is the last thing I do when I tow the car. As I was closing the hood Roger walked up.
    "Are you guys leaving now?" he asked. "I hope not, because we aren't quite done with your coaches yet."
    They still needed to change my rigs oil. The day before, due to supplier problems the shop couldn't get the correct filter, but it was being delivered this morning. Gary's coach still had a wiper park failure error code. Walt hoped to get that cleared up this morning as well.
    Gary and I both figured that we came here to get things fixed so let the guys keep on working.
    About an hour and a half later my oil was changed and my bill was paid. During the time my coach was being worked on, JD, Gary and I were sitting in JD's office just shooting the breeze. I learned that JD had helped set up the Monaco service facility in Wildwood, Florida, then transferred to Elkhart where he worked for Monaco both in the coach and towable divisions. As the economy started to put holes in Monaco's ship, he was asked to come to ESC and had been there a good while by the time Gary and I first started talking to him. I also found out that ESC shared its facilities with a graphics company that custom painted new coaches. What that meant was that for the most part ESC could take care of about anything.
    Walt came in and mentioned that they were having trouble clearing Gary's wiper park failure alarm. They had done what the Workhorse techs had suggested which was to disconnect the chassis battery, do some kind of ground, and then connect it. I suggested that they call a service manager at Workhorse and ask him for help. His name is Eric and I have him on my speed dial. He knows more about the UFO then anybody I know.
    I think JD was a little skeptical that a regional rep would take his call. I told him to tell Eric that Gramps said to call him. So he made the call and I could tell that Eric answered. JD said that Gramps said to call, and I could tell that JD got a pretty good response from Eric. They talked for awhile and the conclusion was that the coach really needed to go to a Workhorse Service Center where they would have the latest and greatest diagnostic software. We all agreed that would be the best thing to do. At that point Eric asked to speak to me. We had a pleasant catching up kind of conversation. I told him the coach was working great and the guys at ESC were really taking good care of us. Eric was actually going through airport security somewhere and we made plans to talk again.
    Roger let us know that he was finished with my coach.
    We said our good byes. I once again hooked up my tow car and we were on the road again.
    That was it. Our coaches were now in really great shape. Gary had the wiper problem, but that will be fixed eventually. Later there was one thing that Diane wished we had asked the guys to do. She would like to fasten hinges to the solid stove top covers so that they could just be folded back when needed and not be a falling hazard. (See my blog about turkey soup).
    We would like to make a trip to Elkhart again. When we do we will be visiting JD and his crew. I don't think they will have any problem with taking care of Diane's wish.
    We drove until lunch time and stopped at a Flying J's for sandwiches and gas. Not too many hours after that we drove back into the hills behind Canton Ohio and soon we were at the local KOA. It was in a remote spot but it was also a very scenic spot. We sat up camp and Gary fired up his grill. We cooked hot dogs and sausages. We used the coals to start a camp fire. We just sat there staring at the fire and counting the stars. All of us were thankful that it had been such a successful trip.
    The next day would find us splitting up our little caravan. Gary and Janis would head east on I-64 to Charlottesville while Diane and I would stay on I-77 to Galax. I looked forward to that. I wanted to relax and play some golf, actually a lot of golf. I had a new to me set of clubs. Diane and I also wanted to visit with my parents and see our friends again.
    But that is another story.
  12. -Gramps-
    Saturday morning was sunny, but a bit chilly. Gary and I broke camp and pulled in our slides. He had not put his main one out because it just did not work smoothly. We discovered, the night before, that my main slide had a fraying cable so it would not be deployed for our second night. This would make the interior of the coach a bit tight but that was the breaks so to speak.
    The night before, while Gary and I were repairing my bedroom slide out topper/telephone pole mishap we had a visitor from Ohio who was also staying in the campground. He happened to see me on top of a ladder that was on top of a picnic table with my arms under the topper. We told him the whole sad story and he told us that the campground staff had warned him about that pole when he made his reservation. We received no such warning. He also warned us that we would not like the stretch of Interstate 77 between Beckley and twenty miles past Charleston. He informed us the traffic would be intolerable.
    While all this chatting was going on the ladies decided on our Saturday itinerary. Get up; get out on the road with Canton, Ohio being our next stop for the night. First would be brunch at Tamarack. This was the place that Diane had wanted to revisit for many years. She had been there once before during an auto cross country trip from Oregon to Virginia that she made with her cousin Elaine and two greyhounds. It is a very nice marketplace for area craftspeople and it has a restaurant run by the Greenbrier, a famous West Virginia five star resort. Also Saturday the tenth was her birthday and we all felt that a stop there was a small present but it was what she wanted.
    We called it a night. I tried to eat a bowl of soup but my phone keep ringing off the hook with customer calls. I thought that calling me after eight pm on a Friday night was a bit ridiculous. I kept telling them to call me back on Monday.
    The next morning, right after we all sang Happy Birthday to Diane, Gary and I started dumping, disconnecting and rolling hoses up. I did have a problem with the bedroom slide out. The topper would not retract. I pulled the slide in and the topper folded up like a fan. I put it back out and pulled my ladder back out of the basement. I climbed up and opened the topper cover and gave the roller a bit of a spin. It made a snapping noise and wound up quickly, like a window shade let go of too fast. It retracted just fine after that and I never had another bit of trouble with it.
    The ladies drove our cars back to the mine country store parking lot. Gary and I secured our campsites; we had to attach cables and locks. Then we carefully drove our coaches down the steep hill and made a right turn at the bottom. We met up with our cars and hooked them up. A few minutes later we were on our way. We made a left turn, back up the road carefully past the offending pole and then to the main street through town.
    We had good directions to Tamarack. It was a quick journey of a couple of miles, located right next to I-77 at exit 45. It's red peaked roof made it easy to spot. Tamarack has a huge bus and rv friendly parking lot. That is a good thing when you are suffering from post pole collision syndrome. (At breakfast I attempted to make some jokes about the telephone guy hitting the telephone pole but no one thought they were all that funny, including me).
    Tamarack was great. I was impressed. There were so many fine crafts there. Handmade baskets, quilts, glass etching, textiles and photography were all on display and for sale. We could see that it would take some time to eyeball it all and we were hungry so we walked over to the food court. They served cafeteria style. I glanced at the menu and saw what I wanted right away, the West Virginia Rainbow Trout and Eggs.
    The good sized trout filet was pan fried with two eggs over easy and served with Home Fried Taters and the biggest fluffiest biscuit I have ever eaten. It was really good. Along with the fish and eggs I had a bottle of hot and spicy V-8.
    Gary ordered the same thing and the ladies each had the Appalachian Omelet with fried green tomatoes (in the omelet), Red Eye Country ham and Swiss Cheese. It also came with home fries and Biscuits all for 4.95. They raved about it.
    Breakfast was worth every dime. After eating it was time for some exploring. First though I got a call from my parents asking where we were. I told them our location and also let them know that we hoped to be at our place in Galax by the following Wednesday or Thursday at the latest. We hoped to have a visit with them at some point.
    I also made a call to Joel. He was having a yard sale, at our home, with proceeds going towards medical bills he received for treatment of a dislocated finger. That happened during a soccer game. If you ever dislocate a finger do not go to a hospital emergency room. Find an Urgent care or just put up with the pain until you can see a doctor. An emergency room will sock it to you cost wise. Some of the proceeds of the yard sale would also go towards funding the band he is a member of. Joel is the drummer, the band is called Long Division and they just self released a CD.
    You can sample the album by clicking here:
    http://www.longdivisionband.com/
    The yard sale seemed to be going well. The band had made over 250 dollars by ten thirty. By the end of the day they would make 450 dollars.
    I found this out while we were walking around Tamarack looking at all their great craftwork.
    Around noon we were ready to continue our journey. We headed up I-77 and I mean up, to Parkersburg where we stopped for fuel. From there we continued to Clearwater RV Park in Uniontown, Ohio. It was quite the drive. We crossed the New River Gorge over the bridge that is famous for its wild bungee jumping. We traveled through Charleston. We made some wild stops to pay tolls and had some interesting encounters with slow moving truckers.
    At our exit for the rv park we had to make a right turn at the bottom of the exit ramp. Two cars in the left turn lane turned right instead and swung around Gary, who was leading us. The cars went into the oncoming traffic lane and then moved over and cut him off. It always amazes me how non thinking drivers believe our rigs can stop on a dime.
    We traveled without any more incidents down a long hilly country road until we reached the rv park. The park had a small water park that was not open yet. There was also a mini golf course. We parked our rigs, set up camp, had a nice talk with the park manager and then played a round of golf. The birthday girl won. After that I fired up my grill and toasted some hamburgers.
    We sat in Gary and Janis' coach and ate dinner while we chatted about our list of things we hoped to accomplish in Elkhart. The List of things included repairs as well as places we wanted to see. Top of our list of places to visit was the RV Hall of Fame.
    By nine we were all ready to call it a night. Diane and I avoided spending too much time in the too small living area (it was full of slide out) and decided to watch TV in the bedroom. I had recently installed a new 26 inch LCD and I figured that watching some old episodes of Christy would be a good way to end day two.
    I never saw the end of the episode. After about twenty minutes I was out cold. I woke up at the end of it. Diane missed it as well. So it was time for lights out. We wanted to get an early start. We hoped to be at Elkhart by late afternoon.
    Both coaches were getting anxious. So were the people in them.
  13. -Gramps-
    It is the 100th anniversary of the RV industry, so it seems appropriate to make a trip to Elkhart. Actually, I had no idea that it was or is the RV Centennial until I walked through the doors of the RV Hall of Fame in Elkhart, but I am getting ahead of myself.
    Diane and I, along with our friends Gary and Janis, have been planning on a trip to Elkhart, Indiana, for some months now. We were hoping to go there this past March 2, but the weather gave us all cold feet. In some places in Ohio there was over 30 inches of snow on the ground and our coach lot at Deer Creek in Galax, which we wanted to visit on the way back, had over 70 inches laying on it. I figured that since a snow plow, not being standard equipment on a motor coach, and would be needed to park on our lot, made a trip postponement necessary. We made plans to leave for Elkhart on April 9.
    Oh, the purpose of our trip was to visit Elkhart Service and Collision. Both our coaches were in need of some major slide out adjustments. Gary's coach had trouble with both the main and one bedroom slide. My coach's main slide out had never functioned correctly. BAL, the RV products division of Norco Industries, the designers of the cable driven Accuslide were planning on sending over a tech or two to work on the slide outs themselves. You can't beat factory direct service. Not to mention it's hard to get. Now this trip had a twofold purpose. In addition to the slide outs being repaired, we both had a long list of things we wanted done. Nothing on our lists was too major, but still necessary.
    The first of April showed all the signs of being a good weather month. We had ninety degree weather a couple of days before we left. Thursday, the day before our planned departure, I was making an emergency computer network install at the Trellis Restaurant in Williamsburg. I left poor Diane at home to pack up the rig by her self. This type of arrangement happens all too often, but that is the nature of running one's own business I guess. I made it home around six o'lock and spent the rest of the night loading up my clothes and the heaviest of the food stuffs into the coach. Our plan was that the only thing we would have to do the next morning was back out of the driveway, pull into the church lot next door, hook up the Saturn and be on the road by nine. We would not have to stop for gas, propane or anything else.
    We had the coach ready to go by 8:55. That is a new record. At 9 on the dot Gary called to see how we were doing. I told him that we were pulling out right then. Diane and I said our normal prayer for a safe trip, and started on our way. We met Gary and Janis, as planned, at the Monitor and Merrimac Bridge Tunnel inspection station. We both turned off our propane tanks and headed through the tunnel. ( It should be named the Monitor and Virginian tunnel, in my opinion, but if it was you couldn't call it the M&M tunnel which has a nice ring to it.) We kept in touch with each other with family radios.
    We traveled down I-64 for some 20 miles or so till we arrived at the first rest stop. There we turned our tanks back on and then continued. We were headed to Beckley, West Virginia. Our journey to our first overnight stop was almost uneventful. Almost.
    The drive west on I-64 was really nice. Spring had sprung. There were red buds in bloom, the trees were turning green, and daffodils by the hundreds were showing off their yellow heads along the road side. Both our coaches made it up Afton Mountain, west of Charlottesville, across the intersection of the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Skyline Drive.
    We turned south down I-81/I-64. It didn't take long to get to I-77/I-64 where we again traveled west, on to Beckley. We planned to stay at a small campground run by the Beckley Exhibition Coal Mine. This is a nice tourist spot where you can take a mine car tour of an actual coal seam led by a veteran miner. We would have liked to do just that but we didn't have the time.
    Once we exited I-77 things became a bit dicey. Our gpses? gpss? I am not sure what the plural is, they both went crazy. We had conflicting directions and so we had to choose who was right, Tom or Ms Garmin. We choose Ms Garmin, but it turned out that neither gps was capable of giving good directions.
    We ended up going down a very small street barely large enough for two cars to pass each other. Gary was leading as we came to some kind of police check point. I don't know what they were checking for, but they waved us through. Gary made a right turn down an even smaller street that was also very down hill. Diane told me to ask the policeman for directions. This request came a bit late to help Gary and Janis, but it was still a good thing to do. I opened the window and asked the policeman if the right turn was the way to the Beckley Exhibition Coal mine.
    "You don't want to go that way!" He responded.
    He said this with a lot of emphasis so I immediately began to think that my friends and our coach's twin were headed for trouble.
    The policeman gave us more directions.
    "You need to go straight ahead to the next light, take a right and follow the signs. You can't miss it."
    We continued straight ahead. Diane radioed this info to the other coach. We went to the first light, turned right and found ourselves in downtown Beckley.
    Gary found himself in a tight neighborhood with small streets with telephone and power lines hanging almost lower than the coach's air conditioners. This made maneuvering a bit of a drag.
    There was nothing we could do for them except hope for the best, and find a spot to wait for them to disentangle themselves from a small place.
    We pulled into a food mart parking lot located alongside the narrow street that led to the campground.
    We waited about fifteen minutes, but it seemed like half an hour. As soon as Gary and Janis came into sight we made a very tight left turn. I held my breath as I maneuvered the coach around the grocery store sign.
    One thing was sure: We didn't want to miss this place and drive past it, so my eyes were peeled to the streets on our right. At a curve in the road we came along side a telephone pole that was very close to the right curb. A couple of feet past the pole was one of those small campground signs, the kind with the trailer on it, the word campground and an arrow. This arrow was pointing up a very steep hill. I stopped. There was no way I could make that turn.
    "There is no way we can make that turn," said Diane. "We are supposed to check in at the mine, which has to be up ahead. Let's keep going."
    I agreed to that so I started to pull forward. As I did I heard something funny. It was a scraping noise of some kind.
    "STOP! STOP! You are caught on the pole!"
    This terrible but very necessary instruction from Janis emitted from our radio.
    I quickly stopped, and of course thought to myself:
    "What have I done now?"
    I exited the coach expecting to see the side of it crushed like an empty tissue box. Gary was already outside. I looked up to see the pole nesting itself in the 1-foot-wide space between the patio awing and the bedroom topper awing. Two telephone guy wires were broken and caught up in the awing as well.
    There was no damage to the coach itself. We had 1 inch between the pole and the side of the coach.
    This would take some kind of driving to get off the pole. I had only one idea how to get away from it. Do the opposite of what put the coach there in the first place. I told Gary that I was going to turn my wheels hard to the right and back up, toad and all. Then, if we were lucky, the coach would be clear and I could pull it forward. He agreed that it might work and he would give me instructions on the radio. Diane and Nickolas decided to watch from outside so they exited the coach. Now it was up to Gary, myself and some prayer.
    I got back in and used the UFO 55-degree turning ratio for all it was worth. With Gary giving me precise instructions and to the amazement and amusement of many people living along the street we inched that big monster back and forth until it was clear of the nasty pole. I did have to force one driver to back up quite a ways but he looked like he enjoyed it. I continued the one block up the road to the Exhibition main entrance.
    Diane and Nicolas hitched a ride with Gary and Janis. No, I didn't forget her.
    I parked the coach and made an inspection. It seemed that the pole pushed the bedroom topper out of position. It was now back about two feet and the topper was obviously being pulled in a direction it didn't want to go. It looked fixable and after all we were heading for a repair facility.
    At this point I just wanted to park it, eat some dinner, have a beer (now you know what they are really for) and call it a night.
    We did all the above. First we had the fun drive back down to the offending pole where we made a left turn up the steep hill to the campground. It was small but not a bad place. Gary and I repaired the bedroom topper. It took a while to get it back into position. I discovered that the plastic cover at the top of the left patio awning arm was cracked. I felt very thankful that that was all the damage there was. I figured that ESC could take care of it with no problem. I hoped so anyway.
    For the most part it had been a good first day. It ended with a bang, so to speak, but hey it was an adventure. Tomorrow would be another day. The mountains of West Virginian awaited us, then on to Ohio and Indiana.
    But first......a stop at Tamarack.
  14. -Gramps-
    Just a few days before I had this dream Diane, while walking Nickolas our dog, was attacked by a Pit Bull. It almost killed her. Mayber that event triggered the dream. Who knows, the human mind and spirit are wonderful mysteries.
    I Had a Strange Dream Last Night
    I had a strange dream last night. I was having trouble sleeping. My eyes hurt. I couldn't take the light from the clock on my stereo on top of the dresser. I finally heaved myself out of bed and moved a glass candle holder in front of that blasted blue light. Then I stumbled into the bathroom and by the faint glow of a street light coming through the curtained window, opened the medicine cabinet and struggled with a bottle of Advil. I took one with a handful of water and headed back to bed. In the short time I was gone the dog had taken my spot so I told him to move, which he grudgingly did. I crawled in next to Diane and quietly waited for the pill to take effect and help me sleep. At some point it must have worked. Maybe it worked too well.
    I found myself drifting out of my body. Slowly, I drifted about the room. I turned and saw Diane and I curled up as one, Nickolas at our feet. And then everything started to zoom out smaller and smaller until my surroundings were just a blur. I realized I was traveling somewhere at an impossible speed, but I had no idea where, but I felt no fear just a sense of patient anticipation, a strange mixture to be sure. I slowed down and began to recognize where I was, my daughter Jeri's home in Florida. I floated in place, the front of the white house illuminated by the moon. I could see the brown lizards with the blue tails, maybe the same ones I saw on my last visit, running across the walkway to her front door. I wondered how she and her husband Mark were doing, and the thought had barely entered my head when I started moving toward the door and then through it, like it was made out of strings of beads. I could feel myself pass through it; see it separate into segments around me. Once on the other side it appeared to still be solid. I floated into their bedroom, they were asleep, Jeri resting her head on Mark's shoulder. She was gently snoring. I hoped that I did not have to be concerned about them. All is peaceful here I thought.
    The room shrank and disappeared. I found myself flying to wherever again, some things around me recognizable, palm trees, street lights, buildings all blending together in stretched shades of blue and streaks of light. Soon it became so black I could see nothing around me at all. The air became warm and I could smell salt. Then I heard it. I was over the ocean. I moved out from the blackness I was in, to a stadium of stars, a carpet of luminous blue below me. Off in the distance I could see the horizon and perched on it a moving light. I drifted toward it or should I say I was moved toward it, the sea wind blowing gently around me. The lights came closer and closer and then I saw that it was a ship. Is it?....Is it?....It is! The Voyager of the Seas! No doubt about it! But why was I here? I came along the port side of the ship, drifting forward and then up to the top deck, into the bridge, always wanted to visit there, out and then down like a fast moving elevator. I found myself coming to a slow stop in the Royal Promenade. There were only a few people about, all dressed up. Tonight is obviously Formal night, I thought, and it's very late….and …hey this is the Centrum and Wow, Back up! I passed through the decks, one by one and slowed down, turned through the pastel passageway past a familiar Egyptian art display in a glass case and found myself parked, my feet (I guess I had feet) a few inches above the carpet in front of a cabin with the number 1234 on it.
    I know this cabin. Diane and I stayed here! When was it? It must have been a long time ago. I could not remember, my memory suddenly seemed fuzzy for some reason. I slowly passed though the closed door, a sensation I knew I would never get used too, and into the cabin. There was a reading light on over the bed. In the bed was a couple, I assumed they were husband and wife. The balcony curtain was open and the door was cracked, letting the very warm sea breeze blow the shears across the foot of the bed. I could hear the sea massaging the ship. On the couch was a cast off tux, white shirt and tie. A long black velvet dress was hanging neatly from the divider next to the couch. I caught the glint of one gold cuff link sitting next to a gold watch on the nightstand. I hung there and made a slow spin. On the coffee table was a glass of water, numerous bottles of pills, and a partially consumed yellow cake. It has to be their anniversary, I thought. I turned around a bit more. I could see the reflection of the room in the mirror, but the reflection did not include me. I found that a bit curious. I took a closer look at the two people. Though the room felt very warm, she looked pale and was covered up to the chin, except for one arm, with a familiar brown blanket. They looked about my age, maybe a bit younger. I noticed that their hands were clasped so tightly together that the knuckles were white, like they were holding on to each other for dear life.
    "They have been together as Man and Wife for over thirty years."
    My heart leapt in my disembodied chest. I had never heard that voice before but I recognized it at once. A tremendous feeling of peace came over me. I could not speak.
    They have? I thought.
    "Yes, and they have known each other since second grade."
    I looked at those intertwined fingers, and thought there is something wrong.
    "She's dying"
    My feeling of peace started to leave. I found my voice "Why? From what?"
    "Does it matter what?" said the voice gently.
    "No, I guess not." I said "She must be really scared."
    "She is more afraid for him than he is for her" answered the voice.
    "Why, is that? She's the one who is dying!"
    "She is afraid for him because he does not believe in me."
    And then I understood her fear, and I began to understand something else too.
    "He won't ask you to make her well will he?" I said.
    "He refuses, only because he does not know how to ask me."
    "Hasn't she asked you?"
    "She loves him so much that she only talks to me about him."
    "But she believes you can make her well doesn't she?"
    "She believes."
    "So do I."
    "Yes, I know that", said the voice.
    There was a sudden burst of lightning off in the distance. It filled the room like a reflected flash. I looked down at the woman and I could see color come into her face and lips. Her breathing became deeper and a bead of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She let go of her husband's hand sat up looked around the room and I could have sworn she looked right at me.
    "It's hot in here" she said softly.
    And then she kicked the blanket off onto the floor, rolled over on her stomach and put her arm around her husband. It started raining, the wonderful sounds and smells of one of those random little Caribbean squalls being pushed through the open balcony door by a cool breeze.
    I knew it was time to leave. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the somewhat creepy pass back through the door but in an instant my eyes were shocked back open by the sound of loud techno dance music. I was in the Vault. The place was packed. The lights were flashing. I was standing in the back part of the lounge. And I was no longer disembodied. I was wearing my single button tux, wing collared shirt, and the blue brocade vest I wore to our daughter Jeri's wedding. This was weird to say the least. Even stranger was that I knew, somewhere in the room, was a man and a woman that I was supposed to meet. I had to talk to the man first. I went upstairs to the second level bar and walked over to a young man, with a military style haircut, in his thirties most likely, who was sitting at the bar sipping a Coke.
    "Scott?"
    He turned around and gave me a somewhat puzzled look.
    "Yes…do I know you?" he asked.
    "Not exactly, but we do have a mutual friend, who told me to look you up… can I sit here and talk for a minute?"
    "Sure'' he answered. "Who told you I would …"
    Before he could finish his question I had planted myself on a bar chair and interrupted him.
    "I know you recently returned from a very tough tour of duty in Afghanistan. I know you went active from the reserves so you could go there because your sister was killed in the World Trade Center on 911. I know you are on this cruise at the suggestion of friends, who think, or hope that you will meet a, or should I say, The girl who might help bring a little joy back into your life. Am I right?"
    He looked shocked and after a pause and a swallow of his drink he answered.
    "Ah, yea, correct on all counts" he said. And then with a smile added "They told me they were praying that I would find her on this cruise."
    I looked at him hard. "If I told you that the answer to that prayer is downstairs would you let me take you to her?"
    It was now his turn to look hard at me. He did not answer.
    I sang, "Wake up….Wake up Dead Man…Our Father...He's in charge of Heaven, and He made the world in seven…
    Scott finished for me….
    "Would you put a word in… for me…?"
    A moment of silence.
    "That word has been put in. Will you let me take you to her?" I gently asked again.
    He choked out one word
    "Yes."
    "Okay, let's go"
    We walked down the glass stairs to the lower section. On the way I told him a little about Ginny, the girl that he was about to meet.
    "She likes daisies and roses. Her favorite food is seafood and she loves steamed mussels. She likes to dance swing, but she hasn't done it in quite awhile. Her favorite music group is U2. I saw the incredulous look on his face and told him it is my favorite group as well.
    "I am going to tell you one more thing and then the rest is better left up to you. Her fiancé was killed at the Pentagon."
    "On 911?" said Scott.
    "Yes."
    I led the way to a table with two attractive women sitting at it. One sat quietly in her chair, the other was more animated. It was obvious that they were sisters. Not twins but close.
    "Hello there."
    They turned around and look up at us. I took Ginny's hand and as I gently raised her out of her seat I said:
    "Ginny this is Scott. Scott this is Ginny. It has been divinely arranged for the two of you to meet on this night at this time and at this place. Now I think you two should sit down and start getting to know each other."
    Ginny looked nervously at me and then at Scott, who gave her a warm smile. She seemed to relax a bit and looked at her sister who was now on her feet as well.
    "This is my sister and I…'
    "Don't you worry about Barbara, she and I will finish this dance." I said
    I took the sister by the hand and as I led her to the dance floor I whispered to Scott
    "Walk on Scott, Walk on"
    He smiled. I am sure he got my message.
    Barbara looked at me like I was a mildly crazy person. We reached the floor just as the song Caught in a Moment finished playing (the evening was planned don't forget) I leaned close to Barbara's ear.
    "Scott is the direct answer to your very direct prayer. You have to keep this a secret; they will get married on your birthday."
    She started to cry.
    The song ended, the moment was over and I said goodbye.
    "I have to go." I said. "You, your sister, and Scott are going to have a good life; you just have to choose to live it."
    Barbara looked at me, nodded and said "Who are you? What is your name?"
    "My name is Derrick and I'm Diane's husband."
    I held one of her hands in both of mine for a moment and then walked out the door to the Centrum on deck three. I was not at all sure what to do next. Just a few minutes earlier I was practically a ghost and now I was literally standing in front of an elevator, by myself in a tuxedo with no place to go. I reached out and pushed the elevator button. It came; I stepped in, the carpet said Tuesday. When I went to bed it was Friday, and I seemed to remember that Voyager's formal nights were Monday and Thursday. Space and time were a bit off. I took the elevator to deck 5 because I wanted to walk the Royal Promenade as long as I could actually walk. The elevator opened and instead of turning right towards the Café Promenade and all its goodies (I don't know if I could have eaten one or not) I had the urge to turn left into Cleopatra's Needle. I walked in. The place was packed with people. It was Karaoke night just like the Tuesday night on my cruise. I stood out of the way in the back. I felt a little self conscious considering I was the only man in a tux, but no one seemed to notice me at all. I began to wonder if they could even see me. A couple of people sang and the order seemed very familiar. And then I heard my named called.
    "Is Derrick here?"
    I hesitated to answer; after all I was not sure I was really here or not. Before I could decide what to do a man sitting on the edge of the dance floor stood up and walked over to the host or hostess. She handed him the mike and said tell everyone your name, where you are from and why you are here.
    "Hi, my name is Derrick; I'm from Portsmouth Virginia……"
    A big cheer went up from the section to the left of the floor. I almost fell over because I stupidly realized that I was watching myself. Talk about Déjà vu. I had to sit down. As I took a chair next to an older couple I heard myself say:
    "… and I am celebrating my 30th anniversary. I would like to sing this song to my wife Diane who is sitting over there". He or I pointed to where she was sitting with her shoes off and her feet up on the chair in front of her.
    The other I then stepped towards Diane. There was a big cheer, as I remembered it; only out in the audience it was really loud. The music started, this time I was a spectator. I watched myself look at my wife and she looked back and neither looked away, even for a second.
    Most of the people around me were chatting with each other. But as the song progressed they stopped talking and started to listen, really listen…
    If I called you every time that I think of you…the phone would be ringing, all day.
    I keep thinking these feelings will mellow with time but not yet, no way. We've had our share of heartache and trouble, we can look back and laugh at it now, but a mystery keeps haunting me, how we hurt those we love most somehow, somehow.
    A real love expression is long overdue, so hear my confession of my love for you-I just never say it enough, and before it's too late and time's up; you're more than all I dreamed you'd be, an answered prayer, a gift of God above. But I just never say it enough.
    I believe God inhabits the human heart. I believe it more now than ever before and I see His reflection in You, in You, and I'm sure, yes I'm sure.. that a real love expression is long overdue, so hear my confession of my love for you- I just never say it enough…so before it's too late and time's up, you're more than all I dreamed you'd be, an answered prayer, a gift of God above.
    Some of the women started to cry, some of the men too. I had no idea that the song had that much impact and then I realized my face was wet also.
    But I just never say it enough. I just never say it; I just never say it enough. Nooo, I just never say it, I just never say it enough. Noooo… oh…. oh."
    I finished the song, the crowd all came to their feet and cheered, and it was loud. I watched myself put the mike back on the stand, take a little bow and run over and kiss Diane. I knew she was crying also.
    The hostess then told the audience that I was not part of the competition; I just wanted to sing something special for my wife and she hoped that after thirty years that they would be as much in love as Derrick and Diane.
    It was very strange. I wanted to soak up the moment from this perspective but I could not help but notice the older couple sitting next to me.
    The man looked familiar and then I remembered that Diane and I met him on the pier in San Juan. We were both on the Explorer and he told me he was a retired Israeli fighter pilot. He had served during the Six Day War.
    During the song the woman, who must be his wife, took his hand and stroked it. At first he did not seem to respond. But now, he twisted his seat around so that he could look directly at her.
    "I'm sorry, so sorry. I should not have gotten so mad at her. But what could I do? Now she is gone and I am dying inside. I have hurt you so much. How will we be able to look back at this? How will we be able to smile again, how can I laugh again?"
    The wife looked at him.
    "I don't know how, but we will, the song says so, somehow with God's help, we will."
    They both looked so unhappy and full of sorrow. I had a feeling that they had lost someone very close to them
    "Tell them that Sarah is with me"
    The voice startled me.
    "Derrick, tell them that their grand daughter Sarah is with me and that she is fine."
    I had to do what He said. I moved over in front of them and went down on one knee.
    "Hello, my name is Derrick…"
    They both looked at me and then looked again and then both of them looked at the couple sitting on the edge of the dance floor, the man, me, with his arm around his wife.
    I hoped that they were not about to scream or pass out or both.
    The man was speechless the woman finally spoke.
    "How can you be here and there…"
    I put my finger on my lips.
    "Shh, that is not so easy to explain. Besides I have something very important to tell you.
    Your grand daughter Sarah is in heaven, she is doing fine, and loves you both very much"
    They both stared at me for a long, long second and then the man took my arm.
    Tears ran slowly down his cheek as he told me that he had argued with Sarah about the man she planned to marry.
    "I did not approve of him at all. I did not like his family. They are not of our faith. Sarah said he is a good man, an honorable man who loves God and her. I became very angry and told her that she was as good as dead to me if she married this man."
    He had to pause. I waited.
    "She did not get the chance to marry him.. She died, at the hand of a terrorist. She was attending a birthday party for one of his friends and it was bombed. She was with him. He barley survived. I blamed him for her death. . I was a fool."
    His wife smiled gently
    "Yes you were" she said.
    "What should I do now?" he asked.
    "Love your wife, have peace, and ask the man that was to be Sarah's husband to forgive you. And be his friend. Be the Grandfather in law that you would have been. That is what you should do."
    "I think I can do that."
    I stood up, they stood with me and I embraced them both.
    "God be with you "
    "And you" he answered.
    I turned and walked out of the lounge and into the Royal Promenade. I slowly walked the length of the ship looking up at the windows of the cabins and into the shops. I thought about my time on this ship. When I was here I was relaxed. I trusted the captain and the crew to look after me and my wife. I knew that the ship and its' crew would provide everything we needed and then some. I never had the thought of telling the captain that I wanted to be in charge of my trip, that I wanted to pilot the ship because I did not like where it was going or because it was not getting there fast enough. I put my wife and my life in his hands so to speak. Should I not put the same trust into the Captain of the greatest voyage of all, the voyage called Life?
    I wanted to see the ocean so I went through the glass sliding door out to the deck. I walked over to the railing and I put my hands down on nothing. I found myself passing through the railing and out into the open air the ship slowly moving away from me. I was not worried. I must be going home.
    I floated there for a long time, the ship moving farther and farther away until once again it was just a few lights on the horizon. I looked at the millions of stars above me and the luminous blue below. And then everything became a blur again.
    I flew quickly toward home, soundlessly. I began to slow and soon I recognized the lights of my town. I have seen them from the air many times. But something seemed different; things were missing and others out of place. I drifted down to an empty downtown street. Not a soul about. Now I knew something was not right. The brand new fifteen story hotel was missing. A completed condo now looked half built. I realized that I was looking at Portsmouth some years earlier. I was not concerned, not after what had taken place the last few hours or minutes or days.
    Slowly I floated down street after street until I came to a hospital. I drifted through the front door. There were only a few people about. This had to be the past because this hospital had been closed for years. It was obvious that no one could see me. I continued up through the ceiling and found myself in the maternity ward. It was very quiet, most of the lights turned off. As I passed by an open door I could hear the sound of a new mother singing to her new baby. I moved down the hall through a partially opened door into a room. Lying on the bed was a young man, a lot younger than me anyway. His hands covered his face and it sounded like he was talking to himself, no he's praying. He had on jeans and sneakers and a gray Swatch watch just like an old watch that I own. He dropped his hands for a moment and then I knew exactly where I was and when. It was eighteen years ago, the night that my son was born; the night that he was so sick and my wife almost died. I knew she was in recovery from emergency surgery and my son was in the neonatal unit of the hospital. The man lying on the bed was me.
    For the first time during this strange trip of mine, I felt fear. The same fear and near panic I felt that May night eighteen years ago, the fear that I would loose two people. I did not want to experience that kind of fear again. I wondered why I was here.
    "You are here to tell him everything will be fine." said the voice. "You are here to tell him not to fear. That I have heard him and his family will be well."
    "How do I tell him or me? Can I see me? I mean I think I would have remembered if I met myself that night. I would have had a heart attack or something"
    I was sure I spoke out loud and it I could see that the younger me did not hear a thing.
    "Whisper to his heart and to his mind, he will hear you."
    "Lord, I don't understand, can't you do that? Why do you need me?"
    "Derrick you know the future, you know that it turned out fine, you can speak with complete confidence and the younger you needs to learn that when I speak to people, I do so quietly to their hearts and minds, and with the sound of their own voice. I don't set bushes on fire anymore. I don't write on walls. I simply give peace, a peace that is hard to understand but is very real… so speak for me."
    I did not know what else to do but move close to my own ear.
    "It's okay. Joel is fine, relax, get up and go see him. And then go to Diane and tell her that your son is doing well."
    The face of the me on the bed no longer looked strained and worried. He stretched, got up, took a sip of water from a glass on the bed tray and then left the room. I followed and watched him go into the nursery where his son, his little body full of tubes, lay in an incubator. He reached in and rubbed the little boy's back.
    I knew that Diane was just down the hall. She lay there in a morphine induced sleep. I knew she would be okay. There was only one thing that I wanted to do now.
    "Can I go home?"
    There was a very quick blur and I guess at the speed of thought, I found myself back in my bed with my feet solidly under the dog, my wife, with her bandaged ankle and arm lying exactly where I had left her, curled right next to me.
    "Where did you go?" My wife asked sleepily.
    "Honey, I have been lying here the whole night, except when I got up to get an Advil"
    "Oh, you were gone so long. I'm glad you're back."
    "Me too, go back to sleep."
    The dog yawned, I yawned and I thought about this cruise we are on. This cruise called Life. I know the captain. No need to worry.
    Derrick
  15. -Gramps-

    The Course of Dreams

    By -Gramps-,

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







  16. -Gramps-
    It's Easter Morning. This is a morning to celebrate Life, new life. I can see it out my office window. I see it in my grand boys; they are here in my office, playing on my computers. Because it is such a good morning I have the urge to share something with you, something that celebrates life.
    In October 2002 Diane and I went on an eight-night cruise. The ship was Royal Caribbean's Voyager of the Seas. We were there to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. Joel would be entering college the next year so it would be our last cruise for awhile. We didn't know at the time that we would purchase a land yacht (motorhome) and that it would be our last cruise for a very long time. We have not taken one since. Not on water, anyway. Now all our cruises are on land. We don't mind that one bit. Motorhoming is a better bargain when you consider the actual cost of cabin and food on a per cruise trip basis. Plus we are sleeping under our own sheets.
    I kept a daily journal (this was before the invention of the term "blog") of this cruise and published it as a 10-part series on the web at Cruise Critic.Com. It received thousands of views and many comments from around the world. It was very interesting to hear from people in Ireland, Canada, New Zealand and many other places.
    I suspect that some fellow Land Cruisers here also like to take a sea cruise every now and then, so maybe you would enjoy reading one part of the series. What does the journal have to do with my opening paragraph? It's a bit hard to explain. One Sunday morning, a few weeks after our cruise, I was sitting in church. The pastor's message was not resonating with me and I found myself thinking about a dream I had. The dream turned into a partially fictional story that I wrote in my head while sitting there. I put it down on paper as soon as I got home. Many people, who read it, said they wanted to believe it is a completely true story. Read it for yourself and you will find out how it celebrates life. It needs to be set up though, so you need to know what happened the third day of our cruise, then the dream story will make sense to you. If you have taken a cruise before, then you have an idea what goes on aboard ship and you should you enjoy reading this. If you have not been on a cruise I hope you enjoy my story anyway.
    Part V Day Three-Tuesday and Labadee is over there.
    Another morning of delight began, another morning with no alarm clocks, no Katie Couric, no disturbing pager calls. Today is going to be a great day; a day of nothing to do and happy to do it. I awoke slowly, very slowly, and took a look out the open balcony door. I could see the village of Labadee. The resort area was on the other side of the ship.
    I slipped on my robe and stepped out on the balcony. It was already very hot. I looked down at the blue-green water and immediately noticed large jellyfish swimming by the dozens, ghostly white beach umbrellas opening and closing. I was seeing these creatures from deck 10, they had to be really huge, not something that I wanted to meet at eye level. This was not swimming with the sting rays. The bay's salt content must be down due to a lot of rain water pouring into the bay from the mountains. We could thank Kyle for providing optimum conditions for these unpleasant creatures. However, the heat and the jellyfish were not going to be a problem for us, Diane and I had no plans to leave the ship. Unless you were kayaking (we did that the year before) or wave running (book them before the cruise) Labadee was a day of lying by the sea. Reclining around the Solarium pool with a good book and a good woman seemed a much better plan to me.
    I stepped back in, leaned down on the bed and ran my hand slowly down Diane's bare back. After thirty years the touch of her skin still causes my fingers to tingle. She rolled over and smiled.
    We were ready for breakfast, a brisk walk and then lounging around the pool with a great selection of chairs. Diane put on her swimsuit and cover-up; I put on my Speedos, (Remember? They are big red shorts) a Del Sol T-shirt and sneakers. We retrieved our sunglasses from the swans. We ran the stairs up one deck and aft to the Windjammer. No line, this IS a great day. We sat there eating our eggs and smoked salmon, melon, and sausage as the wave runners zipped around the ship sounding like a herd of wet weed whackers.
    They did look like fun. Off in the distance, I could see the parasail and the blue, green and orange kayaks. This was a most pleasant sight. We took our time sipping our water and nibbling on a second helping of cantaloupe.
    Off to deck 4, of course, for our morning constitutional. We had the urge to put on some speed this morning. I tended to get ahead of Diane so I would circle the helipad until she caught up. The section of deck around the dining room was closed for cleaning so we had to detour through the auto sliding doors past La Scala. If I hit the sensor just right and made a circle, we could slip through without breaking our pace. It looked weird but it worked. And the icy blast of air felt great.
    We were flying, around the deck, up the stairs, down the stairs, through the doors, around the port side, and....what is that awful smell?
    "Diane do you smell that or is it just me?"
    "It is you" she replied. I sat myself up for that corn toss. But there was a bad smell coming from a large blowing vent on the port side. I am guessing that it was the exhaust port for the garbage incinerator. We never noticed the smell at any other time. The source is still a mystery.
    We finished our walk; we worked up a good sweat which should make the cool pool feel great. We headed topside with a stop to pick up towels, (the note said to return them or be charged twenty dollars, this prevents people from leaving them on the chairs I betcha) and we grabbed sun screen, and books. The Solarium had about five people there when we arrived. The hardest decision of the daytime now faced us. Where do we sit? There? No. Over there? No. Here? Okay. Weary from decision making, we stripped to our swimsuits and I started to sit down. "I going to the spa at the party pool, this one is closed." Get in hot water? Okay. We walked to the main pool area and entered a spa. We had it to ourselves just long enough for me to figure out the controls and get the jets moving when another couple entered the pool. We chatted with them and found out the lady could not tolerate a lot of sun, and they also noticed the jellyfish. They were enjoying the cruise; she had been in the spa the day before and received the seaweed wrap, which she found to be wonderful, and afterwards bought 600 dollars worth of stuff. I could tell by the look on her husband's face that he did not find that so wonderful.
    We sat in the soup for about fifteen minutes and then went back to the Solarium pool. Without hesitation, I dove in. The water felt great, we splashed each other for awhile and then hit the chairs and did nothing until lunch time. Well, not exactly nothing. I did a lot of thinking. I reflected on the last year, all the emotional, mental, and physical pain that Diane and I had to share. The main reason for this Cruise was to have healing moments like this one.
    I was reading an inspirational book titled God's Psychiatry:
    One of the finest ways to relieve tension in your life is to picture still water clearly in your mind. Maybe a little lake nestling among some pines. Maybe a tiny, cool spring on some hillside. Maybe a calm sea with gentle rippling waves.
    After the picture becomes clear, then start repeating and believing, "He leadeth me beside the still waters." Such an experience produces a marvelous surrender and trust that enables one to face the heat of the day confidently, knowing there is refreshing and relaxed power awaiting under the leadership of one wiser than we.
    I did not have to imagine a still sea, I was on one.
    I must have slept some, because the next thing I knew it was after one. Diane, not wearing a watch but in tuned to her internal clock, informed me it was time to eat, so off to the Windjammer. It was closed. If you wanted a big lunch you best be on the Island or in the dining room. Wait! How about Johnny Rockets? That would be different. Up another deck and we were there.
    I liked the place; it reminded me of the Silver Diner. Good food and good music. We ordered the chicken club on wheat and one strawberry milkshake to share. The shake was so thick I thought I was going to pass out trying to suck it through my straw.
    After lunch back to the pool. At about three the Solarium started to fill up with people, I am not sure why. Some time after the Ships horn blew we were pretty sun soaked so we headed down to the cabin. Once there we took our time showering, and we were both on the balcony when the ship started sailing a bit late for Jamaica. I snapped a few pics.
    We lounged around the cabin reading and after five we started getting dressed for dinner. Diane put on a long form fitting purple dress with a red and purple scarf around her shoulders; I put on a Jones New York gray plaid suit with an iridescent purple-blue shirt and a color coordinated J.Garcia tie. I put a silver pocket watch in my right pants pocket. I also put something special in my inside coat pocket.
    We left with a little time on our hands, so we moseyed around the shops and had a couple more pictures taken, which we did not buy, and went to dinner.
    We may have gone down to the photo area and played "who can find the picture of us first game." I always loose.
    Tonight was Venetian night, and I looked forward to it, just like all the nights. We sat down and noticed that the younger newlyweds were not present. Wanich, who always addressed us by our first names, gave us a cheerful greeting and made his recommendations. We ordered a bottle of red wine, Mondavi, I think. I don't like red, but I liked this one. I ordered the tomato salad, roasted garlic soup, and went for the steak again. Diane ordered a lamb dish as her main course.
    Everyone went to Labadee except us. Mike and Betty said they wished they had not. Due to the extreme heat they decided to return. They spent more time waiting to board a tender than on the island itself. I commented on how quiet it was around the pool.
    Dessert was great as usual and all of us left a little earlier than usual because we wanted to attend the Crown and Anchor welcome back reception.
    The reception was in Cleopatra's Needle and there were free drinks and chocolate covered strawberries and such. Captain Olsen made a speech and recognized the couple that had made the most cruises with RCCL, one hundred and eleven, and awarded them a big bottle of champagne. Lynn made her Crown and Anchor pitch again. I considered that to be unnecessary since all present were already members. The floor was then opened to questions for the captain; any kind of question.
    I thought this should be interesting. It went something like this:
    Q. How do you spend time with your wife?
    A. How do you spend time with your wife?
    Q. How much money do you make?
    A. Not much but we have great vacations.
    Q. How many miles to the gallon does the ship get?
    A. It doesn't, it gets 55 feet to the gallon of fuel.
    Q. How did you meet your wife from Kentucky?
    A. I meet her on a cruise ship.
    You get the drift, really intelligent questions. From behind me a women jumped up and yelled Tor! And then asked something in what was obviously Norwegian. I looked around and it was the windmill lady. The Captain looked perturbed at the question and answered in English. "No, I have no plans to visit (somewhere) when I return to Norway and that was not my mother asking." The woman let out this huge and I mean huge laugh.
    And that was the end of that. Do not address the Captain by his first name even if you are from the same country.
    It was now time to see Two Funny Guys, I first excused myself to the men's room but that is not where I went.
    I walked back to our seats and took Diane's hand and we went down to deck 3 and sat very close to the stage. We were now in the most crowded section, so I looked longingly at a couple of empty seats in the mezzanine. We did not move. The Two Funny Guys were funny. They came on after Jeffrey made his very funny comments about the Hey Mon, smoke sellers in Jamaica. The Two Funny Guys interacted with the audience, yelled at them for being late, that sort of thing.
    After the show it was back to Cleopatra's Needle for the big Karaoke semi finale competition. We sat down up front right next to the dance floor. The singing started. Diane picked up a song list and started browsing through it while I sat there with my right leg bouncing a mile a minute. I was thirsty and needed some bottled water. I took my coat off, and then I put it back on, and then took it back off. Diane said "are you okay?" Just thirsty. "we can go to the promenade and get some water and come right back" No, I don't want to leave. A few people sang, some good, most bad. After the fifth or sixth person sang, the hostess, Michele I think, asked if Derrick is here. I stood up and walked to the microphone in front of the video prompter. Diane looked shocked. She knew I had no interest in singing a Karaoke song.
    Michele then said for me to tell the audience (the place was packed) my name, where I was from, and what I was doing.
    "Hello, my name is Derrick, I'm from Portsmouth Va. (a big cheer came up from my right) and I am celebrating my 30th anniversary. I would like to sing this song to my wife Diane who is sitting over there". I pointed to her where she was sitting with her shoes off and her feet up on the chair in front of her.
    I then stepped away from the monitor and moved toward her. A big cheer went up. The music started, it was not a Karaoke song, it was music that I had brought myself, a very slow but jazzy ballad called I Just Never Say It Enough, by Wayne Watson.
    I sang to Diane. I looked her in the eyes and never looked away.
    If I called you every time that I think of you, the phone would be ringing all day. I keep thinking these feelings will mellow with time but not yet, no way. We've had our share of heartache and trouble, we can look back and laugh at it now, but a mystery keeps haunting me, how we hurt those we love most somehow, somehow.
    A real love expression is long overdue, so hear my confession of my love for you-I just never say it enough and before it's too late and time's up; you're more than all I dreamed you'd be, an answered prayer, a gift of God above. But I just never say it enough.
    I believe God inhabits the human heart. I believe it more now than ever before and I see His reflection in You, in You and I'm sure, yes I'm sure that a real love expression is long overdue, so hear my confession of my love for you- I just never say it enough…so before it's too late and time's up, you're more than all I dreamed you'd be an answered prayer, a gift of God above.
    But I just never say it enough. I just never say it; I just never say it enough. Nooo, I just never say it, I just never say it enough. Noooo...oh...oh.
    I finished the song, I have sung before at my Church, but never in front of a crowd quite this happy. The all came to their feet and cheered, and it was loud. I put the mike back on the stand, took a little bow and ran over and kissed Diane.
    Michele then told the audience that I was not part of the competition; I just wanted to sing something special for my wife.
    Sometime later a gentleman with a large group won the competition with his great rendition of Proud to be an American. We all cheered for him.
    He was good, but not as good as me. That was Diane's opinion, not mine.
    Karaoke ended and many people came over to congratulate us, including the right side people, who were there from Virginia Beach, thus the reason for the cheer. The man who won said "you had us all crying over here".
    An hour or so later, after a walk and a snack, and a trip to the Vault that did not last long, we went to our cabin and found a cute dog sitting on the bed.
    I knew it was going to be a good day. It turned out better than planned.
    Derrick
  17. -Gramps-

    Today

    By -Gramps-,

    Well today was a rare day. Actually it has been a beautiful day. I took advantage of the great weather and did some work on our coach. I installed a Trik-l-Start to keep the chassis battery charged. The install was quite easy to do. I mounted the thing in my outside front wiring bay under the drivers seat. I read the directions first so that may have helped prevent a problem. I aslo added an over the door awning arm lock. I think there should have been two of them to begin because I ordered the lock and they only come in pairs. For some reason the coach came with only one. With one lock, one side of the awing would try to unroll, while going down the road, and that made a very unpleasant thumping noise. That irritation is now resolved.
    The best modification I did to the coach was to change the wiper arms and blades yesterday. I now have blades with a smaller j-hook which allows me to use the new 32 inch frameless wiper blades made by Tru Vision. These blades should hug the big curved windshield and hopefully the blade on the driver's side will no longer fly off and end up over the rearview mirror during a heavy rain.
    Last week I removed the twenty inch CRT telly from its swing out cabinet in the bedroom. I installed a 26 inch LCD in its place. I think my work looks pretty good. Now I have a digital convertor box that may end up, along with a tv, in a furture yard sale.
    I still have a few coach things left to do. Add a wall paper border in the bedroom and purchase some cleaning supplies. All this is in preperation for our trip to Elkhart. We leave on Thursday. I am looking forward to a good long road trip. It will give me something new to write about.
    Derrick
  18. -Gramps-
    This past weekend we traveled to Shawboro, North Carolina for a camp out with our Good Sam's Chapter. Four coaches were there and our small group had a great time. Friday night it was a quick group dinner of steamed shrimp, potato and bacon soup, cornbread, tossed salad with blue cheese crumbles and plenty of good cookies for dessert. Then the ladies played Mexican Train while us men shot the breeze for awhile and then we played a number of hands of King's Corner. Saturday morning it was scrambled eggs, biscuits with sausage gravy, yogurt with tropical fruit and some huge muffins.
    During the afternoon Diane and I worked on the coach. After three months of sitting it needed some work.
    Saturday night it was corned beef and cabbage, in honor of St Paddy's day of course. We played a bunch of rounds of bingo for prizes, finished up our game of King's Corner and then played a rousing few rounds of Sequence (my new favorite game).
    It was good to get out again. We had a lot of simple fun. The only mishap was the almost loss of a wiper arm on the way down. That would not have been the first time. It seems my coach suffers from a too curved windshield and if the wipers are set to high while driving (in the rain of course) above fifty five, the wind may lift the driver side blade off the windshield and then it wraps itself around the rear view mirror. I am glad that there is a lot of Rain-X on my windshield or I would not have been able to see at all. Not a fun moment when it happens. On my list of bad moments I would put it down around twelve, which brings me back to the real purpose of this blog entry:
    Another Not So Good Coach Moment:
    Road Rage?
    This not-so-good moment happened on the same day my coach was stuck in the mud. Not long after the Bounder was pulled from its trap, Joel, Diane and I said our goodbyes to my parents and we were on the road again. For miles we could hear mud coming off the sides and the undercarriage of the coach, but other than my normally shiny coach now looking rather shabby, we were not bad off. My nerves were a bit shot, but I expected them to settle down while driving home. We had one stop to make first. We had planned on visiting Diane's cousin Elaine in Raleigh, North Carolina, spend some time with her including dinner together, continue on home and arrive around dark. Due to our muddy misadventure we were now running late. We would have to shorten our time with Elaine, but dinner was still on the agenda. We had plans to meet at the Cracker Barrel not far from the Raleigh Durham airport just off I-40.
    After about an hour on the road we found ourselves near the busy intersection of Interstate 85 and 40. We made it through the intersection. Diane and I were chatting about the confusing directions coming from our GPS when this small dark car zoomed from directly behind and came up next to my window. I looked down at the driver. He was leaning over to the passenger side of his car, yelling at me. I had no idea what he was saying. He started waving his right arm around, then both arms, yelling even louder, but with no clarity at all.
    "Diane what does that guy want?"
    "I don't know, but he sure is acting strange." She got up and leaned over my seat.
    Suddenly he speed up. As soon as he was way out in front of me he headed over to the shoulder of the road. I glanced over to my right so I could keep an eye on him as we passed. Then I watched him in the rear view mirror. I figured that was the end of it, but it wasn't. A couple of seconds after we passed him, he took off. He crossed the right lane, coming up on my left again. This time he was practically hanging out of the passenger window yelling like a mad man, arms going like a windmill. I still had no idea what he was doing or trying to tell me.
    "What does he want? Do we have a flat? Are we on fire, I don't get it?" I said.
    "I don't know" Diane replied as she opened my window in an attempt to understand what he was yelling. "I can't understand him at all."
    Joel, one to never miss life's little comparisons made an observation.
    "He would make a good trunk monkey."
    That could have been funny except for the fact this guy was weaving in his lane. I was beginning to think he might swerve over and hit us.
    I found myself edging to the far right of my lane. I hit the zipper. I moved over. This was getting scarier by the moment, then the guy zoomed off in front and moved over to the shoulder again. Something told me he wasn't going to stay there. I was right.
    The third time was not charming. He zoomed up even faster this time, with a new tactic. He hit his horn, adding the noise to his arsenal of gestures. We could see that he was still yelling but we couldn't hear him over his horn. I resisted the urge to push my horn in return.
    "Why is he so mad? Did we cut him off or something?" I yelled.
    "Maybe we threw mud at him and he suffers from road rage" Joel responded.
    I almost believed that was possible, but I figured we lost the last of the mud off the coach fifty miles behind us.
    He was swerving and most likely swearing a lot now. It was getting harder to keep my eyes on the road in front, and keep my eye on him at the same time.
    Diane saw an exit sign.
    "Pull off there" she pointed to the distant off ramp just to the right of an overpass. "Maybe he won't follow us."
    "MAYBE he won't follow us? What if he does?" I asked.
    "Well, we will be safer off the interstate that is for sure."
    I had to agree with that, so I was going to signal a turn, but something told me don't. I decided that I didn't want this person to see my side blinker. He would then know what I was going to do. If we exited at the last moment, hopefully it would leave him no time to get over, follow us, then shoot us all, or whatever it was he wanted to do.
    He made it easier to get away because for the third time he zoomed ahead. He passed the exit. Now was our chance to get away. At the last possible second I moved to the right, punched the gas and headed up the ramp. The light at the top was green so I took a right turn. We headed for a shopping center.
    "Did he follow us?" I asked no one in particular.
    Joel, from his position on the couch, responded first.
    "I think we lost him."
    I parked the coach. I sat there for a moment. Then I opened a console drawer and pulled out my tire gauge.
    "I'm going to check outside."
    I left the coach for a quick walk around. All the basement doors were closed. The awing wasn't open, the antennae was down. My Crossfires showed proper rear tire pressure. The fronts looked normal, but I checked them anyway, just to be sure. They were fine but I wasn't. That diver had really scared me. The reason for his behavior was a mystery that would not be solved, which may have been a good thing. I really didn't care for my family to be part of a headline.
    I went back in the coach, used the bathroom, threw some water on my face. We were back on the interstate again in about ten minutes.
    We didn't talk much for the rest of our trip. I put on a Frank Sinatra CD and tried to calm down. It had been a rough day so far.
    Diane was trying to call Elaine to tell her we were still on our way, but would be arriving a bit late.
    We would arrive later than any of us realized because we missed a turn and ended up at the Airport.
    I was not happy with trying to drive a large vehicle past all the gates with their confusing traffic of taxis, cars, buses, and people with suitcases but we managed it. We got back on the right path to the Cracker Barrel.
    A good coach moment: Having a place to sleep after a good meal at the end of a very rough day.
    Elaine was waiting in the parking lot. She visited our coach for awhile. We retold the story of our stay in the mud, and gave her our account of the mad driver.
    "Well, it seems you have had a rough day today."
    My whole family practices the art of understatement.
    Joel summed the day up best.
    "We are here now, lets eat!"
    We did. We walked in to the restaurant, had a good meal, told some funny stories. Elaine told us about the things going on in her life.
    It was good moment but it was also late. I was exhausted so I told Diane that I was not up to the drive home.
    We already knew that the area had no campgrounds close by so she made a great suggestion.
    "I bet they will let us stay here."
    We asked the manager if we could spend the night. He agreed. So we left, said good bye to Elaine, and went back to the coach. We moved it to the far end of the parking lot. I put out the slides over the curb side. I started the genny so we could unwind with a movie. It was not long after it ended that we were all in bed.
    I hoped I wouldn't have crazy dreams about mud holes and trunk monkeys.
    I was so beat that even the planes flying directly over head couldn't keep me awake.
    I didn't dream at all.
  19. -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.
  20. -Gramps-

    The Richmond RV Expo

    By -Gramps-,

    I have two installments of Eighteen Months to write, but I need a break from it. I feel the need to post something about Motor Coaching.
    Our coach is still stuck in the driveway. Not literally, but figuratively. Weather and time constraints have conspired together to keep it parked right where it is for some two months now without moving an inch. Boy, do I have the itch to (notice the word inch and itch are very close) to get away.
    With the idea that going somewhere is better than nowhere and looking at motorhomes at a show may be better than just staring at ours through the window, we decided to make a day trip to Richmond, Virginia. We made a visit to the 25th annual Richmond Camping and RV Expo at the Richmond Speedway.
    We left around 10 a.m. this past Saturday for our 90-minute drive up north. Just before we finished breakfast it started snowing, again. We spent a few minutes browsing the weather reports online just to make sure we would not get caught in some weather we could not get away from. The reports all said this was just a short snow shower, so we took off with our supply of water, energy bars and dollar-off admission coupons.
    We arrived just at 11:30. We drove through the gate and found ourselves in the Vendors area close to the main entrance. The vendors parking lot was nowhere near full, so based on the number of vehicles around us, I had no real idea if this show would be all that busy.
    We walked through the cold to the ticket booth, paid our sixteen bucks (including our dollar off each) passed through the glass doors, showed our tickets and had the back of our hands stamped with the word FUN in blue ink.
    There were quite a few people there. The main entrance was crowded with people around a tall counter. They were filling out some kind of sweepstakes coupon, the winning prize being twenty five grand, and the consolation prize being a call from a time share organization. I declined to enter the drawing.
    I was more interested in exploring a couple of class A coaches. One was a new small Class A made by Winnebago. The Itasca Reyo (or the Winnie Via) is a 25-foot-long class A with one slide out that due to its size and floor plan feels more like a Class C than an A. The coach we visited was the 25T model. It has twin beds in the back that can be converted to a queen. There is also a queen bed over the cab. The cockpit area, which has a class A view, is lower than the rest of the coach but the chairs can be rotated and raised 6 inches so they become a part of the living area. Good thing too, because there is only one small couch/dinette that serves as seating. Diane and I both agreed that the Reyo appeared to be a well built coach, with a yacht like interior, functional and attractive at the same time. However, it's tight and lacking in storage that she and I are very used to.
    The Reyo is built on the Dodge Sprinter Chassis, normally a C chassis. It is powered by a 154-hp five speed Mercedes diesel which I suspect adds twenty thousand to the overall price.
    The Reyo had a show price tag of 119,000, just a few thousand less than the sale price of my 39-foot rig.
    Parked next to the Reyo was an Itasca Sunstar, an entry level class A, with a one piece windshield and traditional interior styling. It had the fit and finish, with muted colors, and the pleasant interior that Winnebago is known for. I did notice that the basement doors were not the full size flush fit doors, but were the old style hatch covers. That is not a look that I care for all that much.
    Also on display was an Encounter 30SA. The Encounter is Fleetwood's new entry level Class A coach. The Encounter replaces the old Fleetwood Flair. I don't know how Fleetwood manages so many models with multiple floor plans each; then again I don't know how Winnebago does either.
    The Encounter 30SA appears to be a comfortable coach. The coach body was standard, no full body paint, and like the Sunstar, the retro look basement doors. It is what Diane calls a side isle coach with the bed, bath and kitchen all on the curb side of the coach. The dinette and the fridge are in the main slide out on the road side. We would have given this coach a lot of consideration when we first shopped for one, if it had been available then. It had a show price tag of 88,000 which I considered a very good price. I heard more than one visitor to the coach saying they thought it would sell quickly at that price.
    Across from the Encounter was a Tiffin Allegro Open Road, a Four Winds Hurricane and a Tiffin Phaeton. The Hurricane is a nice coach. A bit plain on the outside but pleasant on the inside. Nice big dining booth, pull out bar, a comfortable coach. The Phaeton was the highest end coach at a show obviously geared to mostly entry level rvers and as a result the coach was crowded with curious lookers, not shoppers. It was a nice coach, no doubt about that, good looking woodworking, wonderful choice of fabrics and colors, great lighting (and that is important to me) and with four slide outs, plenty of room. The only thing that left a bad impression was a bit of wood framing on the ceiling. It really didn't add to the overall look of the interior.
    I finally made my way out of the Phaeton and visited the Allegro Open Road. Maybe I should have visited them in reverse. I was not overwhelmed by the Open Road. It is a good entry level coach, particularly for families with kids. It has a bunk bed option and with most of the floor space covered in vinyl, dirt and water being tracked into the coach is not a big problem. I think a bit more ambient lighting and a few more mirrors or pictures would warm it up a bit. This coach was built on a Ford Chassis.
    We took a look into a couple of Born Free Class Cs. Nice rigs but a bit pricey.
    That brings up an observation. There were not a lot of Class As at this show. The majority of the Class A coaches on display were in the 30 to 34 ft range. As I mentioned the Tiffin Phaeton was the highest end new coach there. Camping World had a couple of used late model Monacos on display, a Knight and a Diplomat.
    There was also one new Meridian parked outside the main entrance. All the gas class As except one were built on the Ford Chassis. The one exception was a Damon Challanger (nice coach with comfortable interior) built on a Workhorse chassis and that coach had a sold sign on it.
    There were a lot of sold signs on trailers. More than I remembered seeing last year. I took the opportunity to chat with one exhibitor and he informed me that the show was one of the hardest to stage, due to the snowy weather, but it was a very busy show with many serious shoppers. He said sales were much better than last year, not only at the show but for the year as well.
    I gathered from him and from others I spoke to, that the RV market was showing signs of recovery. The RV industry may be recovering, but it has also changed. The dealers were not pushing large coaches. The show was packed with trailers. The show gave the strong impression that the dealers believe the RV market now wants smaller, less expensive, kid friendly RVs be they trailers or coaches.
    We visited the vendor area, chatted with some campground and resort folks, and then grabbed an overpriced lunch before visiting the second building. We caught the shuttle bus, and found out it would have quicker to walk. This building belonged to one dealer exhibiting Forest River, Four Winds, Damon and Winnebago products. It was packed with trailers and there were about 25 coaches, equally divided between As and Cs with a couple of fancy Bs.
    We visited two or three Damon Challengers. All were pretty basic coaches, not bad.
    We left the show around 3 p.m. and made our way home. We stopped at Outdoor World in Hampton just to see if anything was on sale and then we visited BJ's wholesale nextdoor.
    By the time we arrived back home, we were beat. The rest of the evening was devoted to Pizza and the Olympics, although I think I have seen all the snow I care to look at.
  21. -Gramps-

    Restless

    By -Gramps-,

    I suspect that many readers of this here blog of mine (notice my use of a bit of Southern Speak) wonder what most of my last few entries have to do with motor coaching. My initial response is: not much.
    However, there might be a connection.
    I have a restless nature. I can't sit still for long periods of time doing nothing. I have to be reading, writing, watching something very interesting, and usually commercial free, on the LCD. I might play a World War II FPS online. For you non computer gamers, a FPS is a First Person Shooter. My restless nature may have been a large contributing factor that helped produce the mindset that led me to become a citizen of the RV community. I have always thought about places that I have not been to and places that I want to return to. I think about places that are anywhere except where I am at the moment. That has to be one of the reasons I bought a Motor Coach. What does a MOTOR coach do? It takes you to other places. My restless nature also contributed to the purchase of my motor coach lot. I love where it's located, near the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Parkway is a road. What do roads do? They lead you to other places. I can take the coach down that road or some other road at a moments notice.
    Well sometimes I can do that. The reality is that I am still constrained by time, money and business responsibilities. But those things don't stop me from dreaming and planning and hoping.
    As I said, I have a restless nature. I am sure that I inherited it. My mother and father were the youngest of seven and six siblings respectively. My Mom was the only one of her family to move away. My Dad was one of two. Every other sibling stayed very close to the place where they were born. There is nothing wrong with that. I am still living just across the water from the city I was raised in. I am presently living in the city I was born in. There was a time I couldn't wait to get away from here and leave my parents behind. I did just that and then I moved back, close to my parent's home, but not too close. Then sometime later, my parents became somewhat restless living here so they moved away, back to where they came from and left me behind. They live in Lexington NC just north of Denton.
    Dad did manage to see a lot of the world long before they settled down here and then again in their cabin in the woods. My Mom saw some of it with him. The part she saw was inside the borders of this country; however she could not allow herself to travel with Dad overseas. The pull of family, and those country roads, was always too strong. The ties to Denton just would not stretch to Sicily or Manila or Barcelona.
    I wonder to this day what my life would be like if part of my childhood had been adventurously spent in Italy or somewhere. I wonder even more when I think about the places I have traveled to and the people I met there. Yes, I have had some opportunities to feed my restless adventure craving nature.
    I have been around the world in ten days. Diane and I have been on numerous cruises to many islands surrounded by a Caribbean blue sea. I have been to the west coast many times. Many years ago I met Danny Thomas, Ephram Zimablest Jr, Francis Ford Coppola. Many years ago I was friends with Kathy Lee Gifford before she became Kathy Lee Gifford. I used to work for Ted Turner before he became rich and famous. Diane and I worked for Jim and Tammy Bakker back when they first started and traveled with them over most of the Eastern half of the United States. I worked for Pat Robertson as a roaming news videographer. I have installed phone systems on merchant vessels in the Pacific, the Indian Ocean and the Atlantic. I have taken weapons classes just in case the ship I was on was attacked by pirates. Diane and I have been camping in our first coach during a terrible Cape Hatteras nor'easter. I have seen fall colors while driving the coach around Grandfather Mountain that are so gorgeous it made me want to shout. We have been to some great coach rallies. I have been to Disney World multiple times. I felt like a kid, and loved every minute of it. I have been awed by the Grand Canyon.
    All of these experiences, friendships and encounters now seem short and sweet.
    What it boils down to is that my restless nature, at times being transported by plane and now by coach, has driven me to collect a lifetime of experiences that constantly fly through my mind.
    When I am sitting in front of my computer and mulling all these memories I look out the window at my coach, and ask myself the same questions.
    The First question gets overridden by all the following ones.
    First One, how do I keep paying for that thing?
    The following ones: Where is that thing going to take me to next and who am I going to meet when I get there? When is the next time our coach is going to add to my collection of dreams, hopes and memories?
    I always hope it is soon.
    I think you might be starting to understand why I write so much about my past. My past, your past, each has so much to do with who we are, what we believe, what we hope for, and what we will become.
    I sometimes want to retire now, retire from the phone game and become a full timer, free to go pretty much where my coach can take me. Once I get there, if it doesn't work out the way I thought it would or if I just feel like it is time to leave, then I may just pack up the rig and go.
    That is what I would like to do, but I also inherited a sense of responsibility from my parents as well. I have to look after my family until all members can look after themselves. I have to be settled and stable. What I want to do, when I can do it, and what I have to be now seems so far apart. I don't want to give up, but there are times I think the distance between responsible reality and my dreams is so great that it might drive me crazy.
    Do you understand what I am trying to say? Do you understand how your past pushes you to dream for something better only to find that it may be slipping away? You may have to let go of it because it is the responsible thing to do.
    I am quite sure that my Parents know exactly what I mean.
    How is that for a lead in to the rest of my story?
  22. -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.....
  23. -Gramps-
    I have been suffering from a bad case of the blahs, so I have not made a blog entry for some time. You could call it a case of the blags. Today, however, I seem to have a sudden burst of energy. I am looking out my office window at my snow-covered coach and at the 10-inch-thick white blanket that is covering my front yard as well as the rest of the neighborhood and I feel inspired to write something.
    What, I don't know. I have not done any RVing lately. Nothing except trying to keep my coach warm, so that the batteries and the tanks and the water heater won't freeze. I have been successful so far, although I think I may have a damaged ice maker solenoid. I forgot to disconnect the water supply line and let everything drain. It's not a big deal; we don't use the ice anyway.
    I suppose I could write another chapter about my past Christmases. Seeing all this snow makes me think of that time of the year, even though it's the last day of January. Why not go ahead and tell you about one of them? It might do us both some good. It's a Christmas that I love to remember, the events leading up to it ... well, not so much.
    Christmas 1968 was the end of a very rough time for my family. That rough time started some 18 months earlier.
    In February 1967 my father, George Clayton Parker, at the rank of AMHI (for you non-military folks, that translates to Aviation Metal Smith first class), retired from the Navy. He had a distinguished career that spanned twenty one and a half years starting in July 1946. A few days after his 18th birthday, he enlisted.
    Just months after the official end of World War II, my father, then a member of the Military Police, soon found himself in the Philippines as part of a combined service task force whose assignment was finding and apprehending Japanese soldiers hiding in the mountains around Manila. He also had to do the same in Guam. These desperate men had either refused, or in many cases didn't know how, to surrender. This was a dirty and potentially a very dangerous job with no glory attached to it at all. Like many vets of the War, he has never talked at any great length about that time.
    My dad's last position in the Navy was as a career counselor, and his job, ironically enough, was to try to keep people in the Navy. The Navy couldn't keep him. Our family was growing faster than his military paycheck could keep up with, and Dad came to the painful conclusion that he could support his family only if he became a civilian.
    That wasn't all of it, though. My mom wanted to move back to Denton, North Carolina, to be closer to her father. To that end, Mom and Dad purchased four acres of land from my grandfather for a very low price. The plan was to move in with Papa, and live there while Dad and my Uncle Hubert, who was in the home construction business, built our family dream home.
    It was not a bad plan, I suppose. Dad could find a job in the area. There were many booming textile factories in Salisbury and other towns around Denton. All of us would pitch in to clear our new property and start building. At the same time, my mom would be near her dad and the rest of her clan. My brother and I would attend school in Denton. My sisters, too young to attend school, would have all kinds of female cousins and aunts to fawn over them. When summer came my brother and I would be living on a farm with mountains and lakes and cousins close by. It would be one big vacation! Or so we thought.
    I remember the day my dad retired. The ceremony started at 7 a.m. and took place inside the enlisted men's gym. I sat nervously on a hard chair, with my hands under my backside because they were shaking so hard. I watched my dad, wearing his starched Dixie cup hat and in his crisp Navy Blue dress uniform, with lots of gold hash marks on the sleeves, walk between the ranks of Navy Men also in their dress blues. He was making a final inspection, a privilege usually granted to retiring officers. My dad, however, had an exceptional career and was given a retirement ceremony that recognized his service. Before the inspection a Navy band played the National Anthem and the Navy Hymn. The Commanding Officer of the Norfolk Naval Air Station made some complimentary remarks; my dad, at times choking back tears, said some farewell words.
    He finished his inspection, was piped out of the building and his days as a sailor were over.
    I was no longer a Navy brat with trips to the base theater, the bowling alley, the exchange and all the other perks that I took for granted. It was now time to go to our no-longer home, pack up our lives into various-size boxes, rent the house to strangers, then say a lot of goodbyes, and head to a small town where everybody knows everybody else.
    My grandfather's house was a two-bedroom place with a large glassed-in front porch, a dining room, formal living room, den and an enclosed back porch. It was built long before indoor plumbing was in style and so the bathroom was an ad-on that you got to by way of the back porch. The house was heated by an oil circulator in the den and there was also a potbellied wood stove sitting on a stone slab on the front porch. I would get to know that stove very well.
    We moved in during a bitter cold spell sometime around Valentine's Day 1967. My sisters shared a bedroom with my parents. Rod, my younger brother, and I, we moved into the enclosed front porch.
    The porch was divided by a curtain to give Rod and me some privacy. We had a couple of twin beds with electric blankets, a desk, and some shelves. Underneath the shelves we fastened some iron pipes to hang our clothes. We also had a chest of drawers and on top of that our own television set. It was black and white, of course. The antenna was attached to a 10-foot pole just outside one of the porch windows. One of us would go out there and stand on an overturned wash tub so we could see the television. Then we would turn the pole until we got a picture that was viewable. We did this every time we changed the channel. It's a good thing that there was only two or three of them.
    I remember twisting that pole on Friday nights, so that Emma Peele of the Avengers could be viewed without being in a blizzard of electronic snow. We twisted it on Saturday mornings in order to watch the Three Stooges. There were times when my fingers froze to that pole. There would be other times when it was too hot to touch.
    It was quite an adjustment to learn how to live in the dead of winter in a porch room heated by a wood-burning stove that went out in the middle of the night. Having no heat was not good. Some of our first nights, the temperature dropped down into the low teens.
    I liked to shower before bedtime (my grandfather didn't have a tub) and many a night I would wake up with my hair frozen to my pillow. Rod wrapped himself up in his electric blanket. In the moonlight shining through the windows, it looked like a white body bag in the bed next to mine.
    Not long after we moved in, Mom took us in to town to register us for school. Denton had one elementary school, one junior high, middle school as it is called now, and one high school. So we knew where we would be going, it was the same school my mother attended, her brother and sisters, and most of my cousins. We would be riding on the bus with one of our first cousins and a distant cousin was the driver. The bus picked us up in front of my grandfather's gas station and country store at seven am on the dot. Rod and I were the first ones on the bus and the last ones to get off. It took one hour to get to our destination.
    The day Mom registered us we took the car into town. That took only twenty five minutes. The principal was in charge of all three schools and he had been there forever. My mom told me that Principal Harper (not his real name) was known, without affection, as The Frog.
    Everyone in the school office knew us, and knew we were going to register that morning. I think they knew it before I did. That is just the way it was in that town. As a matter of fact, later that summer my parents planned a trip to Expo 67 in Canada. They wanted to surprise my brother and me, but the surprise was spoiled by the local barber, who told me about the trip while cutting my hair. How he learned about it is still a mystery.
    Let me get back to my story. Mom registered us without a hitch and just before we were to go to our new classes Mr. Harper commented on how we would like our school here more than the big city schools we had moved away from.
    "Why is that?" I asked.
    Mr. Harper's response was totally unexpected.
    "Because young man," he said with a smile, "we have no coloreds here in our school."
    I didn't know what to think about that. I was a Navy brat. My former school was mostly Navy kids, so it was integrated. My family had lived in Navy housing, it was integrated. Our church was integrated. My dad's second floor Navy office was integrated, so was the enlisted men's club that was on the first floor. The Navy exchange and the Marine exchange, the theater, the commissary, all of these were integrated. I knew about people being separated by rank. The house in Norfolk we just left was in a neighborhood of homes owned by mostly Navy officers. I went to school with their kids, but I had never been in the officer's mess or in the officer's club. I was used to that but this statement by the principal didn't seem right to me. Not right at all.
    I looked up at my Mom.
    Something seemed to come over her. She lifted her chin up, stood up straight and looked the principal right in the eye. In her best "you better listen to your Momma" voice, she responded.
    "Mr. Harper, I have no choice, I have to enroll my boys in your school, so I am going to ignore that remark and I will hope that in spite of the fact that there are, as you so proudly put it, no coloreds here, that my boys will still manage to get a decent education."
    She grabbed both our hands and jerked us toward the door.
    "Now would you be so kind as to let me take my boys to class."
    Mr. Harper's mouth flopped open and his eyes bugged out. I knew then why they called him The Frog.
    Once outside Mom started walking so fast toward the Junior High School across the street, that she pulled Rod off his feet. As she was helping him back upright I said to her:
    "Way to go Mom, you sure let The Frog have it!"
    She turned and glared at me. I had seen that look before. That look could kill flies in mid air. "Mr Harper is still your principal and don't you ever forget that, do you hear me?"
    "Yes, maam," I answered meekly. "I hear you."
    "Okay, now let's go to class."
    It seemed like the best thing to do. I had a lot to learn. As it turned out, we all did.
  24. -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.
  25. -Gramps-
    There are so many memories washing about in my head. Putting them down "on paper" is not all that easy. Some come out bright and fresh, others faded and worn. All become more comfortable with time.
    The baked cookie ornaments on our tree were created for a special family Christmas that took place in Martinsburg, West Virginia in 1980. My aunt Hazel invited all of her family and her husband's family to spend the Holidays in a very large two story unheated garage. No one was allowed to bring any store bought decorations or presents. Everything had to be home made, the things hanging on the tree, under the tree and on the dinner table. Sounds like fun, right? It was.
    There was close to thirty of us inside that garage. It was four degrees outside, while we camped in the basement on mats and sleeping bags. We stayed warm by a pot-bellied wood burning stove, until my sister Kam let it go out. Then we fired up a bullet heater and pointed it at the cinder block grease pit until the blocks turned red. It provided enough heat to keep the place above freezing, but a lot of odor and noise at the same time.
    Dad and I hunted for a tree in the woods surrounding the garage. We found a nice Juniper, cut it down hauled it back to the garage and suspended it from a beam into a bucket of soon frozen water. Diane, our girls and cousins, strung cranberries and popcorn. They also blew eggs and painted them. The tree looked quite old fashioned by the time they finished manufacturing and hanging their hand made ornaments.
    Christmas morning there was lots of food for breakfast, even more for dinner, that didn't need to be refrigerated, not in the conventional manner anyway. We ate a lot; we sang songs, told stories and had a grand old time.
    I took a bunch of kids to visit Harper's Ferry. All of us froze but nobody cared. That adventure was the icing on a wonderful Christmas cake. It was a very unique time that no one who was there will ever forget.
    Just a couple of nights ago, my father and I were talking about that West Virginia Christmas and other ones as well. He reminded me that the three Shiny Brite glass ornaments that Diane and I have were part of a set that my parents bought in 1952 while in the Navy and stationed in Jacksonville Florida. I don't know anything about that Christmas, I wasn't there. Most of my early memories are a blend of little thoughts and feelings mixed with some things that have happened. Christmas dinner on base in Norfolk, parties where there were lots of Marines in uniform, trips to downtown Norfolk to look at window displays at Smith and Welton's Department Store and while there waiting in a very long line to visit Santa.
    If you have watched the Parker Family in A Christmas Story, you know what I mean. As a side note my Mom had a hard time getting my little brother to eat also.
    There is one Christmas memory that is very vivid. I think I may have been eight or nine, my brother Rodney four or five, so it could have been in 1961 or 62. We were living in a little two bedroom, one bath bungalow in the Ocean View section of Norfolk, Virginia, not far from the Norfolk Naval Base.
    We did what we usually did on Christmas Eve; we boys would put on our jammies and then the all of us would pile into our yellow Chevy Bel-aire and take a drive on base to see the Christmas lights on the ships. It was an impressive sight. Each ship had hundreds of lights strung from the bow to the highest point on the ship, and then to the stern and there were more than a hundred ships. It was so beautiful it hurt to look at them.
    After cruising by the ships, it was home for hot chocolate, the reading of the Christmas Story from The Gospel of Luke, prayers that God and Santa would both be good to us and then to bed for what little adrenaline laced sleep we could get.
    This particular Christmas eve, Dad and I did something special before I hit the sack. We fried a hamburger and made a sandwich for a nighttime visitor. Dad said that he figured Santa might need something more substantial than more milk and cookies. We placed it on a white plate, along with a tall glass of iced tea on the living room coffee table.
    Early the next morning, Rodney and I dashed into our little living room. The tree with its glass ornaments and big lights was all ablaze. We found lots of toys and goodies spread all over that small space. My brother with an excited yell, rushed over to an electric toy car wash. It came with a number of cars and it wasn't long before he figured out how to run them through the wash, brushes turning and water spraying.
    I found myself becoming the new proud owner of a shiny black and red Murray Paper Boy Bicycle. It had a carrier on the back wheel with a spring catch and a big wire basket in the front. That bike thrilled me. I would not get that excited about a vehicle again, not until Diane and I found ourselves inside our first Motor Home.
    In the middle of the room was a large Radio Flyer Red Wagon. The wagon was lined with some kind of gray egg carton like packing material. On top of that was a white plate with a half eaten Hamburger and an empty glass. What can I say? To a believer like me that was quite a sight to see.
    It was a great Christmas. Things would change however. It would not be long before I would be forced to grow up and look at future Christmas days from a more mature perspective.
    A couple of days before Christmas 1966, we packed up the old antique glass tree decorations and drove from Norfolk to Denton, North Carolina to be with my grandfather.
    My grandmother had died from a cerebral hemorrhage just a few short months before. I understood my mother's desire to be with her father on Christmas, but being the immature thirteen year old that I was I didn't want to make the trip. This was to have been the second Christmas in our new home in Norfolk, and I looked forward to being with my friends, having a big tree and just enjoying all the other things that we normally did. The thing that bothered me the most was that I was told that we would be taking presents with us for my sisters, but that left no room for anything for us boys. We would have to wait till we got back to have our Christmas gifts.
    My youngest sister was only a couple of months old. She was only eight days old when we made a quick trip so that my ill grandmother could see her. Penni Creola was named after my grandmother and we hoped that she would give our Memaw a bit of a spark. The visit didn't help. Memaw never realized that we were even there. We made the trip home and it was not long before we had to make a return trip for her funeral.
    So, now we were on our way for the third time is as many months. It wasn't an easy trip under the best of circumstances, so it didn't help that I moped the whole way down, plus Penni was carsick most of the way.
    Once there Dad had a talk with me. He explained that Papa, my grandfather was lonely and ill, and he really needed our company. He told me we could still have a good Christmas, that it was time to give and receive love, and not worry about things that were not under the tree. I thought about his words for awhile and then I figured I was thirteen and it was time to grow up a bit, so I agreed to do what he said, I would make the best of it.
    Dad and I went tree hunting. This was something I liked to do. We couldn't find a suitable one on Papa's property, but just over a ditch that divided Papa's land from his neighbor's, and next to a barbed wire fence was a pretty, seven foot tall, cedar. Dad took a look at it and said that it would do just fine. So, technically, I guess we stole a tree. We also managed to knock a big bunch of mistletoe out of a large tree with a good size rock. We took our prizes home and started our Christmas.
    We hung some of Papa and Memaw's ornaments on the tree, plus some tinsel and our old set of Shiny Brites went on the tree as well. Dad asked me to help play Santa and set out the Fisher Price toys for the girls. By this time we were all beat and so, without a Christmas Eve trip to see the lights on the ships, we went to bed.
    I lay awake for quite awhile, thinking about the table top hockey game and the clothes and the long play albums that I had on my list, none of which I would see tomorrow morning. I also thought about my agreement to make the most of it. So I prayed to the Lord that I would remember what the day was really all about and asked him to help me to grin and bear it. I closed my little prayer with a thank you and good night. I figured that I would be doing more bearing than grinning and so I didn't have that child-like anxious anticipation that I usually had so many Christmas eves.
    The next morning I woke and quietly made my may to the living room to find my sister and brother playing on the floor with her new toys. The window behind the tree looked out on Papa's yard. I was shocked to see something I didn't expect to see at all.
    The ground, the bushes, the trees, they were all covered with snow and it was still falling. I was looking at my first and to this day....the only White Christmas I have ever seen.
    I grinned and made the most of it. My cousins came over with gifts, and food. We had snowball fights, built a snowman and had a good time. It was a blessed Christmas and a few days later we made our way back to Norfolk. Upon arrival I found a table top hockey game on my bed. Dad told Kam that Santa must have not known we were going to North Carolina and delivered it to the wrong place.
    I didn't say one word. I just made the best of it.
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