Date:                           August 30, 2006

Location:                    Bath, New York

0910

Mother Nature is a fickle woman.  Some of her mood has been felt here in the last few days.  We have been privy to her pouting and grey funky attitude for, what seems, a life time.  I know it has been but a week or less, but it seems like every time I have looked out our window all I have seen is clouds and a foggy mist.  The hills are on vacation and not to be seen most hours of the day.  When they do peak through the mist and drizzle they seem to be seen from a mystic fantasy and not the pristine Finger Lakes scenery I am so fond of enjoying.  Mother Nature has certainly been in a mood around here this week.

This is not why I started writing this morning. We should be used to the fickleness of weather in upstate New York.  Rain and lingering fog is not an abnormality.  It is, most of the times, the normal expected grey funk we call weather.  If one was to look at a weather map they would notice that most of the weather patterns exit this country by way of New York.  Or more simply said; “Everything in is garbage out through New York.  I think you get the picture.  This is not the fickleness of weather it is just the facts.  Mother Nature’s unpredictable attitude is more exemplified by Ernesto and Katrina.  Both hurricanes, both arrived on the scene at about the same time of the year, and both had the same area of beginning and same heading.

We all know the effect of Katrina and just in case you have forgotten we have been barraged with hour after hour of reminders on the varied channels of soup sellers that pretend to be news networks.   There is no question about the devastating effect of that hurricane and the disgusting example of our government’s inability to serve us and protect us.  Katrina was a major cataclysmic weather disaster and has forever etched her name on American history.  This may be why Ernesto was given so much attention as he churned in the Caribbean and headed toward our shores.  This may be why he was touted as being the next major climatic event of the century.  This may be why, or maybe it is just easier to sell soup if the American public can have the _ _ _ _ scared out of them.

            Ernesto had a mind of his own.  To this point in time he has been a pussycat of a hurricane.  Actually he lost his hurricane status almost before he found it and is now and has been “just” a tropical storm.  The 8 to 15 inches of rain that Miami was to get is so far a meager 1 and a half inches.  The category 3 hurricane with 100 mile an hour winds is a strong breeze with gusts of less than a bean-fest at a campout.  Ernesto has been a typical, all be it, mediocre summer storm, and the word storm may be an exaggeration.  The Weather Channel is still forecasting the possibility of a disastrous storm.  They may be right, as I started this morning Mother Nature is fickle.  I am sure we all hope the experts are wrong.

            Mother Nature does not watch TV, news or otherwise and she will do what ever she decides to do.  A gentle rain may be a bit harsher in some places and it may be just a natural washing of the dirt streets.  Mother Nature will decide which in her own time.  We simple men will not now or in the near future be able to predict with any certainty what it is that the weather is gong to do or why.  One year a devastating disaster will rise up on the horizon and destroy thousands of live and the nest year a pussycat may piddle on your parade.  I guess we just have to accept what is provided and go on with our lives.

            As I peek out my window and see a slight hint of sun trying to fight its way into my life I think maybe my attitude will improve with the approach of a promised sunny weekend.  The “experts’ have said that our visit into the land of mist and misery is to be coming to an end and the weekend is portending sun and warm breezes.  This is a good thing and reason to look forward to the near future.

Date:                           August 29, 2006

Location:                    Bath, New York

0915

            When did I get old?  I know the easy answer is that I have been working at it for years and I have finally accomplished my goal.  Yet I really don’t remember taking that conscious decision to join the crowd on the other side of the generation gap.  I am from the generation that coined that phrase and I am not sure I ever planned on making the plunge to cross that abyss of understanding.  I, especially, did not ever want to grow up, much less be an adult.  At what moment did the world shift gears and pass me by?

            This is not a diatribe of depression, just a pondering question and reflection.  I am, as is most of my age group, finding that all of the abuse that I inflicted on my body over the last 60 years is starting to come back to haunt me.  The joints are still working, only now I know every time that they feel less than eager to do what ever it is I have asked of them.  Advil and I are on a first name acquaintance.  Sometimes we have a party in the afternoon following a wrestling bout with the lawn mower and sometimes I call on my Advil bottle for solace in the middle of the night as my knee screams for attention.  This is not my only reason for questioning when it was I passed the aged gate of reality.  It is just a fact of life and if I were to truly reflect on my past I probably could find moments and times when I purely abused my body.  It is now by body’s turn to get retribution.  I am not sure that is getting old, I think it is getting even.

            I have, now, more memories than I have plans.  Yet, I am not sure that is a sign of aging either.  I think it is a point in life that can be envied by others.  I have not had a perfect life, nor do I think I would like to live it all over again.  But, I have had a life and it has left me with an assortment of experiences that I have stored in my memory bank.  Some of the memories are warm and wonderful, some are funny and embarrassing, and some are just plain stupid.  All of them are mine and as my father reminded me just before he left;  “It is my memories that keep me from going insane as I sit here waiting to die.”  We all are approaching that point in our journey and no mater how crazy we live our lives I hope that we can maintain our sanity.

            Yet, I still wonder when it was I got old.  I watched the Emmy’s the other night and as they announced the nominees for this award or that I could not cheer for my favorite.  Most of the time I had no idea who the competitors were or what the TV show they played on was about.  If I did recognize one or two names it was from a show that was no longer on the air.  I thought a “Survivor” was a person that waked or was carried away from a crash still breathing.  If I am “Lost” I ask my wife what turn to make next to extricate me from the neighborhood I now find myself and our home and our car and my frustration.  Most of the people walking up on the stage were total strangers to me and I really had little desire to care if I ever saw them again.  To me reality is stubbing my toe in the dark in the middle of the night on the way to the Advil cabinet, not a voyeurs view of a fake house filled with scruffy dressed, punch throwing, screaming people, and they are the girls.  I still think that in the evening I should be able to relax and venture into a fantasy land for entertainment.  I don’t want to be threatened, insulted or shocked.  If I want to eat bugs I will sign into the home for wayward gourmets cooks.  When is it that I got old?

            I am not sure I even understand the language anymore.  I know I don’t understand the music.  If I were to watch the Grammy Award’s Show I know I would not recognize any performers, nor would I have a desire to investigate their art, and I do use that term very loosely.  There was a time when I not only knew who was up for an award, but I probably had some of their music in my collection.  Now I don’t even know what it is they are screaming at me as they jump around with fire ants in their shorts.  Did I just sound like my parents?  I thought a “Mosh Pit” was a seed form a fruit that grew on a southern Mosh Tree.  A “Head Banger” is what happens when you stub your toe on the toilet in the dark in the middle of the night as you stumble into the bathroom to do that middle of the night thing.  And, I thought “Rap” was what you did to a present on Christmas Eve.  When did I get old?

Date:                           August 26, 2006

Location:                    Bath, New York

0900

            It rained most of the day yesterday, and when it was not raining it was thinking about raining and pouting a lot.  It is not the kind of weather of which exciting days are made, and yet it was the kind of day we had with which to deal.  I am sure I could pretend I am Mother Nature and rain my misery all over my morning blog.  I could pout and drizzle my dissatisfaction through my fingers onto my keyboard.  I could, but who would really care?  And by the way, would it change a single drop of my dampened spirits?  I think not.

            When Mother Nature gives you water you make wet memories, or something like that.  I could have attacked some of the crafty chores I have on my “To-do List.”  I could have, but I fear I did not.  I could have organized my under shorts drawer, but alas my drawers are still as mixed up as ever.  I could have done many things, but I had a better plan.  I wrestled my latest book from its hiding place in the bedroom and settled in my “throne” and attacked it with vigor.  Let it rain or pour or just drizzle, I have important reading to accomplish.  It is a difficult chore to take a day out of your life and just read a good book, but I think I was up to the job and I was quite successful, if I must say so my self.  By the way, it is a pretty good book and my throne is quite comfortable.

            My lovely wife, on the other hand, had much more important tasks to challenge her this wet and funky grey day.  Her mom is having some kind of a bazaar at her church and Connie is going to have her own booth.  The crafts were flying around our home yesterday and Connie was very productive.  We now have a box of “Friendship Bags,” a family of “Kitchen Angels,” and enough “Drawer Towels” to line a gourmet kitchen.  There is no reason a full time RVer can’t still participate in their craft hobbies.  It does help if their husband is sequestered to a chair and impersonating a lump.  I am sure that Connie’s mom will be pleased with her output.  I am sure the Ladies of the “We sell stuff Bazaar” will be pleased with the added gifts to offer, and my wife has a very productive day to file away in her memory bank. I am still reading my book.

            Grey funk can lead a person into a personal depression of their own if one is of such a mind.  It can also be a day in which you accomplish those little chores you always seem to keep putting off until a rainy day. 

            I forgot to tell you that as Connie was playing “Busy Bee” in her craft corner she was also cooking a fantastic dinner.  One of those dinners that you enjoy all day because the aromas invade your being as the delicious food is seeping in its own juices.  Now to say Connie spent all day cooking may be a slight exaggeration.  What she did was place a roast and some veggies in a crock-pot and let the pot do most of the all day stuff.  But the rest of the description is accurate.  It was delicious, it was a day of tantalizing aromas and we did have an awesome dinner.  Life is good in an RV.

Date:                           August 25, 2006

Location:                    Bath, New York

0900

            When you wake up in the morning and the sky is clear and the blue of the heavens bids you good morning, you get a happy mood and things seem to be just a little bit better.  Yet, when you awake to rain and mist and the clouds in the haven have dropped to the ground to greet you the day does not seem quite as pleasurable.  Why is it that on days of pleasant weather good things seem better and sort of bad things can be found to contain a moment of laughter?  Why is it that on cloudy and rainy days everything has an aurora of depression?  I am not sure, but today we are in the later environment.

            Yesterday I found humor in my wife chasing a car down a back street in Bath.  Today I think she might have lost the vehicle in the fog and mist as she waded through rain puddles trying to figure out why it was not where she had left it.  Yesterday a pain in my knee found a moment of humor and today I am just in a pain in the ass mood.  The weather does have a strange effect on us all, or at least on my all.

            I could, and maybe I should, take this morning to describe to you the valley in which we are spending our summer.  We are in the Finger Lakes Region of New York and as such we are positioned in a 15 or 20 mile wide area nestled between two mounded glacial remains.  It is the last ice age that carved the earth to make this terrain and the effects of nature’s ice sculpting knife has made this one of the prettiest areas in the US.  Pristine hills or small mountains punctuated by glistening lakes and lush valleys.  It is the beauty of which travel brochures are filled.  It is also the place that Connie and I call home.  How could this not put a person in a good mood?

            This morning I awoke to a damp, moist, dense day.  Most of the night was spent sleeping and awaking to the sound of rain and drips.  The pleasure of living in a motor home is the rhythmic sound of rain serenading you as it pelts your bed room ceiling.  The negative side of that same event is the constant pit-pat-pit-plop-pit-pit-a-pit, you get the picture.  The pretty hills that are just now beginning to show signs of the on coming beauty of autumn were not to be found.  It seems that with all of the rain the clouds decided to come down and pay us a visit.  It is as if some one filled the valley with dirty marshmallows and we are lucky if we can see across the street.  The only green we can see is the envoy in our eyes for everyone that is not locked into this gray funk we lovingly call upstate New York.  It is not a pretty day.  It is not an abnormal say for upstate New York, but it is not a pretty day.

Date:                           August 24, 2006

Location:                    Bath, New York

0830

            Some days you get the bear and some days the bear gets you, and that is pretty much how our week has gone.  I realize that we all have good days and bad days and some days we would just like to pretend just did not exist.  Bad things happen to good people all the time and stupid things happen to smart people.  But, why does it seem that all of the Ca-Ca comes at once.

            I have railed on about the terrorist attack our car suffered while minding her own business at Wilkins this Sunday.  I realize that this is not brain cancer and all things considered it could have been a lot worse.  Having said that, it still does not make one happy to wake up in the morning knowing that your car is under going cosmetic surgery to repair a battle wound from a Hezbollah rocket barrage.  The bear got us.

            Yesterday, or I should say early, early yester morning I awoke with a very painful knee.  I know, so what, we are all getting old.  It was one of those aching, throbbing, pains that hurt so much you dreamt about it if you happen to get back to sleep.  I don’t know why my knee hurt.  I had done nothing to anger it that I was aware of.  But, there I was standing before the medicine cabinet in my all together trying to clear the sleep yuck from my eyes so that I could find the Advil. With my luck I would take a vitamin and try to go back to sleep with throbbing pain but a healthy outlook.  I managed to find the Advil and count out a few, who knows how many.  After a few more moments of tossing and tenderly turning I went back to sleep.  My next dream was not about my knee, so the pills must have worked.

            I awoke to a limp, a pain, and a rotten attitude.  I had chores to do today and the inconvenience of a bum leg was not on my schedule.  It really sucks to get old and today I was the suckee.  I still managed to accomplish my basement cleaning.  I may have been a bit slow at it, but I did manage to finish my chore.  My knee was the size of a football; I was fine at moving as long as I did not have to bend my knee; and I was getting some of my assigned tasks completed.  Yet, I still think the bear won that one also.

            While I was limping around the camp site Connie went into town to do the laundry.  On a good day this is not her favorite past time.  She had a few shopping chores to run and as such had planned on this wonderful experience to last her most of the morning.  Maybe the bear would loose one here.  About 15 minutes after she had left, my cell rang and it was my lovely wife with a story of stupidity and frustration to tell me. 

We have a loaner car, a nice loaner car, but a car with which we are not overly familiar.  Connie had a letter to mail.  As she has done many times over she drove to the mail box and prepared to get out and cross the street to drop off the envelope.  Not a big deal.  It is pretty normal and simple.  She stopped the car, placed the shift lever in “R” and exited the auto to cross the street.  Did I say “R”?  Doesn’t that stand for “Rest”, or “will Return” or something?  As Connie was crossing the street the loaner car was heading back down the same street.  I guess it was going to go back home or something.  Connie managed to chase the car and wrestle it to a stop and re-think her process.  Maybe the “R” does not mean “Reamain here.”  Maybe this other slot on the shifting lever is where the little stick is supposed to be.  Maybe “P” does not mean “Pretty dumb.”  Maybe she should try the “P” for “Park” and reevaluate this whole situation.  There was no damage, or major mishap involved in this adventure.  Connie did manage to really stop the car and place it in park. She did manage to laugh about her vacation into the land of stupidity.  You might even say that the bear does not get a point for this one.  Except that all of this was played out in front of a crowd.  A crowd that had to add their collective 2 and a half cents.  And then she had to call and relate this whole story to her understanding and compassionate husband.  I guess the bear gets another one after all.

            I realize these small quirks in the time line of the cosmos are not traumatic.  They are not life and death.  They are events of which campfire stories will be told and retold as we reflect on the less than fun times we are now having.  Chianti is getting fixed, my knee is much less painful this morning, our loaner car is fine and now Connie understands what most of the alphabet means on the shifting lever.  I guess this “Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” is not all that extremely terrible.  We are not having a lot of fun, but we are still able to laugh at most of it.  Things are kind of not so bad.

            Oh did I mention that Connie is, right now, headed into the dentist for an emergency visit.  She broke the crown, or temporary crown that she is having fixed last night.  This means she had to, again, cancel a luncheon engagement with Joan and revamp her whole days plan.  The bear is winning another.  Connie and Rob zero the Bear is kicking ass.

Date:                           August 23, 2006 

Location:                    Bath, New York

0900

            We dropped our baby at the hospital yesterday and she will be in reconstructive surgery for at least a week.  This is a traumatic moment for any family.  It is especially harsh if that baby is more than just a family’s gemological entry on their tree of relatives.  It is especially traumatic if that baby is a friend and an integral part of the operation of the family life.  The baby Connie and I had to wish well at the operating room was our car, Chianti.  She has a head ache and is now in the process of having her aluminum rod, awning rocket infected migraine repaired.  We know that she will be very well cared for at this auto infirmary.  We also know that she will be much the better for the visit.  We also know that it felt like we were leaving a part of the family as we settled into the loaner Pontiac Grand Prix and drove away.

            With this years part of our life starting to make its way to completion it is time for Connie and me to begin preparing for our winter excursions.  There are bays to clean out in our basement and we must make sure that we have all the little toys and tools we may need for the winter.  The summer has, as usual, sped by and now we must reorient our thinking to being real on the move full timers.  This is not a bad thing, nor is it a point from which I choose to solicit sympathy or concern. It is just part of the normal life of a nomadic wanderer called a full timer.  At sometime I may try to reflect on the value of this summer and how it has made my life better or worse.  I am not sure I have an assessment on that yet.  I am not sure I want to contemplate what that assessment might be.  This was a summer.  It will not, probably, go down in history as my favorite nor will it be flagged as a traumatic expedition through time in the annals of my life.  It was a summer and now it isn’t.

            Have you ever sat in chair and had the opportunity or chore to, with out warning or preparation, try to evaluate a time frame in your life?  Right now try to come up with a sentence or two of just what your summer was like.  Was it wonderful and just how you would have wished it to unfold?  Was it a perfect experience as you and all the people you love gathered and traveled along the time train of the summer of 2006?  Is that how you will remember it?  Or was it normal?  Did it have some good times, like when your granddaughter gave you a kiss and hug; and some bad times, like when your car was attacked by a squad of wind terrorist wielding aluminum rockets?  Was it a normal summer?

            I think that as I, in the future, reflect and try to remember my life I will find that most of my summers are more normal than special.  Most of my winters will be average and filled with simple memories more than they will be monumental or special.  I think that I am glad for that.  I would rather have my seasons be simple and normal, not special and exotic.  It is the moments within the seasons, within the months or within the hours that I want to be special.  Otherwise, how could I remember the hug from my growing and soon to be adult grandson?  Or how could I store in a special spot in my hearth the warmth felt when my daughter greets me with a warm and loving embrace? 

            If you have been working on the assignment I gave you I would like to wish you luck in completion of trying to appraise this summer in your life.  If you have not been working on your assignment, why not?  But as I leave this morning I hope that your summer, or winter, or spring or fall was normal, boring and almost uneventful.  I hope that is was so normal that someplace in there is a moment of two that will forever remain tantamount in your memory as a very special moment.  Some may be good moments and some may be not as great.   My wish for you is that, as you reflect on your life, there are many precious and warm memories to punctuate your normal and simple life.

Date:                           August 22, 2006

Location:                    Bath, New York

0815

            I begin my morning with a continuation of our forced fiasco suffered at Wilkins, in their parking lot.  Connie and I met a nice couple from Connecticut, and our car met their awning roll bar.  As traumatic as that was it is only the beginning.  We had to trek to the auto repair shop and start the process going so that we could get our car fixed in time for us to leave next month.  The accident claim had not been entered into the system by the Harris’s so I was given a number to call so I could start the paper work.  I was the non-insured claimant reporting a liability accident on another person’s policy.  Believe it or not it was quite easy and as pleasant as could possibly be expected given the circumstances.  When the nice lady asked me my address it became a bit strange.  As a full time RVer that is a tough question.  The Harris’s live in Connecticut, their insurance agent is from Florida, our mailing address is in Texas and our legal address and location of the accident was in New York.  As I feared major complications with all of that the little girl on the phone eased my apprehension.  She said that would be just fine.  We were, serendipitously, dealing with Nationwide.  I looked around to see if there was TV camera. I was sure I was on an advertisement filming.  The forms are filed, the insurance company has agreed we did not throw our car at the awning, and Goodrich Autoworks is going to charge them nearly $3000 to fix the mishap.  Connie and I will be in a loaner car for over a week as this work is being completed.

            I am not sure how I segue from my opening to the topic I was planning on expounding on this morning, but I just did.  Connie and I watched the Bishop’s Wife on TV last night.  Actually I watched and Connie worked on the Klub newsletter.  The Bishop’s Wife is an old movie with Cary Grant, David Niven and Ida Lapino.  It is so old it was made the same year I was born.  It also has a small part of a child played by the same girl that played Zuzu. Now your job is to try and remember who that is and where you have heard that name.

            It does not matter what the movie is about, unless you like old movies. It doesn’t matter if I like the movie or if I think you should go out and rent it for your own edification.  Although I think you would like it and there are some very interesting tidbits of philosophy weaved into the story line.  It is from this spot I make my transition to my morning blog.

            Cary Grant is an angel, in the movie, that comes at the behest of the Bishop to help guide him in his struggle with life.  The Bishop thinks he needs help on a certain project and the angel seems to be more interested in helping the guidance of his soul and personal life.  So much for the plot and story line.  My musing is about a simple element of the story that stems from the angel telling the Bishop that he is indeed an angel and he has come to earth to help him.  The interesting point is that it is the Bishop that has the most trouble believing in the existence of angels.  The atheist believes that Dudley is a special visitor; the Bishop’s wife is smitten by the simplicity of Dudley’s affection and understanding; the Bishop’s daughter is certain Dudley is an angel or Santa Claus or just a really nice man; even the family dog likes Dudley better than the Bishop;  and yet the bishop has an enormous problem believing.  It is in this simple comparison I tumbled into contemplative angst.  Why is it the only person that should be most accepting in the existence of angels has the most trouble realizing they exist?  Is it because the more we learn the less we know?  Is it because as we get closer to the goodness of life and the pleasure of existence, we sometimes become jaded by the examples of deceit we must live through each day?  Is it just that in reality the more complex the philosophical or spiritual dilemma, the less intellect we truly need to understand it?  If a person is good we should know it by heart and feeling and not need to make a list of his do’s and don’ts.  If we are confronted with a problem, we should know the right thing to do and it should not be complicated.  It may not be easy, but it should be simple.

            As you scratch your head and try to figure out just where I am going with this meandering this morning stop, relax, and think a moment.  What would you do if you were to actually meet an angel?  Would you recognize them and be accepting?  Would you pay attention?  Some of us have already met angels, and will continue to meet them on a daily basis.  I think all of us have met angels; we have only the Bishop’s inability to accept their true existence. 

            Another line from the movie to ponder, and I paraphrase, “We do not grow old, we are born old.”  Some of us were born young and will forever remain young at heart and youthful in soul.  The old people that we meet daily are not just chronologically aged, they have been old since their beginning and have spent their whole lives in hiding the youth and inner child that struggles to be free.

Date:                           August 21, 2006 

Location:                    Kanona, New York

0800

            At the end of a rally I am not sure if I should be happy for all of the fond memories we now have to file away or if I should be sad because we may not see some of our friends for a month and some we may not see until next year.  Today I had no such traumatic decision to ponder.  It was going to be very easy to decide if I was sad or happy, or if I was glad or just pissed.  My emotional status would have nothing to do with the rally but I get ahead of my story.

            As the morning progressed Connie and I said our farewells, helped finish the rally clean up, and headed toward our home.  It was a normal Sunday after a rally so far.  It was not to stay that way a long time.  As we left Beaver Meadows we knew that we had to go to our RV dealer and have some maintenance completed and as such we were going to spend the evening in the parking lot of Wilkins RV.  Remember that is Aurora’s first home.  Since Connie and I both feel it is nice to be on the clean side we decided to dump our holding tanks and arrive at Wilkins for our “dry camping’ with full water and empty waste tanks. This is a normal concern of fulltimers and as such not out of the ordinary for us.  The problem arrived when I missed my turn to the dump station and sit on the driveway looking at where I was supposed to be and not knowing how I was going to get there.  Bummer, could I have screwed up?  Maybe we really don’t need to dump our tanks today.  The gauge is only at half and we could take a frugal shower and conserve the amount of waste water we generate.  I guess this is not a big problem.  We hooked up the car and proceeded on our way.

            The drive home was somewhat uneventful.  The rain stayed mostly away, but it did spit enough to cause our newly washed rig to get just a bit dirty.  It was a sad thing to see our new shiny home get covered in road yuck, but I guess that is the way things go and that is not too bad.  My emotional status is still pretty good and the sky seems to want to be headed toward a clearing temperament.  When we arrived in Bath we noticed that they seemed to have had a lot of rain and as I stopped in the driveway at Wilkins I found a lot of mud and rain lakes filling the field near by.  As it happened I pulled of to the side of the road to unhitch the car.  A good idea normally, except that as I opened the door I found that I had pulled just a few inches too far off the road and now I was in one of those rain, mud filled swamps left by Mother Nature on her last pass through the area.  Oh well, we unhitched the car and proceeded to find a parking spot.

            The normal spot that we park in was taken but there was a spot right near there and that was going to be just fine for the evening.  A slight problem arose when we found that some 4 wheeler idiot had parked right in front of where I wanted to be.  This meant that my beast did not have much maneuvering room, and she needs a lot of room.  This still was not a big problem.  We just parked a bit further over than normal and decided to put Chianti, our CRV in between us and the rig next to us.  The emotional mood is till pretty good.

            Connie and I decided that we would enjoy a few moments of solitude and after making our electrical connection we relaxed with our books and planned on enjoying the evening.  The weather had started to make a turn for the better.  I had cleaned up some of the mud that I had just waded in and then tracked all up our stairs and a nice breeze was blowing in our window to cool us off.  This sounds like a setting for a pretty good emotional state.  What a mistake that thought was to be.  Somewhere between a cool breeze and relaxing moment enjoying my new book my wife exclaimed that the neighbor’s awning had been caught by the wind and was now flapping against their RV.  We both quickly went outside to see if we could help. The mood is now headed toward ca-ca and I don’t know it yet.  The awning had been ripped from the 5^th wheel and there was little we could do but go in and carry the bad news to the owners of the rig.  Needless to say they were now in the awe _ _ _ _ valley of rotten moods. They were not pleased that there soon to be traded 5^th wheel was now a broken toy with a flapping sail.

            Connie and I tried to consol them and help in any way we could right up to the point he said, “Did you car look like that before you came here?”  It seems that Chianti was in the perfect position to catch the rather heavy aluminum roll bar of the ill fated awning rocket.  Our motorhome had been saved by the unselfish sacrifice of our car.  Our car, however, now had a major roof boo-boo.  Now I am in that pissed emotional state I mentioned at the beginning of this diatribe.  It was not our awning; we did not leave it unattended in the wind; we don’t need to have to deal with the excitement of trying to get our car repaired because of some stupid Hezbollah missile attack.  But guess what?  That is exactly what we have to do.  Now can you understand my less than joyful emotional status as I reflect on our rally? 

            I am sure that all will work out.  I am sure that a lot of worse things have happed to a lot of other people.  But, here we sat resting after a great rally looking at a battle wound not inflicted by the North or the South combatants, but rather by being in the very wrong place at the very wrong time.  Chianti will get a new roof and maybe a purple heart for taking the brunt missile attack and protecting Aurora from far more traumatic damage.  I will, also, probably get a better attitude.  But for now I can’t honestly say I am nothaving a lot of fun.

PS

Date: August 20, 2006

Location: Java Center, New York

The clouds in the air do not really portend the day we are to experience today, or maybe they are a signal that something “Blue” and “Gray” is going to invade our lives this day. The blue of the sky seems to be disappearing as the gray of the ominous clouds invades our little rally in the field at Beaver Meadows Campground, but we will forge ahead and find an adventure today. As you may note by the time at the start of this entry, I am up entirely too early and I have already done my morning routine and preparing to head to a provided French-toast breakfast. This is certainly a special day.

Connie and I had to leave the campground a few moments early and head into town to meet our family. We are going to be taking a ride on an old train and we thought it might be fun to share the adventure with Heidi, Bob and the munchkins. I am going to have to quit calling them that. Justin is nearly as tall as I am and will surpass that point by noon at the speed he is growing and Beth is chasing him with a look at catching him before there are too many more moons. It is a bummer being elevationally challenged, even in your own family and with your own sweet little grand kids. Enough of my whining, it is on to Arcade and a sprinkling morning meeting of the family and an adventure on the A & A Railroad.

The family was on time, even Bob was up plenty early to make sure we did not miss our train. There was a strange air about the town and an adventure await us that will, hopefully, remain with us for a while. After the normal hugs and good mornings our rally crowd met us in the parking lot and we all entered the town streets and crossed over a time barrier into history. We thought it was late August in the year 2006. We found ourselves in the middle of the 1860’s with the Civil War ragging and full skirted ladies strolling up and down the streets of this, now relocated, Virginia town. The transition was not complete yet as there seemed to also be a few growling, belching machines roaming the streets also. That means that the cars had not been diverted to their own time zone yet. On the porch of the 1860’s train station was a rather good couple that entertained us with some morning Country Music. It helped us to forget that Mother Nature was not cooperating fully this morning. Even if it was the Civil War, we did not need all of the Blue and Gray skies raining on our parade.

Just before we were to board our excursion into history we were greeted by a company of soldiers from each side of the Civil War. They paraded into town from their bivouac area just south of town. They stopped in front of the train station as Terra, named after Scarlet O’Hara, really, welcomed us all to the 1860’s and explained the circumstances that they were to be acted out this day. We were now in the middle of the Civil War and, although our train ride was for pure enjoyment, there was chance that we might be attacked by Rebels. Most of the crowd seemed to take this rather calmly and we all thanked her for her warning.

The gathered soldiers formed an opposing salute formation and presented us with a musket volley. As I tried to prepare to catch this on the smuggled 21^st century digital camera I still found myself jolted by the simultaneous explosions of muskets. I tried to regain my composure, the soldiers marched off to battle and the group boarded the train for a rocking and rolling antique train ride to history. Mother Nature seemed to let up on her constant weeping and maybe this morning was going to be ok after all.

Taking a train ride with family and friends is always exciting. Today we were to explore a bit of history also. The car on the train in which we were riding was also occupied by re-enactors from the Civil War encampment and they were very eager to talk to us and explain how life was in there world. Their world was, of course, mid 1860’s and they were riding a train that they had been told might be attacked by Confederate troops. We were told not to worry, because we had a detachment of Union troops that were on board to protect us. It was not to long until we heard gun fire in the near area and the train came to a quick halt. We were now becoming first person observers of a train raid and a full blown Civil War battle. I will not bore you anymore with the moment by moment description of the battle. But I must admit that for a few moments we, as travelers, were fully engaged in a live, loud, gunpowder filled air of a Civil War battle.

Connie and I had invited our grandkids to join us and experience a bit of history. They received more than we could have imagined. The acrid smell of gun smoke filling the valley, the thundering echo of cannon fire, and the excitement of historically dressed soldiers running through the train in pursuit of enemy combatants were all part of the history lesson in which we were living today. The battle today consisted of 20 or so combatants. One can now imagine the effect of hundreds of men and tens of cannon on each side filling the battle field with gun smoke and firing sounds. It was so much more than entertaining, it was enlightening.

The Union won the first battle, but as we returned to the station we were attacked again and I am afraid to say we captured by the Confederate troops on this occasion. We were treated quite kindly as prisoners of war. Some of the ladies were chastised for their scantily clad bodies, you know shorts and all that skin showing. Our daughter and granddaughter were even given a $5 gold piece to procure better clothing upon arrival at the destination. I am afraid that as we arrived the rain did also for much of the rest of the day was a pretty wet washout. We do, however, have the memory of a Civil War battle in which we were evolved to place in our experience mental file.

Date:                           August 19, 2006

Location:                    Java Center, New York

0700

            Yesterday was not one of those days from which great prose can come forth.  We did not discover a new cure for an age old ailment.  We did not even find a new path or road explore because we did not move all that far and did not even start our car.  We did move it, but then that is a whole other story.  It includes facts like extremely large campsites and diesel pushers moving in so close that you can swap cups of sugar through your windows.  This is not a bad thing; it is just another story that will probably not be told today.  Yesterday was just not a very memorable day and yet here I am at some ungodly hour trying to make it interesting.

            We are, some 17 very large RVs, settled in a very large field with water, some electric and hope that our holding tanks don’t overflow.  The weather has been mostly dry in the Boston Red Soxs downpour context. My little fat body has been wet most of the time due to the rather thick humidity that portends the possibility of natures rinse job on the horizon of the very near future.  And yet, we are all quite happy and I have seen no major frowns nor have I heard a lot of disparaging words. There was a sharing of opinions and directions last night that seemed to be headed to a really exciting cat fight, but that all blew over and our table went to the buffet in spite of an over zealous busy body trying to lead all that was not any of her business.

            We all, or most of us, gathered in a rather bug laden field to pretend we were at a drive-in.  Now this is a picture that you have to form in your imagination.  It is dark, of course, there is a large screen that happens to be on the side of a barn, and here comes a traffic jam of movie goers. Since we are in a field and at a campground we were not approaching the movie in the field via our transportation devises.  We were wandering through a grass, bug infested field toward a barn carrying our folding chairs.  This is a picture that one does not see very often.  Soon the assembled crowd of kids was settled and the movie started.  I say kids, because we are all kids here today.  Some kids were in diapers and short shorts running around being 2 or 3 or sub-teens and some kids were pushing their walker through the grass to help steady their 80 plus year old frame as we all gathered for the night’s entertainment.  I guess it was not really a drive-in.  It was more of a walk-in.

            Once we were all assembled and we had each said our personal prayer that the skies would not open up and wash our fun away we were ready for the movie.  I think the person praying the loudest and hardest was the campground owner.  I am sure she wanted us all to be entertained and happy, but I feel she mostly did not want her $7000 worth of video equipment to turn into a pop corn machine.  The rain held off and the laughter was soon filling the valley.  What movie would you show to an RV rally and a campground full of outdoors families?  RV of course.  Robin Williams was as crazy as always. The laughter peeled forth from just about everyone.  If we had not had all of the mishaps that the poor movie family had to struggle through, we had had moments that were close enough to the movie that we could certainly identify.  It was almost close enough to reality that we certainly found the humor in someone else having the catastrophe.  It was somewhat unreal, but it was a movie Dan Quail.

            As the laughing, grass seated, mosquito bitten crowd picked up their chairs and tried to find their way back to their homes in the dark I realized that maybe it was a pretty good day after all.  Time spent with friends can never be a bad time.  A game of Wizard is always fun even if your score is lower than a simpleton’s IQ.  A Chinese dinner at a rally in the field is new and was quite good.  And we ended the day with a laugh in our hearts.  It may not have been an eventful day but it was a good day, maybe a very good day.  It was a day in the life of a full timer.  Need you never ask me why I am living this life.

Date:                           August 18, 2006 

Location:                    Java Center, NY 

            Some mornings I approach my routine with a quandary of just what it is I am going to expound upon this day.  I don’t want to get into a rut of saying the same type of thing each morning, and yet I have made a promises to myself to be faithful to my blog. If only to have a years collections of thoughts to ponder at some time in the future.  If anyone else is reading this I hope that on some days I have found a way to entertain you for a moment or two as you surf through cyberspace.

            This morning I was in one of those moods that caused me to think I would have nothing to say. We all know that is probably not going to be a problem once I set my fingers stumbling across my keyboard.  I could talk about the LKK rally we are now attending and the enjoyment of spending some quality time with some very quality friends.  As a matter of fact I am sure before this weekend is complete I will have, at least once, bored you with just that.  I was also contemplating the possibility of going on about an all you can eat steak dinner and how as I age the all you can eat seems to get less and less. You may not notice this as you watch me waddle around but in reality I could only consume 2 steaks.  I am not sure if that is because I really was full or if the lovely lady sitting nested to me decided I was as full as I needed to be at that time.

I could have spent the morning pounding out my dissertation on either of these subjects, but I decided to do a bit of web surfing myself first.  So what you say.  I happened on a blog site that is titled CampDemocracy.org.  You can choose to go and visit or not, that is up to you.  I warn you that it is on the liberal side of politics and might offend you, for that I apologize to be polite. I do not apologize for the site.  It is not the political aim of the site that I wish to discuss.  We are all are entitled to our own opinions and political leanings and I don’t want to force you to see the world through my eyes anymore than I intend to force myself to attempt to see the world through yours.  The aim of my diatribe is simply the hope of a social and grassroots energy that may be festering in America.

            I grew up in the demonstration and politically active 60’s.  I don’t say that as a badge of honor or as an apology.  It is just where I was at that time in history and I now feel a major lacking of care in our society today.  People have a lot of opinions and hatred to voice, but it does not ever seem to be channeled in a productive manner. It is more often expressed in a form of hate or fear mongering than it is now in our political atmosphere.  It is easier to hate a gay, blame our faults and lack of determination on a hard working Hispanic, or to be led by the nose by someone that controls us by fear mongering be it real or false.  We have a lot of energy, it would seem, but it also seems to be controlled by a Machiavellian despot that keeps us either afraid of our bottled water or constantly hating someone that is slightly different than we are.  Today my visit to this site kindled a spark in my heart that maybe there is a social awareness still alive in our world.

            I am not advocating the stand that they profess; I am not necessarily against it either.  I am feeling a desire to travel to Washington, DC for a part of the first part of September.  Somewhere in my liberal 60s heart I still have that desire to be involved in a political demonstrations and the wave of change, if that energy still does have a spot to grow in our country.  I do not know if the Mall in DC will be over flowing with energy and excitement, but the possibility of being a part of large political event seems exciting.  The problem is that as we grow older we start getting things called responsibilities and schedules.  To make a long story short, yeah like I ever do that, Connie and I will probably not be in Washington in body, but I must admit that I think I will be there in spirit.  If I am not there in total agreement, although I might be close, at least in appreciation of the show of civic minded energy.  Maybe there is a soul in the youth and present generation.  I do not always have to agree, but I can enjoy the trip back in time when people cared about what was happening in our government.  They actually care enough to take a stand and profess a solution to what they deem as a misdirected governmental policy.  I am feeling like my parents when I fear the future of our society.  But, I guess we made it this far and now it is our children’s and their children’s children responsibility to carry us forward.  Maybe they will do a better job than we have done, I am sure they will do, at least, as good.

Date:                           August 17, 2006 

Location:                    Kanona, NY

0730

            We did not travel a long way yesterday, but we moved.  It was time to get our home/bus serviced and we moved from Hickory Hill to Aurora’s original home at Wilkins RV.  Aurora needed to be checked and pampered and we now have a very fine service center just down the road so we did not need to travel very far.  While Connie and I were resting in the costumer lounge we were talking with one of the salesmen, most of whom we know quite well, and my wife mentioned that Aurora was not only in need of some fluid changing and state mandated inspection she was also a very dirty girl.  We also mentioned that we were on our way to a rally and how frustrating it might be to drive into the rally in a dirty coach.  Rick, the salesman, asked us why we did not ask the service manager to have his crew give us a complementary wash.  That is a $200 plus complement.  We just laughed and said something stupid like “wouldn’t that be nice” or something else as eloquently literate.  To shorten my story, Rick disappeared and re-appeared in a few moments and said we were to get a nicely washed and shined coach before we left.  Aurora is all clean and shiny and attracting a lot of attention as we sit in the parking lot preparing to head to our rally.

             It is this simple small gift that a salesman arranged for us that fills my mind this morning.  We are all to involved in our very busy and important lives to notice some of the small things that should mean so much more to us.  Connie and I were very appreciative of the gift from Wikins.  I know, it was just a washing and a rinse, but it was far more than they had to do.  It was a small token of appreciation that should and will leave a big impression in our minds.  Wilkins has a happy customer, we have a clean and pretty shiny rig, Rick has made points with a potential goodwill ambassador and all over a small rinse job.  A small thing can lead to a big result.

            When Rick was heading home we stopped him in the parking lot and thanked him again for the attention and goodwill.  As is normal for salesmen and RVers a short thank you took about 20 minutes.  We needed to talk about the new Wilkins, the old Wilkins, the beauty of our rig and other worldly matters.  We also covered our up coming winter, his children either in school or soon to be out and how the weather had been.  It was a normal RVer conversation.  Not the point of my dissertation.  As one of the order writers was leaving to head home Rick introduced her, we already knew her but Rick is a salesman, and told us and especially her how good she was at dealing with customers that were, at times, less than happy.  The smile on the girls face could have illuminated the parking lot all evening.  It was a small note of job appreciation and big feeling of accomplishment.  Rick felt good, he had given a well received compliment and that always feels good.  The order writer felt appreciated, and Connie and I felt good just seeing the type of relationship that permeated this work place.  A small thing can lead to a big result.

            While Connie and I were awaiting the completion of Aurora’s doctor appointment we decided it was kind of dumb to set around an RV dealership all day and since Connie had been a good girl and just had her dentist appointment it must mean that it is time to go to lunch. This is not an eventful happening, it is just a segue to my next little story.  We decided to go to Friendly’s in Corning for lunch.  It is one of our favorite places to spend our food dollars.  Connie had her normal tuna roll and I had something from the “Free Sundae with a choice of one of these” part of the menu.  I don’t always eat the same thing but I almost always get a free sundae. It is Friendly’s Ice Cream after all.  After our lunch the waitress returned with my dessert, a hot fudge sundae with chocolate chip ice cream.  She also presented us with two spoons.  Now you must stop and try to remember when we old farts would go to the local ice cream parlor, that is what they were called then, with our girlfriend and order just one ice cream to share. Usually we ordered just one ice cream, because we could not afford two, but also it was kind of romantic to sit across from your true love and stare into each other eyes as you jointly made the ice cream disappear.  Well, here we were two old duffers sitting across from each other sharing an ice cream. The magic still works.  It may have been a small thing but for that moment it was very pleasant and rewarding to be sharing my dessert with my wife.  A small thing can lead to a big result.

Date:                           August 16, 2006

Location:                    Bath, NY
08:30

            Our social calendar was our point of concern today.  It was, at least, of concern for Connie.  She had a luncheon date with one of her old work buddies and we all know that when two teachers get together for lunch it can take most of the day. Actually when two or more RVers get together for lunch it has been known to take a considerable part of the day also.  I assume that lunch went well.  Connie came back looking fed and with a new supply of old town gossip.

            While my wife was off socializing I had a list of chores that I was supposed to get accomplished.  When the cat’s away the mice have to work, or something like that.  If you believe that nonsense I have a bridge to sell you someplace.  I did have a few simple chores to take care of and they were complete by early afternoon.  Gee, what am I to do?  All of my chores are done and here I am with nothing to do.  Maybe I could play with my computer.  As you can guess, I am sure, it was soon that Connie was driving down the road and here I was still sitting in front this stupid screen.  I did manage to load a new spam blocker, a new browser and spend an enjoyable afternoon playing.  I guess it was a pretty good day.

            The evening was to be something of a different matter.  Connie made a wonderful dinner.  One of those meals that can punish you by smelling so good as she cooks it you can’t wait to finally have dinner.  She kept asking me if I was hungry. How could a human not be with that aroma wafting through the RV?  We ate early and enjoyed every mouthful of the wonderful Spanish Rice.  It is here that the evening took a turn for the not so great.

            I won’t go into major details, but I think something in the Spanish Rice revolted and performed a coup-d’etat on my stomach.  It was a major revolt on so many levels that I need not expound on my evening’s entertainment.  It was a short evening, thank God. I was moaning in bed by 9 o’clock and wishing that I had never existed.  I used to enter into these moments of destruction when I was younger, but I could usually relate it to one or 17 too many Jack Daniels, or what ever was on sale at the local bar.  Last night I just have to blame the misfortune on a Spanish Inquisition.

            I am sorry to have to relate these moments of less than enjoyment with you, but that is life and truth will out.  Some days you get the bear and some days the bear crawls inside of you and tears you a new reality.  If anyone is interested in some really good tasting Spanish Rice and or some Sloppy Joe mixture I am sure we can find some to give you.  I am now going to go and get my bowl of chicken soup and dream of better days.

Date:                           August 15, 2006

Location:                    Bath, New YorK

0900

            Our day yesterday was a Monday in all of it’s ramifications.  It was laundry day, it was mow the lawn day, it was Monday and Connie and I had our weekly chores to get accomplished before we could settle into a rather lazy afternoon of reading and back plane eyelid watching.  We managed to accomplish all that was on our “to do” list.

            Connie’s assigned task on this day of catch up was to pack all of the laundry in the back of our car and adventure into town and find a means to wash and dry all of the stuff. This is not one of her favorite things to do and if she was asked the one thing about full timing that she disliked I am sure laundry would be at the top of her list.  It takes only about 2 and a half hours to accomplish a week or two worth of dirty cloth rejuvenation, but it is still a task that she does not look forward to accomplishing.  Why this is I can not figure out.  She gets a chance to sit and read while our clothes tumble and slosh and still be considered working.  I find this rather fantastic to be able to be doing nothing while I am accomplishing a chore.  I think that Connie may not like the clientele that often frequents the establishments.  I must admit that often it appear that as we sit and watch the parade of Darwinian rejects enter and plod through our world of laundry I question the progress we as a society have made on the evolutionary time line.  The time spent in a Laundromat can be a very interesting perspective from which observe the social scale. 

            I had finished my chore and was waiting my wife’s return as I noticed our suv slowly progressing up the road.  As Connie exited the car and showed me one of those looks that yelled, “Don’t even dare ask me how my day was” I decided to quietly help unload the car and keep my simple chatter to myself.  I was sure that any truly needed information about the morning would eventually come forth, but for now the laundry was done and everything smelled really clean and fresh.  That is what really maters and we can check one more chore off of our list of needed to be accomplish stuff.

            My chore this morning was mainly to exhibit the stupidity of mankind, a job at which I am very proficient on many levels.  As Connie was leaving the campground for her adventure she dropped me off to pick up the lawnmower and I was to walk back to our site and whack at the green grass and or weeds that line our little piece of earth.  This is not a big deal, nor is it terribly difficult.  It is just stupid.  It takes me 3 times as long to walk to my site pulling this old rattle trap of a mower then it takes me to actually do my chore.  Our grass, and I use that term loosely, is on a patch that is maybe 4 feet wide and 40 feet long.  It takes me three or four swipes with the red noise maker to completely cover our “yard.”  That is may be 200 feet of mowing for which I walked 2 miles to drag this mulching, grass spewing, deck littering machine.  Every blade of weed or grass that I whack off seems to find its way up onto our white concrete deck that is now green and covered.  Yes, that means that the cutting fume spewing mower sprays the green weeds onto the deck and then I have to sweep them off and back into the lush yard again.  I am not sure which is more fun, chasing the noisy fume generator or trying to remove little green blades of weed that have somehow now glued themselves to the concrete in front of our home.

            My chore does, however, place me in the direct path of every one at the camp-ground that has decided to choose this morning and this time to take their stroll.  Of course the primary rule of any campground is that as anyone passes your site you must stop and carry on a conversation with them about just about nothing.  We may talk about the weekend that has just passed or the beauty of the flowers that Connie has planted at or summer home.  It really does not matter what we talk about but we must talk.  I think that is written as a rule in some book someplace.  I try to obey most of the rules most of the time.