Stuck in New Mexico

From Sedona, I made it as far as Grants, NM.

It was a little windy on the way, but nothing impossible to drive through.

The wind picked up soon after I got here, however, and the trailer's been rocking like a baby's cradle ever since.

There are tornadoes in the plains states, and this is the side effect.

A "high wind" weather warning has been issued, so I'm thinking of staying another night.

*Sigh*

Not much is happening in Grants, New Mexico.

Except wind.

I'm B-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ck

Well, now that I'm about to hit the road again, and now that I've gotten word that some people actually read this, I guess I'll start posting again.

Leaving tomorrow at 6 a.m. for a six-day cross-country journey.

After the trip out here, it can only be an improvement.

Watch this space for more news.

Courting Disaster, Part Two

Speaking of courting disaster (see previous blog entry, which is much more interesting than this one), the brakes in my car seem to be acting up. I'm in Las Vegas, and heading out in a few hours for the drive through mountainous terrain back to Sedona, so "Guardian Angel, hello? Are you listening? Wake up and protect me!"

Courting Disaster

Here's the letter I received last night from my trailer restoration guy in Denver:

Hi,

I can't begin tell you how thankful I am that we decided to pull the skin on your trailer, even with all my experience I was shocked (not literally) at what I found with the wiring on your trailer.

As you know I said I am unable to verify the condition of the wiring unless I pull the skin.

On virtually every place the wiring went through one of the frame members it was worn down to bare wires. I can't believe it was still working.

Had we not done the work we are doing it would have only been a matter of time before it failed, or much worse it burned the trailer to the ground. All it would have taken is for one of the bare wires to touch the other or the aluminum skin and it very likely would have caught on fire.

The good news is we found it before anything bad happened. . . .

This has been a real wakeup call for me. I'm now convinced that every vintage camper should have the skin removed and everything inspected. Your trailer is in great condition, but the fact remains it's almost 50 years old and you can never tell what's hiding under the skin.

Just thought I'd fill you in on this little update, otherwise everything is going on great.

After that, he added two photos, plus his comments, as follows (if you look closely, you can see that the blue plastic coating on the wiring is worn away, stripped down to the bare copper wires):

This is where the wiring goes through the frame crossmembers.

Wow... how this even worked is beyond me.

The really scary thing for me is that the electricity in the trailer was hooked up at every campground I stayed in on the way from Ohio to Denver. In Columbia, Missouri, it was hooked up for two days!

I must have a guardian angel.

Middle of Nowhere and "Duh!"

My computer monitor seems to be dying.

In case it goes out soon, I looked online today for the location of a nearby Starbucks.

The nearest Starbucks with a wi-fi hot spot is . . .

. . . 27 miles away in Camp Verde.

I really am in the middle of nowhere.

Then I realized that because my computer screen is dying, a wi-fi hot spot won't do me any good unless I have a usable computer!

Duh!

Apache Tears

There's a stone found out here in Arizona. It's called an Apache tear.

It's actually obsidian, a glass-like substance formed by volcanic eruptions--which is a mystery because the nearest volcano to Arizona is probably Mt. St. Helens or something.

Here's one version of the Apache Legend (this comes from Wikipedia):

"The stones are supposedly the tears shed by the wives and families of a band of Apache warriors who were killed by the U.S. military in retaliation for [an Apache] raid on [a white] Arizona settlement."

The tears became petrified and turned to stone.

Because Apache tears are pieces of volcanic glass, when held in the palm of your hand, the stones are opaque and appear black. When held to the light, the stones are translucent and you can see through the stone.

If you're given one by a friend, it's very bad luck to give it away.

Polished Version:

Natural, Unpolished Stones:

Road Trip Nightmare--Don't Trust ARIZONA HIGHWAYS Magazine

Okay, so I read about a picturesque little scenic drive in Arizona Highways magazine, with an adorable little remote bed-and-breakfast accommodation, and decided to take a road trip to check it out.

Whatever you do, never trust Arizona Highways magazine!

First of all, they gave the wrong name for the road, so I didn't know if I was in the right place.

Next, they totally exaggerated the "scenic beauty" of the place, which was just basically more northern Arizona high desert, something I've seen my share of by now, believe me.

To make things worse, my search for the nonexistent scenic beauty led me to, as my grandfather used to say, "out where Jesus left his sandals." I was on a dirt road, out in the middle of nowhere.

And that was when the car trouble started.

But a few minutes earlier, I'd seen this REAL grubby and scary guy walking down the road. He looked like the 12th runner-up in a Kenny Rogers look-alike contest, in filthy overalls. He tried to flag me down for a ride, and I might have stopped to help him if I'd seen his car broken down or something (there was a small 10-spot tent-camping campground nearby, and I think that's where he may have come from--either that, or the Yuma prison). Anyway, I hadn't seen a broken-down car, so I just shook my head sadly and drove past.

He gave me the finger as I went by.

The car trouble was that my car was, like, shaking on the dirt road, and acting like I had a flat tire or something.

I pulled over. ("Pulled over" isn't really the right term. This was a narrow dirt road with no place to pull over except a very muddy little foot-wide run-off ditch beside the road.) I grabbed my cell phone: it had a very weak signal, and its battery was dying fast.

Of course I'd conveniently left my cell charger at home. Worse, I had no weapon with me to ward off the angry Kenny Rogers look-alike, not even my tear gas.

I'm an idiot.

So anyway, I pulled over and without getting out of the car to look at the tires, I called Triple A. The call was breaking up badly, but I was managing to communicate with the dispatcher, who naturally asked my location.

Um, in the middle of nowhere?

I really had no idea how to describe where I was. The road wasn't labelled the way Arizona Highways magazine had said it would be, and I hadn't kept track of how far I was from the main road. I guessed about ten miles down the dirt road? At that point the call began to break up again, and when the call failed, I didn't bother to call back.

I was trying to think of who to call to help me. I made a call to my friend in Phoenix, and got no answer. I got on the Internet on my phone and sent out an e-mail to another friend. But my cell signal was dying, so I just turned off the phone. I was hoping maybe another car would come along, but I hadn't seen one since I'd left the main road.

Then the rain began.

It had obviously rained earlier, because parts of the road were very muddy.

The scary thing is that Arizona has these things called "washes." A wash is, like, a water path that may look totally dry one minute, and then a storm, even in another part of the area, may suddenly cause the wash to flood, and I mean FLOOD, as in "flash flood," with enough force to sweep your car along with it.

If you've seen Into the Wild, you know what I mean. The protagonist pulls off by the side of the road and his car is suddenly swept up and carried away by a raging river.

I could see lightning in the distance. This did not bode well.

I still hadn't gotten out of the car to check the tire, and now I didn't want to, for fear of getting soaked.

So there I was, wondering which was the worse danger--grubby and angry Kenny Rogers, who was about to appear any minute at the crest of the hill behind me, or the potential flash flood from the thunderstorm.

And of course, I had neglected to obey the rules of off-road driving (to give credit where it's due, this is from Arizona Highways magazine):

"WARNING: Back-road travel can be hazardous, so beware of weather and road conditions. Carry plenty of water. Don't travel alone, and let someone know where you are going and when you plan to return."

No one knew where I was.

But give me a break: I had a huge bottle of water.

One out of three isn't bad?

In my defense, the description in Arizona Highways magazine hadn't made this sound like an off-roading experience: "By dirt road standards, this is a freeway, easily navigated by passenger cars."

Anyway, fearful of the rain, and the potential "wash," I decide to fire up the engine and keep driving as far as I could go on the flat tire, or whatever it was. I turned around the first time I had a chance and headed back to the main road.

Fortunately, I never saw Kenny Rogers again; I guess he'd gone back to his tent at the little campground.

And as I drove, the problem with the car seemed to subside. Could a flat tire somehow reinflate itself?

Once I got onto the paved road, in spite of the storm, the car drove even better still.

On the way back I passed an old-fashioned service station, a gas station not just with cashiers, but with people who actually know about cars.

The man explained that probably muddy tires were to blame. I guess mud gets not just on the outside, but up inside the rim or something. He attacked my wheels with a high-powered hose and sent me on my way.

I never did see the scenic beauty or the charming bed-and-breakfast place, but at least I made it back alive.


That's not my tire,
and I don't think mine were that bad,
but you get the idea.

Attempted Break-In

The above is my imaginary rendering of the person who TRIED TO FRICKIN' BREAK INTO MY HOTEL ROOM LAST NIGHT!!!

The room faces the outside; in other words, it doesn't face onto an interior corridor. And it's the room on the end, closest to the road and the parking lot (cars don't park right at the door here).

Last night around midnight I heard someone fumbling with the doorknob. I could hear scuffling footsteps, which sounded like more than one person--more than one large person, btw.

MY INCREDIBLY STUPID MISTAKE NUMBER ONE: I got up and could see the door wasn't deadbolted. Yeah, I know, stupid me, but I've been here for two weeks now and have gotten lackadaisical--which is surprising, because as a child I was severely punished multiple times for not locking doors and thus am usually a compulsive door-locker.

MY INCREDIBLY STUPID MISTAKE NUMBER TWO: I didn't immediately grab a weapon. (Hey, I'd been asleep and I wasn't thinking clearly.)

MY INCREDIBLY STUPID MISTAKE NUMBER THREE: Seeing that the door wasn't deadbolted, I was afraid to approach it and try to look out fear the ogre intruder would come smashing through. And so I stood in the middle of the room and said, "May I help you with something?" . . . in a female voice, obviously. Great, so now the guy knows I'm female. Jeez, I thought I was smarter than that!

MY INCREDIBLY STUPID MISTAKE NUMBER FOUR: I just thought, well it's a guest at the door of the wrong room, so I didn't call the police. I just went back to bed.

Now, in the light of day, I'm not so sure it was a guest at the wrong door, however. I can understand making a mistake about a center room, but not an end room.

And now the would-be intruder, a.k.a. the ogre, knows the room is occupied by a single female alone (if there were a man staying here, he'd have been the one to speak to them).

All kidding aside, this morning I'm a bit shaken up by the experience.

So now I feel like I have to call or write to all my friends and say something nice in case the ogre comes back and murders me in my sleep tonight.

That way they'll all have pleasant memories of me after I'm gone.

Doofuses

The people at the UPS store I deal with in my home town are idiots.

I'm expecting a large check, which I'm going to use to get a cashier's check to pay for the work on the trailer.

The UPS store in question is supposed to forward my mail to me each week. So all week I've been waiting for the mail and expecting this check.

I called the lady yesterday, and she assured me that she had forwarded my mail to me on August 28 and that I would get it that afternoon.

I didn't.

I called today, and now she says she *thinks* she sent some mail to me on August 28--but she's not sure.

Okay, says moi, what's the tracking number?

Oh, says she, there is no tracking number. I just gave it to the mail carrier.

Now this is a company that makes its living managing people's mail.

And she has no record or even memory of whether she forwarded my mail, and no tracking number.

And in the meantime, where is my check? If the check has been lost, of course I can get it reissued, but that will take a month or more, and meanwhile I have to come up with a cashier's check to pay for the trailer when it's done, which will probably be in two weeks.

And get this, when I complained, the guy at the store said, "Well, we forward mail for 40 customers. You can't expect us to keep track of everything."

Uh, yeah, I do expect that. That's what I pay you for!

Thanks a lot, UPS store.

Whole Hog

The trailer guy gave me a lot of options and prices for things to do to the trailer.

I want to fix the toilet, water system, and gas system, of course. I also need real trailer tires, stronger chains, working brakes, and so on.

And there are other things to consider:

• Do I want a 12 volt battery so I'll have lights without a hook-up?
• Do I want a shiny, new exterior?
• Do I want better insulation?
• Do I want air conditioning?

Etc., etc., etc. And of course each thing costs money for parts and labor.

After thinking it over for three days, I finally decided, what the hell, I'll go the whole hog.

Kamping

Well, as far as spending the night in the trailer goes, I'm no longer a virgin.

My original plan was to "boondock" for free and spend the nights at truck stops, but my friend George made me all paranoid about getting attacked in my sleep, so I stayed at campgrounds during the harrowing journey (more on that later) to Denver.

And I didn't just stay at campgrounds, but sometimes at "kampgrounds." Run by KOA. The Kadillac of kampgrounds.

They were nice places, as campgrounds go: clean restrooms, hot showers, decent food.

But then as the KOA motto goes, "It's not camping, it's 'kamping.'"

OH! And I almost forgot the most important part: the electricity in the trailer actually works, and it didn't burn down in the night.

Anyway, that first night, in Terre Haute, Indiana (after spending six hours of highway driving, constantly fighting to keep the trailer under control, on the road, and in my own lane), I slept comfortably. . .

. . . until I was awakened in the early morning by a sound like this:

"HWAWH! HWAWH HWAWH HWAWH HWAWH!"

My first thought, coming out of a deep sleep, was that it was some kind of alarm.

Something was on fire.

Or we were being bombed!

Then, being the grandchild of Kentucky farm folk, I realized what it was.

A donkey.

Braying "good morning" from a nearby field.

Like they say, "It's not camping, it's 'kamping.'"

Finally!

After multiple delays, cosmetic changes, and a cancer scare, I'm finally ready to hit the road!

Another Cool Person I Met Traveling--Angela

When I was traveling in Greece several years ago, I met Angela, one of the coolest people I've ever known.

She was beautiful--but not in the least vain or even aware of her appearance. She was a talented dancer and artist. I showed her some of my writing, and she was encouraging, upbeat, positive. She totally got what I was trying to do with the novel I was writing. No one else got it, but she did.

She was intelligent and fun and utterly impractical. For example, I had the efficiency of streamlined, lightweight backpacking down to science, while she was carrying around a thick, heavy, hardback copy of the I Ching, plus a bulky sketchbook and watercolors, brushes, a Rapidograph pen, and a large glass bottle of India ink.

We danced on the sands at Crete and later explored the Minoan ruins. She had an Australian boyfriend with her named David, and he really seemed to be an equal partner--at a time when guys were a lot bossier and more demanding than they are now. Sometimes he was around, and sometimes he went off and did his own thing. I thought they had a great relationship.

It seems like I knew her for months, but it was really only about two weeks.

After those two weeks together on the beach and in Iraklion, I had to get back to Paris, and she and David found jobs and had to spend all day working.

So we went our separate ways. I had her home address, but for some reason didn't keep in touch.

Even though I didn't know her for very long, she had a tremendous influence on my life. I wanted so much to be like her. Back in the U.S., I bought an Indian dress like one she wore, I bought a Rapidograph pen, I began throwing the I Ching, and when I went back to Europe a few years later, I took a sketchbook with me.

Years later, when I was living in Bel Air, California, I saw some handbags in a boutique in Brentwood with her name on them. They could have been from someone else with the same name, but I instantly recognized her style.

I looked her up on the Internet and found she was living in the SF bay area and had her own line of purses. I wanted to call her, but didn't know what to say. I was a little afraid she wouldn't remember me. I called and got an answering machine. I can't remember if I even left a message.

Then two years ago, I saw someone on a TV show who reminded me of Angela. I went back to her website, but it wasn't functioning.

I did a Google search.

She'd died a few months earlier, I learned.

I managed to track down and phone her aunt, whom I remembered hearing about from Angela. She was Angela's age and was like a sister to her. The aunt's voice reminded me so much of Angela's. Hearing that voice was pleasant, like eating candy. I cried as I spoke to the aunt about this person I hadn't seen or talked to in many years, and whom I'd known for only two weeks.

I wrote her parents a note telling them about how Angela had made a huge impression on my life.

I learned that she and David had married, and had had a son. I corresponded with David for a few months, but lost touch when he and their son moved to Australia last year.

Angela, you died too young, and I wish I'd known you better.

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

Now I'm back in the same situation I was in a couple of weeks ago.

Packing and moving.

I've been in a hotel since moving out of my house in late July. Of course, I've got millions of things here that I have to sort to decide what goes into the trailer and what goes into storage. Plus I have to sort through the stuff in storage to decide what stays and what goes.

And of course I haven't done anything.

I plan to check out of the hotel next Thursday, but fortunately, I've got a huge time buffer before I have to be in Colorado.

I found out I don't have to stay in CO while the trailer is being worked on (they'd probably prefer that I not be there looking over their shoulders), so after I drop the trailer, I'm heading to Sedona for a month, to a cheap hotel where I've stayed many times with my dog and cat (even though now I'm pet-free, alas!).

I love Sedona.

Mon Ami Francais

I love traveling because you get to meet such cool people, and I can't wait to hit the road next week.

Here's a photo (and a video, below) of my friend that I met in Cancun last winter. He was a fellow student at the school where we were both trying to learn Spanish, and he and I lived in the same apartment. It was fun because even though I was studying Spanish, I got to practice my French, speaking to him--although his English is way better than my French. He says I have an American accent--gee, ya think?


Anyway, since then, we've kept in touch. We e-mail back and forth regularly--he tells me about his adventures in Europe, and I tell him about my preparations for my "voyage en caravanne."

He went to the Cannes film festival two years in a row, I guess to hobnob with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Anyway, here's an interview that French TV did with him this year during the art show in which his "galerie" participated during the film festival. I think they did this English version for the international audience. (It's interesting, because he looks so much more professional and clean cut in the video from Cannes than he did in Cancun!)

Countdown to Departure

Six days!

Reality

Okay, now the reality of the move to the trailer is setting in.

I think I'm going to love it!

I sold off a bunch of furniture yesterday and am sleeping on a little roll-away bed with a chair for a night stand. I like the new, Spartan look of my bedroom. I should have done this years ago!

I'll quote Thoreau again: "Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! . . . We are happy in proportion to the things we can do without."

Going Crazy

I'm moving out of my house one week from today, and I don't know how it's going to get done. My house is a sty--which is my new nickname, btw (fitting)--and I've hardly done any packing.

When I've moved in the past, I've always been uber-organized and gotten everything done in advance. But not this time.

I alternate between feeling totally crazed about it, and hiding my head in the sand, hoping it will go away. At least I have an excuse: my sprained ankle still isn't healed, so it's hard to walk across a room, let alone traipse up and down steps.

I Want One of These for the Trailer!

This is THE cutest thing in the world. And there are four of them!

Reuters fixed it so I can't embed the video in my blog, so click here .

Give!

Okay, look, all that stuff I just wrote about in the "Wish List" blog entry below? It's all going to cost me. A lot. Therefore, I'm adding a "Donate via PayPal" button to this blog!

After all, it's better to give than to receive.

If that didn't convince you, here are some additional admonitions:

Albert Einstein:
It is every man's obligation to put back into the world at least the equivalent of what he takes out of it.

John D. Rockefeller Jr.:
Think of giving not as a duty but as a privilege.

Maya Angelou:
I have found that among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver.

And Mr. and Mrs. Bush:

Barbara Bush:
Giving frees us from the familiar territory of our own needs by opening our mind to the unexplained worlds occupied by the needs of others.

George H. W. Bush:
I have spoken of a thousand points of light, of all the community organizations that are spread like stars throughout the Nation, doing good.

I found a quote from Anne Frank, too, but I'm being vile enough asking for money from strangers without exploiting an unfortunate teenager who died at the hands of the Nazis.

So Give, Give, Give, to Me, Me, Me!!!

Wish List

Here's my wish list of things I want the restoration people in Colorado to do to the trailer:

--Working gas lines

--New propane tanks

--Working toilet

--Shower

--Hot water, especially in shower, but for kitchen, too

--Water that comes out clean, not rusty

--Larger water tanks (white and black)

--Circuit breaker or breakers

--New electrical inlet on outside

--Working furnace/heater

--Working stove

--Working gas light over dinette, so I can have light when I'm camping without electricity

--Good seals on windows and anywhere else, to prevent leaks

--Seal against cold air (in winter) that leaks in around the refrigerator

--Spare tire mount and cover on exterior back

--Rock guard for windows on exterior front

--Counter-top-type cover for the top of the stove

--Air conditioning, maybe, for when I'm in Arizona in August

--Some other cosmetic stuff I'll explain later

Google Images Search

This is so funny (to which the reader replies, "I'll be the judge of that").

Anyway, I was going to write about how the trailer is getting so crowded that I'm actually taking things out of it now, as I try to load it with "essentials" like a lemonade pitcher that I haven't used in years, that just take up space, and that I probably never will use.

I always like to put some kind of picture in my blog entry to make it more than just boring text, so I entered "bulging trailer cartoon" into the Google images search function. Here's the first thing that came up:

Change of Plans

Nothing ever goes the way I plan!

I had made arrangements months ago to take the trailer to Montana on August first, to a trailer restoration company there to have it all checked out, plus to have some things added, such as a shower.

Last weekend, I got an e-mail saying the company is no longer functioning.

Back to square one.

Fortunately, the Montana people referred me to another trailer restoration company in Colorado. The guy there says he can work on my trailer in early September.

I don't mind the change, though, because the Colorado place is not far from Boulder, and I've always wanted to visit Boulder.

Impossible Dream

My goal with the trailer was to be like I was in college, when everything I owned would fit in my car.

I was hoping to get rid of everything that wouldn't fit into the trailer. But at 16 feet x 80 inches, the trailer is really small !

Like, today I put my four cold-weather coats (parka, shearling, dress coat, and leather jacket) into the closet--and that was it! There's no more space in the closet!

Here's the closet when it's empty:


I looks a lot bigger in the photo than it is in real life.

So I guess I'll have to rent a storage unit somewhere for my excess junk.

(BTW, as I was looking up the song below on YouTube, I found that it was once recorded by Elvis! My favorite is the version by Richard Kiley--probably because I met him when I was a teenager and he came into a store where I worked. He seemed a bit perplexed that I didn't know who he was. He was using his AmEx card to buy something, and I asked to see ID! I was, like, seventeen and clueless. He was nice enough, though. When he died in 1999, the lights on Broadway were turned off in his honor. The version below is sung by someone other than him, however, because I couldn't find his rendition on YouTube.)

Satellite TV

Speaking of satellite TV, a while back my dad's cousin Naomi recounted her efforts to explain satellite TV to her 93-year-old mother:

Naomi: See, there's these satellites . . .
Mother: Wha-a-a-t?
Naomi: In space, there's these satellites . . .
Mother: In space? Like with the moon and the planets and the stars?
Naomi: Well, yes, but not that far out, I don't think. You know, like Sputnik, kind of. So the satellites, they send . . .
Mother: Send? Who sends? Dogs or monkeys or whatever in the Sputniks?
Naomi: There are no dogs or monkeys in the satellites.
Mother: Astronauts?
Naomi: No astronauts.
Mother (suspiciously): Robots, then?
Naomi: (pause) Well, okay, robots. Sort of. I mean, not C3PO, of course!
Mother: (blank stare)
Naomi: So anyway, these satellites send signals.
Mother: What kind of signals?
Naomi: You know, signals.
Mother: Morse code or something?
Naomi (getting frustrated): Not Morse code.
Mother: What, then?
Naomi: If you'll be quiet and listen, you'll understand.
Mother: There's no need to get snippy with me, young lady.
(Naomi is 72.)
Naomi: The satellites send signals to the dishes on the earth.
Mother: Dishes? (stands up, preparing to leave the room)
Naomi: Yes, the satellite dishes. The dishes pick up the signal, and that's satellite TV.
Mother: (shakes her head slightly, pats Naomi on the shoulder) That's a nice story, dear. I think I'll go lie down for a while.

Life Is Complicated

I'm driving myself crazy trying to decide which satellite service to get for the trailer--Dish Network or Direct TV. There are so many variables! And should I use one of them for my Internet connection, or go with Verizon's Internet service?

Once upon a time, life was simple. They had ABC, NBC, and CBS. They had tethered landline phones from Ma Bell. Instead of computer games they had decks of cards (and maybe Scrabble or Monopoly).

They didn't have to weigh the pros and cons of a million different plans and options and features and functions, or worry about whether the sales reps are clueless or even lying.

But these are good problems to have. When you think about it, I'm really saying, "Waaaaaa! I can't decide which Internet connection to get for my laptop computer. Waaaaaa! I can't decide how to hook up my TV."

In a lot of developing countries, there are people who would love to have these so-called "problems"!

So I'll stop complaining now.

Quantum of Solace

Now that my other blog is SNAFU'ed and I'm combining them, I guess I'll do the movie reviews over here from now on.

Okay, so today it's . . . .

Quantum of Solace (4 Broomsticks)

I was thinking as the opening credits rolled that what you want in a Bond film is predictability. But now I'm not sure that's true.

This flick had all the expected action--more than the expected amount actually. I would have liked a bit more explanation and backstory. And of course it had the Bond girls, and the exotic locales. But a lot was missing.

First of all, what happened to Q? Second, is the humor gone forever?

I read a reference to the new Daniel Craig Bond films as "Bond Rebooted"--in other words, Bond films without some of the familiar predictable elements--and I think this is true. I like Daniel Craig in the Bond role, but the feel of this film is really different. It's almost a "BINO"--a BondFilm in name only.

Still, it's good entertainment. You get to see a lot of exciting chase scenes, shootings, and things blowing up (gee, I hope I'm not giving away too much here!), and it's definitely worth seeing--but I wouldn't go back for a second look.

Thoreau, Part Two

I want to clarify something I just said--well, something I just quoted Thoreau as saying: “Most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.”

I have nothing against "luxuries," "comforts of life," nice things, etc. In fact, nobody appreciates beautiful objects more than I do.

But like I said earlier (Time Is Running Out!), I've been moving boxes of stuff (aka junk) around the country, from coast to coast, for years, and it's gotten to the point where it feels like I don't own my stuff, it owns me.

Case in point: my baby plate.

My mother had lovingly preserved my baby food plate (pictured above). (You put hot water in it and it keeps the food warm during long feeding sessions.)

So I dutifully kept it wrapped carefully in bubble wrap and packed in a box. I've been hauling it around from home to home with me for my entire adult life.

For what?

I don't need a fricking baby plate. It's not like it was on display and I was enjoying it.

So I sold it on eBay last week for twenty bucks.

If other people want to own a bunch of nice stuff, good for them, but in my current state of mind, most of the stuff I have just seems like a huge burden.

Good-bye baby chicks!

Thoreau

Anticipation of trailer living is making me think about Thoreau.

Here's a reconstruction of his cabin:

Here's the inside:

I don't know the dimensions, but my trailer is 16 feet by 80 inches, and Thoreau's cabin looks like it's not too much bigger.

This is funny--I just had to go back and make a correction--instead of "dimensions" I wrote "dementia"! Talk about a Freudian slip!

There are gazillions of great quotes from Thoreau, but here's a nice one:

“Most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.”

Trailer Trash

After visiting the RV park yesterday, I checked to see if there was a listing for trailer trash in Wikipedia. Of course there is. I think "RV trash" is on a lower rung that doesn't even merit a definition!

Btw, if you're looking to insult someone, Wikipedia also has a whole directory of pejorative terms for people with a bunch of words I've never heard of, like "FNG syndrome" and "fresa."

Anyway, here's the photo used in Wikipedia to illustrate "trailer trash."

I looked at it and thought, geez, it looks like where I lived in college. Is that the worst they could find?

RV Park

I have to be out of my house between mid and late July, and I can't leave for Montana until late July or early August, so in case there's a stretch of homelessness in there, I'll be doing a stint in a local RV park this summer.

Today I went and looked at the RV park. I've driven past it lots of times and it always looked innoculous enough--except that it has the word "Beaver" in its name--but it had gotten bad reviews at one web site, so I was reticent.

It looks fine. A bit rustic, but this is, after all, RV camping, so it's not supposed to be anything but rustic.

I feel reassured!

Limbo

I'm really hating this interim "limbo" period between living in my house and moving into the trailer. I would be farther along in the moving process, but a sprained ankle has slowed me down.

Here's a painting called Christ in Limbo by a fifteenth-century Austrian artist named Friedrich Pacher. Notice the souls begging him to get them out, and the menacing demon up above them? This picture captures how I feel!

Blogging

I put this cartoon in my other blog, but it's so funny IMHO that I want to repost it here!

Shout Out Number 3

I have to give a shout to the artist who did the painting in the last entry.

I don't know her personally, but I like her work.

Her name is Paige Bridges and her website is Vintage Travel Trailer Art.

Not only does she have a whole series of fabulous paintings of old trailers in various settings, she does commissions!

I'm saving up to have her do one of the Turquoise Trailer.

Sisters on the Fly

As long as I'm doing shout-outs, I'd like to do one to Sisters on the Fly.

This group sponsors numerous activities that include: outdoor adventures with trailer caravans, fly fishing, and horseback riding. (Sorry boys, it's girls only!)

They also help with vintage trailer sales, restoration, and customization.

Check them out!

Vintage Trailer Restoration

Today I want to give a shout out to the place that's going to do the modifications (adding a shower, hot water, awning, spare-tire mount, etc.) to my trailer.

Montana Camps and Cabins sounds like the name of a resort, but actually it's "a full-service repair and restoration facility dedicated to preserving and enhancing the timeless beauty of vintage travel trailers."

I've been in touch with them and they are so-o-o-o-o nice, plus they were recommended to me by Sisters on the Fly, an organization that sponsors caravan trips around the country in vintage trailers.

Their website has some cool photos of restored trailers and a link to the "vintage trailer web ring." Check them out!

I'm Googled!!!

I've had a few blogs before this, and I've tried to get them into the Google search engine, but could never manage it.

There's a set of complicated (for me, anyway) directions somewhere on BlogSpot about this, but I couldn't figure them out.

But just now when I typed "The Turquoise Trailer" into the Google search bar, my blog popped right up!

My other blog doesn't show, for some reason, but one out of two ain't bad. Not sure what I did right, though!

Thanks, Google!

Tires

It drives me crazy that no one around here gets the vintage trailer concept.

Everytime I try to do something related to fixing the trailer, the "trailer experts" tell me just to junk it and buy a new one.

Case in Point: Getting a Spare Tire

My friend who went with me when I picked it up suggested having a spare tire in case of a flat.

So when I left it for three days at the service department of the new trailer dealer place to have it checked out for problems (which is another story for another post), I specifically said I wanted to get a spare tire.

Last week I went to the tire dealership, and the nice guy there said that in order to get the correct spare tire, I needed to give him some special measurements that can only be obtained by taking off one of the tires and looking at it.

Okay, so I called the dealer place, because they'd had the trailer there for several days and knew I wanted a spare. Surely, I thought, they had taken the tire off and gotten those required measurements.

Nope.

The dealer said that to get a tire I'd have to try to find one at a junk yard (and he hinted that while I was there, I should just leave the trailer behind and spend $25,000 to buy a new one from him).

So now I had the huge hassle of having the nice guy at the tire place come to the trailer storage lot, jack up the trailer (difficult because it's parked on gravel), take off a wheel, and measure it.

I finally managed to contact the guy who sold it to me. He gave me all the measurements and said the tires are a very standard type, the same as those for a vintage 1960s Ford Fairlane.

I called the tire guy, and guess what? No waiting, no special orders, it's easy, and they have the tire in stock!

I guess some people just love to make things complicated!

Bed

I'm wondering how confortable the bed in the trailer will be. It's not a true mattress, just a set of three long cushions that together can convert into a sofa. One is about the width of a sofa seat, and the other two are about a foot wide, or less, to make the back of the sofa.

I tested it, of course, but you can't really tell about a bed until you sleep on it for several nights in a row. An uncomfortable bed would be okay for a weekend trip, but because I'm going to live in "ma caravane," I need to be able to get a good night's sleep.

Because the dinette converts into a second bed, I'm putting lots of bedding in the trailer--so I can have a guest sleep over! Also it will, I hope, be enough to keep me warm on cold nights. I told my brother I wanted one of those little foil emergency blankets as a birthday present--with one of those, I probably won't freeze to death if it gets really cold. I might buy a new sleeping bag, too, because the only one I have is a very lightweight thing for summer camping.

Instead of my ratty old blankets, I wanted something nice for the bed, because it's such a big part of the trailer and I'll have to look at it every day, so I got the bedding set you see below. It's got a retro look, plus it's turquoise, so it matches the trailer nicely!

Time Is Running Out!

I have to be out of my house by mid-July, which means I have only about six weeks to sell or give away all of my stuff and start living in the trailer.

Yikes!

Instead of putting stuff into storage, which I done too many times in the past, I want to just get rid of everything! I'm even selling old family photos on eBay. Some of my friends think I'm nuts (what else is new), but these things are just material objects, and I no longer feel the need to keep boxing them up in cardboard cartons, moving them around the country, or putting them into storage.

Plus, a storage unit will cost about $100 a month. For $1200 a year, I can buy whatever I need if I decide I don't like "la vie en caravane."

BTW, as I was looking for clock photos to use in this blog entry, I found this one:
It's a life clock. You set it to your age, and watch as your life slowly ticks away.

Time really is running out!!!