And a Hearty GOODBYE to 2017

You guys.  SO MUCH has gone on since ...um...(counts on fingers) last June.  Let's review, shall we?  You can also almost just zoom through and see the pictures, for a quick update on my life, but if you like to read my scattered off-the-hip updates, well, yeah...there's that, too.

We've had:  *inhales* ...A bunch of yard renovation, a wedding followed by a beautiful reception, a graduation followed by a gift Jetta, an empty nest, a funeral, my first first-class seat on a plane (OMG THE FRONT OF THE PLANE, what is even happening?), a great Christmas party, a cookbook published(!), a hip replacement, an amazing vacation, and...a wrecked gift Jetta.  *insert super-annoyed-mom eye roll here*

Oh, and I managed to crochet our newly on-her-own graduated youngest daughter a super cool afghan in February, and knitted a new scarf for myself this weekend, in between cross-stitching everysingledayevenonvacation on my giant recreation of the Lady and the Unicorn tapestry.  See?

I've literally taken this across the country in my carry-on, twice.

I also petted a MOOSE.  Yes, I know.  Dangerousssss.  I'm crazy.  Shouldn't have done that.  Etcetera.  But yeah, I totally did, and I was up on the porch safe behind a big pillar when I did it, and she couldn't get me, and she didn't seem like she cared, so I just went with it.  Since no one believes me that we had a totally tame-ish wild moose in our actual front yard (for like weeks, actually--the bushes barely survived it), I did manage to video the whole thing with my free hand while simultaneously watching her for signs of attack-moose mode so I could duck back inside and avoid being trampled or pummeled or beaten to death by her hooves, or whatever happens when mooses attack you.  Is "mooses" a word in that case?  No idea.  When "moose" attack you...that doesn't sound right either. Whatever.  Anyway, I totally petted her.  And I'm making "petted" a word, too.  I'd post the video but apparently it's not in the right format to upload, and I'm too lazy to figure that out, so here are some photos.  Maybe sometime I'll post the video in a separate moose-related post...

what are you doing?

Not sure that's a good idea...

Ok, whatev.  These bushes are too delicious.

We also had an orphaned baby hanging around a lot.  And, a whole other one (I hope!) who decided that our garden fence line would be a good place to...lie down and die.  (no photos of *that* but omg what do you do with a dead baby moose? No one wants to help you with that...)

Anyhoo...we're EMPTY NESTERS now, and it's hilarious how many people use that whispery-concerned voice when we tell them that, like we've just suffered a bereavement, and they ask "Soooo, how's *that* going? Are you guys, you know, doing ok?"  And we're like, "Ummm, yeah.  We're fine with it."  Why wouldn't we be?  We raised our girls to be independent, smart, capable women, and, voila---there they are; doing life, and rocking it.  Our oldest got married last April, and we hosted a beautiful evening reception in our back yard in June for them, followed by our youngest graduating from high school in June and moving to her own apartment in July.

Are they sweet or what?

Purple sky unedited and just...amazing! What a beautiful night!!

On a side note, I did totally finally manage to get that cookbook project published, which I promise I will write about in another post.

And, since Shane and I started out as best friends who also find each other incredibly hot (I know, awkward TMI), then took a detour into parenthood, we now find ourselves with all this empty house and free time together and, wait--what? --possibly some discretionary money that's just...for us?  What's THAT about?  When I find extra money in the bank account, I'm immediately glancing over my shoulder and wondering "Wait-what bill did I miss?" Still adjusting to that.  And guess what? IT'S FREAKING AWESOME.  It's like when we were in our 20s and we could just...get up and go out if we felt like it.  Out to dinner.  To the bookstore.  To Home Depot (yes, girls, we still do that on Sundays).  We may even take a road trip sometime.     

I know.  Crazy.

It helps that we still are best friends who find each other incredibly hot (even though we qualify as what my 80s-highschool self would call "totally super old"), and we still love to do everysinglething together and enjoy each other's company immensely.  I love that we have the place to ourselves.  I do love when our girls come and visit, and we have a houseful of young people hanging around, relaxing, eating and visiting (and yes, playing on their phones).  But then I love that they all leave and go home at the end of the weekend, too.  So, yeah.  Empty nesting is a revelation.

Ok, what else?  Oh, yeah-- I'll just state once for the record that 2017 MORE OR LESS SUCKED, in spite of some terrific bright spots.  In general, it was just like one punch in the junk after another.  Like, can we get a break here yet? And apparently the answer to *that* question was a resounding "no", for most of 2017.  Oh sure, it had its good moments, but seriously...2017 will be remembered as the Year From Hell, more or less.  Our youngest graduated and moved out, and we had about ONE WEEK of "whoopie, we're empty-nesters" before Shane was diagnosed with a destroyed hip joint that was rapidly deteriorating and would require a total hip replacement as soon as possible.  *cue Jaws music here*

For a guy who works outside, on his feet, in and out of equipment all day every day, this was bad news.  Bad, bad.  It also meant we skipped all the things last summer that meant walking anywhere.  No hunting.  No walking around the fair.  No wandering around Home Depot.  No walking ANYwhere that wasn't 100% necessary, because he was in so . much . pain.  And the narcotics and even the non-narcotics that they gave him for the pain made him depressed and super...cranky...to be honest.  Even he noticed it.  The hydrocodones also gave him terrifying nightmares along with the depression, so he mainly just powered through with Tylenol and Ibuprofen.  Not fun-- at all.  For either of us.

He dragged his leg around from June through December, barely able to walk some days because of the pain, plus his hip would randomly give out and he'd fall.  He did manage to work until December 13th, when he went in for a total hip replacement.  To make a long (long, long, painful) story shorter...he came through it with absolute flying colors and was back at work 3 weeks later, on his feet, outside, in the snow, moving logs.  My brother actually moved out and stayed with us for most of the winter, and was a huge help at the log yard and as a backup watchdog for Shane, which made me feel a little more at ease watching him go out in the snow to work.  I'd send them off to work in the morning and be mouthing to Jesse behind Shane's back "do NOT let him fall down!!"  So yeah...that's behind us, thank God.  I'm not posting any surgical photos, though.  You're welcome.

THEN we took a amazing and much-needed Disney trip to DisneyWorld with a cruise to the Bahamas and back, which was almost literally just what the doctor ordered.  Somehow we also rolled the dice with letting them assign our room category, and we scored the BEST stateroom ever, with like 40' of private deck at the back corner of the ship.  It was absolute heaven.  We've always gotten an inside-mushrooms-in-the-dark stateroom, but this was so worth it, just......so much yes.

our room was about 3 decks from the top, right side, upper corner.  HUGE wraparound deck...

And of course, I always get home from Florida and immediately start already planning the next time I can see palm trees because - duh - Idaho - palm trees.

As I write this, it is still cold enough to snow here (March 26th) and too early too cold to go outside and start on any garden stuff yet, though I do have my seeds and potting soil and trowel all at the ready, so I can get our vegetables started for this year.

We also bought a meat smoker, and I didn't think I would, but I've officially fallen in love with smoking our own meat!  So far we've smoked some salmon, our own bacon, and our own ham, and omg-- the taste...can't.even.  I die.  IT'S SO YUMMY.

My first smoked ham

Oh, and if you're still wondering about the wrecked-gift-Jetta from the opening, well, yeah...everyone's fine.  The Jetta's not.  So, that's probably about all we need to say about that...

Boyfriend: 1.  Jetta: 0.

Oh, and the Christmas party we sometimes host, where I make like 45 different appetizers that don't need a fork (no matter what Aunt Alice says..), and start baking in like October, was AWESOME.  We squeezed something like 64 people in our downstairs, and it was just a lovely time with everyone.  Shane's surgery was the following Tuesday, so we wanted to see everyone before he was down for recovery.  I'm already looking forward to doing it again this year.

The List

Anyway, I just thought I'd do a quick(ish) update.  Hopefully I'll start writing more often, now that 2017 is over and done, and it took its black cloud/punch-you-in-the-junk mood with it.

Plus, there are more of my hippie childhood stories that are too good not to share, so stay tuned.

Thanks for reading, and hope you're all having a lovely start to 2018.  It's gotta be better, right?

So...Spring and Stuff

Whoa...I keep remembering that I haven't written anything since like November, and then I'm all you're such a dork.  You better write something.  People will think this blog is dead.

Well it's not (dead), and I am (kind of a dork) most of the time, but I thought I'd pop in and say hi and yes, I'm still here.  A lot has happened this winter that was decidedly NOT funny, ranging from the truly seriously bad, to some semi-bad/karma-ish "so THAT just happened" events, but most of it was not funny or interesting enough to write about for complete strangers to read.  I should clarify by saying that yes, we have TOTALLY LAUGHED at a LOT of stuff this winter, because we basically don't take anything too seriously.  It's just that most of it is completely inappropriate, and we'd probably get banned from both our families if I wrote it all down, so just never-you-mind about all that.  Besides, you probably wouldn't get any of it.

So I'll just stick to the fun stuff, k?

*inhales*

On the bright side, we have had some very good times since Thanksgiving, like hosting about 60 family members here for our Christmas party, which was a blast, and totally proved that you can put pretty much as many people as you want in any house, as long as no one needs a chair.   It just..works.

And hey, I *do* still know how to MAKE ALL THE THINGS

Aaaaand because we saved some yard sale money from a giant downsizing we did last July, we were able to go on a Disney cruise BY OURSELVES for our 25th anniversary in February.  First time we've been away alone together on an actual airplane in 21 years, so it was totally worth it to get rid of all that random household stuff filling all the closets!   And Shane finally got a window seat.

Best. Trip. Ever.  If you ever consider cruising, go Disney.  Even without kids, it's the most magical way to go.  Maybe espECially without kids...heehee

Disney's private island adults-only beach,  Wish I was still *there* 

We did NOT want to come home.  Not even kidding.

Guys.  After 3 years, 3 months, 4 days and a tax refund, WE FINALLY GOT A CAR AGAIN.  O.M.G.  I may or may not have actually sat in the garage and cried a little.  And possibly drank a bottle of champagne in the front seat.  

Anyhoo...several very nice friends have emailed me separately to see how I'm doing, because the blog's been so quiet.  By which they kind of meant WRITE SOMETHING ALREADY, WE'RE BORED, which is totally sweet.  I'm all about making everyone happy, and it's nice to have responsibilities and stuff, so here you go.

You're welcome.

Survived RV-ing. Got the T-Shirt.

Make 2000-mile round trip in an RV with family and giant dog.  Check that off my bucket list.

no

You guys.  We got home at 1:28 a.m last Thursday, after driving straight thru for about 9 hours one day and 14 hours the second day.  Shane drove the whole entire trip, both ways, because he is the actual model that they used for Superman, except that now I think he needs a vacation from our vacation.  His superpower is that he can drive for two days straight and still smile.

At my prior post, I was packing the RV with our wholeentirelife, plus possibly some stuff we never use because what if we have a medical emergency and someone needs a wound stitched ON THE ROAD; plus enough stuff to have a yard sale to raise gas money for the trip home because we always have some financial crisis whenever we leave town and find ourselves scrounging under the driver's seat for cash for that last tank of gas; plus EVERY CRUMB of food in the house; plus EVERY SINGLE PIECE of clothing in the house, because what if it gets too hot/cold/windy/wet/dry or we need to go swimming in a river suddenly; PLUS my husband, our teenager, my mom and all of her luggage, AND a 70-pound English mastiff puppy for good measure, because who wouldn't want to take a 70-pound dog in an RV with no tip-outs, with walkways the width of your kneecaps? Bindi has added "knows how to back up while standing in a moving RV" to her short but growing list of handy tricks, so we feel like she's definitely special.

Who could leave this face at HOME?

We crammed all of this into a new(to us) RV that we'd never test-driven further than the nearest gas station, made sure the basic things worked like lights, water, and the generator, slammed the door, and drove it ALL THE WAY TO ALAMEDA, CALIFORNIA, because we keep pretty strictly to our code of living by the seat of our pants.  From our house, Alameda turned out to be exactly 1,006,000,000,000 miles away, but we thought we could take turns driving and it'd all be a hoot, right?  I pictured us playing Scrabble along the way and telling family stories as we cruised through Washington, Oregon, and California.

no

Oregon turned out to have A LOT more uphill climbs than I remembered.  After living there for 5 years and driving back and forth to Idaho a lot, I remembered, like, ONE.  There were actually about a thousand, give or take.  It turns out that I-5 through Oregon is JUST HILLS.  It's literally just...a freeway--straight through the middle of a mountain range.  I remember it being much more fun to drive when we were younger, in our (then) new BMW 328xi, but the whole experience in a 28' RV shaped like a giant SAIL was somewhat less exhilarating.

And we didn't play Scrabble OR take turns driving.

Because WIND.  Add to the nonstop hills, the fact that the wind blew, hard.  The. Whole. Way. Picture riding inside a breadbox inside a windtunnel inside a hurricane, pretty much all the way right up to my aunt's doorstep in Alameda.

I may or may not have seen this out the window at one point

Because of the WIND, we didn't switch drivers except that one time when Shane laid down in the back bed at a rest stop, in need of a nap, and I figured I could definitely drive this thing down a straight freeway in the Columbia River Gorge for awhile, because how hard can it be, right?  I think he lasted all of five minutes on the bed before he tiptoed up to the front, stepped over the dog, and said lovingly in my ear Pull over.  You're going to kill all of us.

In my defense, I was totally staying between the lines, even though I think I maxed out at a speed of like 47 mph.  No wonder the drivers of RVs always look like they're 100 years old, all hunched over and crabby.  The wind pushed us around so much that the only place that felt safe was the front seats.  The further back you got, the more it felt like you were in a shuttle launch, with all the crash-warning alarms blinking.  Every time any of us went in the back of the RV, we thought this is it.  This is how it ends.  We're just going to be blown out of control and roll over a hundred times and we'll all die.  I don't want to die in an RV bathroom in my pajamas.

We also ended up driving through northern California in the midst of a 3-year drought and a heat wave at about 5 p.m., so there were lots of OH MY GOSH HOT comments every time we stopped, which was about every hour, because the RV needed gas in every town to compensate for our 8 mpg fuel consumption, and the dog needed to get out at pretty much every single rest stop for the entire length of I-5.

Just kidding.  It was actually more like every *few* rest stops.

  

And as an aside, can I just say for the record that Oregon has some of the nicest rest stops I've ever seen in my life?  Like, you could live there.

OK, not THIS nice.  But still.

Then things started going awry.  About halfway down I-5, we realized the generator wasn't going to work for longer than a few minutes at a time before it died, even though on all our test runs at home, it had worked fine.  It was also so loud that we knew that if we started it up within an acre of any humans, we'd cause a evacuation, so we'd been hoping to run it while we were driving, to keep things charged and possibly use the air conditioner, because Sacramento.  Apparently there was an issue with the relay breaker flux capacitor fuel pump thingie.

So...no generator = no A/C + no charging of the things.

Having no way to charge our phones along the way, I realized that mine was at about 22% battery as we approached Sacramento, and we still needed it to navigate into San Francisco.  I can not even imagine how we all ever did this stuff with just...maps.  Oh. My. Gosh.  I turned my phone off and hoped that the battery wouldn't die in the dark, in the middle of San Francisco traffic.  Because the one thing I did NOT pack was a map.

Right about the same time, I realized that the wet spot on the carpet by the sink wasn't from the dog splashing her drinking water.  Our hot water tank was leaking under the cabinets, (yes, the same hot water tank we had spent an entire 98-degree evening struggling to fit back into a hole that was, I promise, not as big as the tank itself). The spot was spreading.  I looked under the sink cabinet area and assessed the situation.  All the cleaning supplies I brought...soaked.  All the dishtowels and washclothes we brought...soaked.  RV kitchen carpet...soaked.  Wait--Who puts carpet in a kitchen??  

stay focused

I stuffed a large towel under the sink to soak up the leaking, and we stopped at a rest stop north of Red Bluff and laid our motley batch of wet towels to dry out in the sun on a picnic table.  The staff at the rest stop gathered around to ask us, nicely, if we were doing our laundry?  Because if so, it's probably not really appropriate to lay out your laundry to dry on the picnic tables, ma'am.  We reassured them that they were just wet towels, and since the surface of the tables was 1,000 degrees, the towels dried in about 30 seconds, and we were on our way.

I also had an opportunity to actually YELL at my very first complete stranger, because Bindi is very shy around new people and dogs (as in: she panics if they approach too fast).  This woman pulled up in her Mercedes to a rest stop and let both her dogs out, unleashed, where they proceeded to pee everywhere except the area marked PET AREA.  She then watched unconcerned as one of her dogs ran straight for us, where we were sitting with Bindi at a picnic table, on a leash, like normal people do.  Bindi saw the strange dog and went into full panic-reverse mode, straight backwards up Shane's leg.  I completely forgot my diplomacy skills and shouted at this lady, "Leash.  Dog on leash please.  Leash your dog.  LEASH WOMAN!!!"

She huffed off to her Mercedes and drove away.  No apology.  Not even, "Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm just way too special to follow leash laws.  Those scratches look like they hurt."

I've never yelled at a stranger before, but it felt kind of freeing...

We continued on.  The wind never let up for the entire trip, but I speak for both of us when I say that the last 45 minutes into the Bay area at 9:30 p.m. that night ranked in our top 2 scariest road trips.  We paused about an hour outside the city to text my cousin and suggest that maybe we should spend the night at a campground and come into the city in the daylight the next morning. "Oh, no, you're so close! It's only another hour! Just come the rest of the way!" We were like, "Right.  Because, how hard can it be?"  So we headed back onto the freeway, checked my phone (19% battery), and hoped for the best.

Imagine trying to handle a giant box of an RV in strong gusting head-winds, driving 70 mph on a 19-lane 5-lane freeway full of crazy city traffic, while trying to navigate to an unknown destination in the dark.  Shane's a great driver and the calmest man I know, but I've literally never seen him so stressed.  It took all his concentration to keep us upright and also not run over the various insane drivers who kept cutting in front of the RV at 70 mph with like 3 feet of space to spare, without signaling.  

We were both getting tenser by the minute.  Our daughter gave up watching through the window and decided now would be a good time to face the back and PRAY.

Our conversation the last few miles consisted of fun stuff like this:

Him:  We're in the middle lane.  What lane do I need to be in?  What lane WHAT LANE WHAT LANE?!?  WHATLANE???

Me:  Hold on.  My phone's still powering on.

Him:  Hurry UP please.  The freeway forks in 1/4 mile.

Me:  Almost done...I can't make it start up any faster.

Him:  JUST TELL ME WHERE TO GO!!

Me:  YO, I DIDN'T BUILD THIS FREEWAY SYSTEM.  I'M AS LOST AS YOU ARE, SO--

Google Navigation Voice:  In 1/4 mile keep left to take the exit towards I-580 south Alameda/San Francisco/Mexico/Brazil and I-880 south San Francisco Airport/I-80 west Fairfield/San Rafael/Napa/blahblah.

Him:  What?? I just need to know which exit.

Me:  I think we keep left.  Ok--Yes.  This is good.  So...Stay left.  LEFT.  Change lanes NOW.

We find ourselves off the freeway under a tangle of what seems like all the freeways and overpasses ever built, driving in the dark, in the industrial part of Oakland.

Google Navigation Voice:  Keep left at the fork.  Keep right at the fork.  Slight right onto Jackson. Use the left lanes to continue onto Central Ave.

Us:  ...did it just say keep left AND keep right? WHICH fork??   AH MIGASH.

Him:  We're going to die.  Can you see any street signs? Where are we?

Me:  No, it's too dark.  Wait.  It says Jackson on the sign there, behind that tree branch.  I think.  No, wait--that's Santa Clara.  Nevermind.

Him:  Just TELL ME WHERE TO TURN, because there are four lanes here, and I can't get across all of them in one block.  Why can't we see any SIGNS?

Me:  I've never been here, so I know as much as you do right now.  Yes, wait-- OK, we're on Central. OK, turn left up here.  You need to be in the left lane.  I think.  Yes.  Move over a lane now.  LEFT.  LEFT LANE RIGHT NOW TURN HERE.

Google Navigation Voice:  Your destination is on the right.

We made it.  Then we saw the alley my aunt was directing us to drive into with this 28-foot motorhome.  C'mon back!  You guys.  It was the smallest alley I have ever seen.  Like the kind of alley that was probably installed when the milk man delivered milk with a one-horse cart, and it is used by apartment dwellers who drive those little electric hybrid city cars, very slowly.  It was lined with brick apartment entries on one side and a solid wall of hedge on the other, and it was exactly 8 inches wider than the whole motorhome.

On our first try, we went in at the wrong angle, caught the trees with the RV stair that had somehow slid out, and bent it all to heck.  When I tried to open the door to check out how badly we'd mangled the step, I could open the door about an inch and a half before I hit the trees.  The step was ruined, so it couldn't be pushed in.  Start over.

He backed up, out into the 4-lane street full of Friday-night traffic, straightened the RV more, and tried again.  This time we were lined up right, but the alley was so narrow that he literally was pushing through all the bushes the whole way back for about 100' to where the parking area was. One really stubborn bush actually broke off our exterior running light and left a set of 4 scratches the whole length of the RV.  As Shane passed one brick apartment entryway, he reached out the driver's window and gently pushed their potted plants out of the way so he could inch past it.

scrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

The whole way down the alley, I was following him with a flashlight, wondering are we going to have to back out of this alley? Because if we are, we'll just have to sell the RV in pieces, right here in the alley and fly home.  I wonder if I can put Bindi on an airplane? We can NOT afford plane tickets.  It turned out to be a U-shaped drive-through, so we didn't have to sell the RV.

By the time he turned off the motor, I think my skin was the only thing actually holding me together.

Once parked, we knew we couldn't use the generator in the small space we were in without somehow building a new muffler for it, but we figured no problem, we'll just plug our 60' power cord into my aunt's storage unit outlet.   But no, because the outlet turned out to be 70' away.  Which didn't matter, because the outlet was the wrong amperage anyway.

Holding firm to our "wing-it" creed, we used the onboard batteries all week, got a jump-start when it was time to leave, drove out the other entrance to the apartments (which turned out to be much wider, thank goodness), and did the whole trip in reverse, in daylight.

About an hour outside of San Francisco, we realized we're out of water, so...no toilet, no shower, no washing dishes.  Also still no generator, so also still no A/C or charging of the things.  And why do I smell the septic tank??

Break time.

We found an overnight RV camp ground about half way home and were able to plug into actual electricity, refill our water, dump the septic, charge the things, and continued on home.  I won't even bother marveling at the small-ness of the camp spots at this lovely, shaded RV park by a river.  I stepped out of our door and nearly hit my face on the slide-out of the camper next to us.  Yes, they were that close.  On all sides.  Because:  Hey, suburban life is a drag.  I know! Let's go CAMPING, so we can live EVEN CLOSER to our neighbors. 

this is roomier, by comparison...not even kidding

Aside from the stressful trip getting there and back, it turned out to be a seriously awesome visit with a group of my family that have never before, and may never again, all be in the same city at the same time, so everything was worth it.

And we got to see some beautiful scenery.

Heading down the Gorge

Columbia River

Mt Shasta 

Cool hills outside Fairfield, CA

Unloading.  Because why not?

Shasta again on the way home

Mt Hood from Portland freeway, after going 21 miles in stop/start rush hour traffic. why

But hey--I had time to knit this sock...

If anyone's interested, we also have an RV for sale.

"Is it me, or are we getting too old for this?" and other joys of camping

I know.  We make this look SO EASY

You guys.  It seems like just yesterday I was writing about packing for a trip and working on our irrigation system, and here I am again...packing for a trip and working on our irrigation system.  Because there's nothing as motivational as knowing your entire property could be a parched-to-death wasteland and/or flood-plain when you roll into the driveway after a week of living somewhere else in your very own traveling "home".  I use the term "home" loosely to mean the space where we (and when I say "we", I mean I) take pretty much everything we own, and possibly some stuff we don't, out of our large house and cram it all into various storage compartments in a microscopic traveling box camper and then drag our entire mini-life somewhere else for a few days to a week, then reverse the process when we get home.

Actually the camper's a pretty sweet set-up...I just get snarky when it's time to pack

"Live small" is our motto when we go camping.  Little tiny stovetop, tiny pans, tiny utensils, tiny bathroom, tiny counters, tiny floor space, tiny closets.  If you use a dish, WASH IT AND PUT IT AWAY because there's no other place to set it down.  If you are taller than 5'5", too bad--your feet are going to hang off the bed, no matter what.  Get over it.

To justify the prep-time involved in going camping or RV-ing, the goal should be to stay gone for more days than the packing/unpacking takes.  So, if it takes two days to pack and two days to unpack, plus the rest of the time it takes to sort everything out, get the followup laundry done, and put it all away, we should be gone for ...*stares at ceiling and counts on fingers*  one thousand days.

aaiieeeeeee

The older we get, the more Shane and I look at each other in the midst of Windex-ing surfaces, packing ball bearings, replacing RV hot-water heaters, and flipping random light switches and saying "Is anything on NOW?", the more we realize that the term "vacation" should really only apply to those times that involve AIRLINE TICKETS AND ROOM SERVICE.  You know, the kind where your biggest concern is that your sunscreen won't pop open in your suitcase, and when you get back to your room from dinner, the bed is made and there is possibly a towelgami thing sitting there.

This

Because, for the mom (and often for the dad), camping is never, ever truly a break.  You spend 3 days (or more) tearing apart your closets, kitchen, and bathrooms, and moving it all INTO the camper.  "Where's the first-aid kit/folding chairs/hot-dog prongs/bug spray?" THEN you spend the whole time away doing dishes, listening to random "there's nothing to eat" comments, and picking up shoes and socks from the floor.  Kind of like being at home.  THEN you actually come back home and reverse the procedure, unpack everything you own and drag it back into your actual house, dump most of it on the laundry room, and spend the following week washing all of it and putting it away again.

Yay, when can we do this again?

Add to the mix, the fact that we now travel with a fully operational English mastiff puppy who at 6 months old weighs about 75 pounds.  So...there's her bed, toys, slobber rags, food dishes, food, ramp (yes, ramp), and random other dog-related crap to deal with.  no pun intended.   Well, actually...  

Three weeks ago at 5 months/65 pounds

Last night Shane and I were out working on the motorhome that we are using for this next trip.  We aren't taking our usual camper, which is always packed for the summer with more or less everything we need and therefore only takes 2 days to get ready for take-off (so it's...fairly simple to leave to go camping in the summer--just put in food and our clothes and go)  (kind of).

I had already transferred all our nicely pre-packed stuff out of the camper and into the motorhome, and we were cleaning dead bugs and pine needles out of the ceiling vents, wiping sweat off our brows in the 98-degree heat, and wondering why the air-conditioner keeps blowing the breaker on the turbo twin-prop generator, when we realized that we could use a real vacation.

Haha ha    HA.

I'm no prophet, but I can definitely predict that our next vacation plans will include the words "cruise" and "Bahamas".  There will also be towelgami involved.  Just sayin'.

How to Ruin a Charming B&B

I have admitted to having had what amounts to a "bad experience" with a bed and breakfast inn, but there used to be a super funky, cozy, whimsical B&B that we loved on the pacific coast.  (Notice I say "used to").  It had theme rooms, and nothing was too quirky or offbeat for this place.  We loved it. We used to go when we were first married, then about twice a year with our kids when they were little, and it was magic.

This. 

Or this.    See? Magic.

If I had to give it a decor style, it would have been Whimsical Shabby Beach Bohemian.

We had a chance to visit it again after a 10-year gap of not going because.. LIFE. Unfortunately, I booked it over the phone, without going online or seeing any photos (after 10 years).  I missed my cue when I asked for our favorite room (and described its old theme), and the gentleman on the phone said cheerfully, "Oh, it's all been redone!  You probably won't even recognize it."

Hello.  UNDERstatement.

Long (long) story short:  They ruined it.

It bothered me so much that I actually wrote about a 2,000-word essay, recreating every corner of the place from memory, so we'd have a written record of what it once was.  Then I figured, that's too much information for a blog post.  Instead I composed a short list of How to Ruin a B&B.  I hope it's short.  It might be short.  OK, it's probably not going to be short.  But it won't might not be 2,000 words, you guys.     You're welcome.

Here goes:

1.  Empty every single room of every single thing but the carpet.  Have a yard sale and/or bonfire to get rid of every bit of furniture, artwork, whimsical linens, pillows, and potted plants.  Used stuffed animals for firestarters.  Scatter the ashes over the beach.

2.  Paint every surface of the building a comforting, boring, hotel-approved taupe-y beige color.  Add ivory trim for interest.  We wouldn't want any of the rooms to seem...different from each other.  Theme rooms are so 80's.

3.  Replace various daybeds and/or brass/iron/carved beam beds with all exactly matching dark hardwood sleigh beds. Any tables should be no-nonsense squares in the same wood finish.

4.  Replace all comfy overstuffed printed-fabric chairs, couches, and wicker seats with floral cushions with Pottery Barn dark leather club chairs.  Not too many, though.  Hotels are for sleeping, not reading books by a window surrounded with plants and happy assorted pillows.

5.  Replace all whimsical mismatched bathrobes with -- nothing.  You want a robe? Bring your own.

6.  Replace armoirs full of extra blankets, pillows, games and books with -- nothing.  Hallways are for elevators.  If you didn't bring a book, then go sit in the corner.  Of your room.  In that leather chair without a foot rest.

7.  Replace all whimsical printed curtains with white miniblinds.  Prints are out.

8.  Replace beachy watercolors and random sun/moon/stars plaques and quirky yard-sale art with exactly matching black contemporary frames, two per room.  Each should hold a white-matted monochrome photo of a single shell or starfish.  Nothing else.  You're here to sleep, not daydream.

9.  Replace magical shelf of random cups (especially that cup shaped like a panda) with solid white mugs.  Turn self-serve coffee bar full of assorted teas and cocoas into a drink station for staff only.  We will bring you your hot cocoa, but don't think we're going to be all, "Did you want a refill?"

10.  Replace old B&B breakfast menu with a full-service restaurant, with friendly but very slow service.  Serve one-egg omelettes and forget to refill waters.  All mix-and-match whimsical table linens and plates should now be solid white only. Take old beach-themed napkin rings to Goodwill.

11.  Play strictly Sinatra-era cocktail lounge music for background.  No one at the beach wants to hear music from any decade since then.

12.  Replace all previous mismatched colorful towels and bedding with strictly tan.  White sheets, tan...everything else.  All that random-color stuff went out with Cyndi Lauper.  Beaches are colorless; hotels should be, too.  Add one navy blue throw pillow, just for fun.  It is the OCEAN.

13.  Remove any old statuary, hammocks or mosaic-covered tiny seaside fireplaces from patio area and replace with matching teak breakfast tables, as many as possible.  We're a restaurant, not an ocean-front patio for sipping coffee at bistro tables with mismatched chairs.

14.  Chuck various potted plants and replace with -- nothing.  If you want plants, go for a walk.

15.  After making sure all traces of charm have been wiped completely away, leave old 'theme' name plates on the rooms' doors, because we wouldn't want people to think things have changed.

*face palm*     *shakes head*

P.S.  The beach was, in fact, lovely, and the stay was nice.  I was just a bit put off by the "progress" from a 70s/80s whimsy-themed B&B to...just another hotel.

The view is the only thing that hasn't changed.

Do you have a place you remember that is so magical and familiar that it's like part of the fabric of your past?  Have you ever revisited a place like that, only to find it completely destroyed by an "update"?


photos courtesy of Google, as usual

Say no to B&B's

Here’s the reason I’m a huge fan of hotels, as opposed to B&B’s.   Let me also point out that, seriously, everything in this story actually happened.   Every. Single. Thing.  You can't make this stuff up.  If anything, I have left some stuff OUT.  But it's a long story, either way.

Last year my husband and I decided to use a free gift to stay at a local B&B, as a special getaway.  We had looked at the online brochure for this place, and it looked perfect.  In my head, I pictured us sitting on the porch of our private cabin in the morning mist, sipping coffee while looking out at the mountain meadow, listening to the birds, possibly seeing deer grazing past…you know, kind of like those old Folgers coffee commercials, cozy sweaters and all.

I made reservations.  This process in itself was several years in the making, since, for some reason the B&B was always booked for any and every date we called them about, until I quit telling them up front that we were using a 'free' stay.  On like my fifth attempt, I just said I wanted to book a night, then sprang the 'free' part on them after they said they had a night open.  Sneaky, but it worked…

We drove out for our getaway, talking about how great it would be to have our own private cabin, a coffee maker, a night without kids, and a nice home-cooked breakfast tomorrow.  That was about as close as we got to the dream actually coming true.

We arrived after driving down what seemed like a reallllly long gravel road, and then a realllly long dirt driveway.  We could see the cabins and the surrounding pastures and hills, just like the brochure.  The hosts had called and said that they’d be out in the pastures feeding animals or fixing fences or something farmish like that, but that they’d left a note inside for us.  There were a couple of kids sitting around a fire outside, toasting marshmallows, and they told us to let ourselves in the main house.

Right inside we found a note.  Ahh, we thought, here are directions to our cabin, and there’s no one here, so it’s nice and quiet already! Yes! Peace!  The note said “Hi guys! Welcome! Please make yourselves at home.  We’ll be back shortly.  Your room is down at the end of the first hall to your left, and the bathroom in the hall is yours.” (eyebrow up—the hall inSIDE the main house..??)  We thought, OK…wow, this is not what we had in mind, but whatever, I’m sure it’s fine.  Maybe we have, like, our own wing or something.  We walked down the long tiled hallway, past a laundry room (with laundry running, in the evening) and a bathroom, to the end of the hall, where we found:  Our Room.

The room was solid wood.  I mean, floor to ceiling.  Wood walls, wood floor, wood trim, wood ceiling--decorated like a granny’s bedroom, with just a single rocking chair, the bed, an antique tiny dresser with a mirror, and that’s..IT. (No wait, there was also a window).  No closet and thus, nowhere to hang clothes.  No TV.  Not even a radio.  There was a large box fan on the floor, which we wondered at…but ok.  We set our bags down (because, that’s all you could do with them), and sat on the bed (which immediately said “squeeeeeeeaaaaaaakkkkkkk”).  Maybe it was Granny's bedroom, who knows?

We decided to check out the hallway bathroom, which seemed very nice—hey look, a giant round jetted tub (score!) AND a double-headed shower (yay!).  We started the tub, and the jets, and got in.  It wasn’t *quite* big enough for us both, so he had to sit with the faucet sort of jabbing him in the back, but we pretended not to notice.  Unfortunately we had added some bubbles, which were now multiplying at an alarming rate, until they had billowed up around us and over us.  Pretty soon we couldn’t see each other at all.  Now we’re covered in soap suds, so we’re like, “Hey, no problem--we can just hop across into the 2-man shower (and it was huge), and rinse this stuff off." 

We stood up to get out and realized there were two towels for us, but nothing on the highly polished tile floor to keep us from falling and killing ourselves while getting out, covered in soap bubbles.  We laid the hand towel on the floor between the tub and shower and carefully stepped out and across to the shower to rinse off the soap.  Everything was all still pretty much OK at this point.

I turned on the shower head on one side, and we’re like, yeah, this will work.  Since there’s two heads, (how cool is that?) my husband turned on the other shower head for himself, which immediately sucked all the hot water from the shower on my side (and possibly the whole house) into THAT head, leaving me under a stream of freezing cold water.  “AAAAieee!! Eek! Yikes! Shut it off! OFF! OFFOFFFOFF!!” 

We managed to get rinsed off, shared a towel getting out, stepped back out onto the single hand towel ‘island’ in the middle of the shiny, super slick tile floor, and tip-toed back to the bedroom to sit on the bed (“squeeeeeaaaaakkk”).  On the way out of the bathroom, I also noticed that if we were thirsty that night, we appeared to be limited to the tiniest Dixie cups imaginable, next to the sink.  Ok…

We decided, well, the communal living room's not our thing, so we may as well try to sleep.  We got in the bed, which appeared to have been short-sheeted by the Housekeeper from Hell, so we spent the night yanking and tugging on the blankets and sheets.  The pillows also appeared to have been constructed by taking three feather pillows and combining them inside one pillowcase, so they were HUGE and caused us to have our necks bent at almost a 90-degree angle when lying down.  Awesome.

We immediately noticed it was too warm to sleep.  It was August, but the room (or the house) appeared to have no cooling or heating system that we could discover.  Then we remembered the box fan under the window, ahah!--so I opened the window and turned on the fan to ‘low’.  It sounded like a 747 was coming through the bedroom, but at least there was air movement.  We left it on as long as we could stand the sound, but we eventually felt it could be a fire hazard at the rpm it was approaching, so we turned it off and tried to relax, still tugging at the bedding.

At some point, we realized we were thirsty, but we also realized there was no nightlight in the hallway OR the bathroom, so we had to either turn on all the lights or creep through the dark on the tile to get to the Dixie cups in the bathroom for our 2-ounce-at-a-time shots of water.  Ahhh, that’s refreshing!

Then the family appeared to have come in, with their kids.  Or a basketball team.  It was hard to tell from the AMOUNT OF NOISE COMING FROM DIRECTLY OVER OUR BEDROOM.  It sounded like they were getting about a dozen 9-year-olds ready for bed.  From the amount of yelling and thumping around, I thought they were possibly having a tumbling meet and/or playing full-court basketball upstairs.  We waited for what seemed like FOREVER, and they finally settled down.  But seriously, right above us??  We had to be quiet, (shh, you'll wake up the hosts), so we were reviewing the night in totally annoyed whispers, which made everything freaking hilarious, and trying to do 'silent' laughter just made the bed squeak. By now it just felt like we were trying to sleep at some strangers' house.  They weren't even like family enough for us to yell at them to "Hey, shut UP ALREADY, we're trying to sleep!" Absolutely unbelievable.

So, house quiet (still hot), window open, fan off, necks at 90 degree angles, we tried to sleep.  We must have dozed off, because at about dawn I realized the temp outside had dropped, and now we were freezing under the short-sheeted bed covers.  What actually woke us UP, though, was the wolves.  Yes, wolves.  Howling.  Outside.  Not coyotes.  I’ve lived here a long time, and I know coyotes.  These were definitely not coyotes.  What the--??  We shut the window and yanked the sheets further up.

Ahhh, morning.  Breakfast sounds were going on, and we got up and dressed, put on our coats (because it was like 50 degrees, INside) and went down the hall into the main area, where three couples were already sitting at the dining room table (only one table, and it’s full, sorry) lingering over the end of their breakfast.  The hosts greeted us, looked oddly at our wearing coats, offered coffee, and said the table would be free anytime now, and then they’d be happy to serve us breakfast.  We nodded and held out cups for coffee, went to the small couch and sat down to read a magazine and wait.  We waited and read.  And waited and read.  Refilled the coffee.  Finished the magazines, cover.to.cover.

The couples from Seattle made no attempt to finish and leave but sat loudly discussing all their traveling (can you name drop any MORE?? We don’t CARE where you’ve been, we just want to eat and leave!) Then they started in on how cool their homeschooling was going.  Next they moved on to the issue of our local theme park and how the safety on the rides was in question, and how could the park discriminate like that, by making people move around on a ride, based on weight.  Isn’t that discriminatory? Someone should really make a complaint...It’s really nothing like the park at Blah Blah Blah and our trip to Blah Blah Blah, and on and on.  And on.  It was too cold to even sit on the porch with our coffee, so we were trapped there, in our coats, listening to them.

Occasionally one of the hosts would say “Can we get you anything while you wait?” and we’d say loudly, “No, three cups of coffee will do.  (glancing at table and then at the clock) We’ll just WAIT.”  Pointedly.   The super-cool folks finally decided that they’d loudly talked about everysingletraveldestination that no one else in the room had probably been to, so they put on their L.L. Bean jackets and left.

We got up and moved to the table.  The host said finally, “All-righty folks, now, what sounds good for breakfast?” I’m thinking “Yeah!! Breakfast!” so I said, “Oh, I’d love an omelet and some bacon.”  He's all, “I don’t make omelets.”  ???  Excuse me—what??  So I said “What DO you make?” He said he made really great scrambled eggs, and I was pretty sure that scrambled was ALL they offered at that point, so I said, sure the scrambled eggs would be great.  After the amount of time it takes to chase a chicken down, teach it to lay eggs, and then fly to France and learn how to make cheese for the eggs, he finally emerged from the kitchen with my eggs.  Not, however, two plates.  Just mine, in a bowl.  My husband looked at them and said, “Wow, that looks really good…”  The host looked at him and said (I swear I’m not making this up) “Oh, did YOU want some too?” Seriously????  Long pause while he made another bowl and we ate what was left of the fresh fruit from the cool Seattle folks. 

We sat there in our coats and ate our eggs, while the host and his wife kept hovering around trying to make small talk with us.  Finally I just said, “I’m really not much of a morning person; I just like to sit and stare, in the morning.”  So the wife disappeared, and we didn’t see her again.  I guess I have that kind of get lost voice, in the morning… 

We managed to smile and thank them for the stay and their hospitality, but we drove home alternating between hysterical laughter and stunned silence.  No, I'm definitely not a B&B fan.