Deep Pockets

I’m like the inside of a pocket; nothing in there but me and the lint. Yank me inside out every once and awhile to get rid of the schmutz, then stuff me back in the dark.  At the moment I’m on the downhill side of being shaken; carefully gripping the edges to neatly slip back into my hole.

Thoughts may be spoiling...whoops, spilling  out in this post for two diverse reasons.  First, I have just completed putting my home back in order after having been forced to move due to county codes and RV restrictions, of which I’ve previously written.  The major benefit is my phone and Internet reception are perfect, but I’m still not used to using either.  And since I don’t know how long my Bonanza will last this time, I’ll be writing and calling excessively.  Maybe.

Just past city limits, my new place is quite different than before, except for the fact that my neighbors are, again, livestock.  This time they’re Alpacas; the widder raises 'em, and I finally figured out what to make with those weird gourds I have leftover.

I’ve unpacked my knick-knacks, pulled out my pictures, and hung back the curtains; all of which needed to be stowed for the 20 minute move.  But I haven’t taken everything out because, despite well-meaning reassurances, in the back of my mind I’m just waiting for another eviction notice.

“Oh, that won’t happen.  A family lived in that spot for 3-1/2 years.” 

Yeah, well, it’s me, so rather than get upset down the road, I’ve already started looking for Plan B.

The second reason for the unfettered rambling is because I’ve confirmed, once again, I am a stupid woman and it’s a good thing I did not breed.  The weather here in Southern Oregon has turned beautiful; 60’s, even 70’s, sun shining, clear skies.  But nights still get pretty cold, and twice in the past week I woke up to frozen pipes, or in my case, a frozen water hose.  I can scrounge water for coffee from the main house until the sun hits the hose, but each time I kicked myself for forgetting to leave the faucet slightly open before I went to bed.

But not last night, no Sirree.  I carefully left the kitchen faucet running so as not to sound annoying; remember, I’m in a single, long room with curtains for walls.  At 3am I suddenly awoke; heard the dripping and debated whether or not to get up and take the half dozen steps to turn it off or go back to sleep.  As I lay there wrestling with myself, a horrible thought hit me…

Now for those of you who don’t know much about RV’s (and I include myself in this category), there are separate holding tanks for sink/shower waste, or grey water (remains open to drain away when hooked up to the city's system) and the sewer, or black water (remains closed until time to ‘dump’, and that’s not my quip).   So, in order to help rinse the single, flexible hose which drains from the RV into the property’s receptacle, before you open the valve to empty the black tank, you close the grey tank valve to accumulate some water, and then you open it after you empty the black tank to rinse out the line.

Yep, you guess it.  I forgot I closed the water valve ‘cause I was going to empty the tanks today and when I went into the bathroom at 3am, SQUISH! 

WHY IS IT we don’t mind getting our feet wet at the beach, but not on the floor?  Good thing I:  a) lived on a boat; b) have a really thick area rug; c) listened and got my como-se-llama out of bed; and d) still have a sense of humor.

So I’m outside in my nightgown and sweat pants, pretending to be Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, tip-toeing around the RV to avoid motion-sensor lights; no flashlight, hand fumbling to open the valve.  The water had come up through the bathtub, which serves double-duty by holding laundry baskets; lids floating, it was a heinous sight.  Good thing they make separate tanks.  In the dark I hung out mats and towels, thanking my lucky stars my space heater didn’t zap out.

That’s how MY day started, but fortunately we're to have a couple of sunny days, which is how long it should take for the underside of the RV to dry out.  Could be worse, and at least I can’t sink.

Summer will be quickly upon us.  Tanning salons, dermabrasions, Weight Watchers, Viagra…they’re all competing for our business.   Here's something I recently considered:

If you knew the last time you wore a two-piece bathing suit (bikini, thong or athletic strap) in public would be the last time, wouldn’t you have thrown a party?

I don’t mind getting older; I just don’t like the gravity which accompanies it.  But even if I could afford help, I wouldn’t choose Botox.  If everyone looks like their pigtails are too tight, how can you possibly ‘read’ someone’s face?

Gotta go flip the mats.