59 and Holding

Yes, indeedie, I've made it this long, and I've decided to alter Jack Benny's famous quip.  Who says I can't? 

 

Lately I've been wondering at what age people are allowed to have an 'Old Person's Attitude,' and I'm here to tell you that if you haven't been working on yours by now, better hurry up.  Me, I had a major head start. 

 

So what will I do with my next score of years?  Travel, of course!  I have been quiet for over a month now, but believe me when I say I have not been idle.  Here's what's happened since my last post, in a nutshell: 

 

Went to Tahoe to help my friends with their concert series for 10 days, including two swanky soirees in homes filled with interesting art (one even had one of my gourds) with the most breathtaking views, accompanied by private performances.  Yeah, I worked for music, but pouring wine while playing barfly...no, wait, that's fly-on-the-wall-behind-the-bar...was a hoot.  You know me...give me an audience and I come out of the stand-up-comic-closet. 

 

My brakes went out in Incline Village, so that was the monkey-wrench.  But I must have good karma 'cause I got my brake fluid, which was the consistency of jelly, they said, flushed (?? guys know this) and a new Master Cylinder for $110 total.  In Tahoe.  IN TAHOE! 

 

Then, since I was delayed, I flew up the highway to Portland so Ego Amy could attend the quilt show awards ceremony, which didn't include my entry.  Darn, but as a friend said, I wasn't interested in winning an award when I began the thing.  I'll write more (with photos) another time, since the quilts exhibited were truly outstanding, but didn't I feel stupid when the woman selling tickets asked excitedly if I'd received a call (notifying the winners).  Noooo, Amy had to sulkily whisper as (we) passed through the entrance doors. 

 

But good things do come to those who wait.  This whole blog was based on the book, Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck, if I didn't mention it before.  It's not long and if you have a longing for road trips, it's a must-read. 

 

I was house-and-dog-sitting in Portland, Oregon in 2010, licking my wounds from the traumatic breakup of my Ruff Life when I read the book, and the dream sparked.  Besides, after living on a trawler for a dozen years, how could I move into an apartment?  Or even contemplate such an idea when I was dead broke, unemployed, homeless, broken hearted and still grieving my collie's death? 

 

No idea, but I never let that stop me.  I usually figure things out along the way.  I began with a 16' travel trailer which I subsequently learned I could not safely pull, due to my poor peripheral vision.  I traded up to my current 33' motor home knowing I couldn't possibly drive it, but it's large enough if ailing Mom came out for extended visits, but she just can't travel.  And so if I want to see her for any length of time (which includes BC, of course), I need to drive East, again.  I've been parked for nearly 2 years on this stretch of road locals call, "Widow's Lane," when all I want to do is go boot-scootin'. 

 

Well, minus the drumroll, I now own a 21' Winnebago Warrior.  I've become fond of trading vehicles in Oregon...trucks for cars, RV's for RV's, and while this latest acquisition is still too old for many RV parks restrictions,   it's darling, easier to see than my truck whilst driving and, like Goldylocks, "JUST RIGHT!" 

 

I can't attach photos today because I'm typing on my teeny-tiny Dell Latitude 2100 (a gift).  It's a fraction of the weight of my laptop and since it’s an older model I can still use my little modem instead of being forced to pay for WiFi through the air.  Oh, my, how they all tried and tried to sell me an I-Phone; or a Smart Phone; with their spendy plans.  You only use it for directions?  Jeez, half the fun of a road trip is getting lost.

 

I must cut this short now, since I was interrupted by phone calls and well-wishes.  Always nice on Your Day, but since it takes me so much longer now to get ready, I'd better get started.  My gal-pals suggested dinner and a symphony, or whatever else I might think of.  But what kind of friends are they if they turned me down flat for,

 

“Line dancing; and maybe gettin' laid.”

 

Ho-hum.  Music/dinner at a wine bistro, and if we can stay up long enough, a comedy club.  If I’m (blind) drunk enough after that, they can always drop me off at The Oasis for a quickie.