Clueless

I sometimes get the feeling we’re being stared at. This RV has received its share of compliments while traveling cross-country (I guess it's a Classic), but they say pets and owners begin to resemble one another, so maybe I just need a new haircut. 

BC has been my constant companion since 2010, and just like my last dog people often comment on her appeal.  The Klamath Falls rescue thought she would grow up to be a Bearded Collie but she didn’t. Definitely part Border Collie, I’m frequently asked if that’s why I named her BC.

"Do I look that lame?"  I then explain it’s short for her original name, Buttercup, but call her what you want; she won’t listen if she doesn’t want to.

I was warned Buttercup might bolt if not tied; later discovering she is terrified of gunshots, fireworks and thunder-n-lightning; but I wanted another Czar, my Salty Dog on Ruff Life.  He hated the water so the chances of him leaping over the side were slim to none. Czar was a huge, lumbering beast who wouldn’t take off without permission; the only exception being an occasional pincho stick (shish-k-bab) held high in the air by a terrified consumer. It was really the chunk of yummy bread at the tip that he was after.

But BC’s not the same dog, I had to learn. Maybe it’s the same with kids. First day together she took off and I had to chase her around the neighborhood hollering, ‘Buttercup, Buttercup’ like a fool, in vain.

That wasn’t working…how about B-cup?  I tried it once and blushed.  Naah, people will think I’m bragging.

The next day we tried playing with the B-A-L-L and her ears went back in that, “I’m about to take off” way.  Panicking because nothing I’d tried worked, I involuntarily blurted BC and she stopped dead in her tracks.  Volume might have had something to do with it, but she’s been a leashed ‘BC’ ever since. Did I already tell that one?

“How’s BC handling the trip?” is a common question. The only thing I’m asked is, “Where are you?” and most of the time I’m clueless there, too.  I’m still in Pennsylvania, at a different Corps of Engineers lake, but I’m hard pressed to remember the name. As I was driving here I suddenly wondered if I was supposed to be heading for Virginia, since I’ve made reservations for a couple different places just recently.

That idyllic spot along the lake from, Live Rich without Money has become my Holy Grail. I spend hours pouring over online campground illustrations, praying for another Shangra-La while pressing the “Reserve Now” button.  So far, even if I’m not quite ON the water, I have a nice view.

I began painting my kitchen wall again, working on a view which is a cross between one I had (on the boat) and one I’d like (along a coast). During one windy layover day in Nebraska I painted the bathroom’s pocket door like a Dutch door, and one day I hope to master the art of Perspective enough to re-paint the top half of the door open.

I also painted a note for myself to secure the pocket door before traveling, because it is annoying as hell to be reminded, literally at every turn, when I’ve forgotten.  I like the concept, but if I painted notes for everything which needs locking, tying, bungee-ing and stowing, the place would be covered with notes like the eyes of a potato.

It's what I do.  I must be getting comfortable with my latest lifestyle at long last.  Mom always said, "It takes 6 weeks to either make or break a habit."  I’ve expanded that concept to include getting used to a new home, new job and sex with a new partner, but it’s been so long I’m, well, you know. Clueless.