Michael

By the time this is read I'll be on my way to the airport.  I haven't been on a BIG trip in 30 years, when I visited Tino's family in Holland and stopped in Germany to visit dear friends.

How times have changed:  I'm no longer in touch with my in-laws; Mary passed away not long after Tino; and Inga has advanced Alzheimers.  Then there was the boat-thing;  battling poverty; and finally the death of BC.  I've written about all this (for therapy), so have included links if you're a recent reader.

My progress has been bittersweet since 2022, but at least I've been feeling much better since last December, when heatache following BC's loss finally receded.  I thought it would never end.

Hoping to rediscover some of the confidence and vitality I felt in my 30's (before my life seemingly fell apart), I began to re-evaluate my focus and decide what truly interests me nowadays; and then tick off any unrelated 'to do' tasks I've placed on myself. 

Remaining a gourd artist because that's what I've done for 20-some years seems a lame reason to continue to chase my former level of accomplishment.  I can't paint like I used to.  It hurts my hands to hold the gourds and the paintbrushes, plus I've lost interest.  Nobody says I have to do something with my stock of bare gourds except me.  

Today I prefer photography.  I've got a terrific mirrorless camera, and I only live a block-and-a-half from a gorgeous shoreline.  Even my writing interests have changed...from focusing on the calamitous cruise on Ruff Life to...something else.

What's helped me most recently has been remembering Mom's encouragement and advice; words which nowadays emit from a TV Preacher.  I know, it's shocking.  Mom had countless witty expressions and anecdotes, but basically she tried to teach patience; keep good thoughts; and have a little faith.  I ignore the opening and closing prayers (and the marketing), but all I can say is his words lift me up because in ny view:

"The hardest thing about living alone is the lack of encouragement."

Mom also said we're never too old to learn, and so I know she'd be happy with my Tortoise-like progress.  And then this happened:

Recently, our park was having electrical work done and the power would be off for up to two days for most, if not all, of the park.  If the stars aligned the work could be completed in a day, but what are the odds?  Residents talked about it for weeks...how long...where in the park exactly...how can I make coffee?

Now you might assume that since we all live in RV's we're used to 'dry camping,' and most of us have done it; but not everyone, myself included, likes it at this age. 

Several people were opting to rent a room somewhere rather than deal with batteries and generators, and at the last minute I decided it was a perfect opportunity to take a road trip, since the weather was gorgeous and tourists haven't yet descended.

I headed south on coastal Highway 101 with no particular destination in mind, my favorite way to travel.  Ever since BC died, road trips have not appealed to me; so, being out of practice, I was curious how I'd fare.  I don't use GPS, Alexa or my cell phone; just keep the ocean on the right and stop when and where I want.

I hoped I'd find a place to stay with an ocean view, and by accident in Port Orford I did.  The desk clerk suggested a local place which served pizza, burgers, salads...said he'd eat there every night if he could.  It was still early so I dropped off my bags and continued down 101 to Gold Beach, as long as I was in the neighborhood.  In the 90's I would drive from Portland down the coast to visit Lee, now also passed; and I wondered if I'd recognize anything.

At the time there were sleepy little towns with modest seaside motels, nothing like today.  Only the Art-Deco bridges, almost 100 years old, and the Curry County Courthouse, where Lee first worked, looked familiar.

Back at Port Orford, I went to the recommended place for dinner.  A huge motorhome towing a car was parked in front.  I walked inside, it was 4:30.

The place was basically a long bar, with simple chairs and tables with plastic tablecloths.  It was kinda dark and empty except for some guy at the bar with his dog carrier, chatting with the woman behind the bar.  She asked if I'd like something to drink, they had wine and beer.

"Any liquor?  Or...wine and beer, ok, I'll have a Heineken."

I stood at the bar reading the menu, determined not to bolt. I looked around and eyed a tiny table for one with a view out the front window.  I normally would gravitate to such a spot - hiding from the rest of the world - but thought that would definitely seem un-friendly considering the place was empty, so I sat my como-se-llama on a barstool and ordered a Pepperoni and Jalepeno pizza.

The fellow at the bar, a little younger than me, I'd guess, was good looking and wore a ten-gallon hat, definitely my type in the old days.  Separated by 4 or 5 barstools, the fellow said something positive about the food; and after a couple silent minutes I said something about his dog.  The conversation was off and running.

For I change I didn't blurt my story from the get-go, but listened to his with an occasional bit of unsolicited advice:  like suggesting he not tell the medical examiner he doesn't trust the sheriff (who fooled with his ex-sister-in-law before his brother committed suicide by shooting hinself twice with a shotgun?) wasn't the best approach.  I can't make this up.

While chit-chatting, I wolfed down my pizza.  'Michael' wouldn't accept a slice, but feeling like a complete cow I gave him no choice and shoved a couple cold slices in front of him.  He reciprocated with a second Heineken, which I'm not used to drinking.

THAT taught me a valuable lesson, for before I was halfway finished, I was having trouble forming my words.  I was a bit wobbly heading for the car, so I stopped at a grocery store to sober up.  A heavy drinker at one time, my tolerance level has significantly lessened, just as well.

I was on Cloud Nine.  I had a great drive; felt totally comfortable being alone; and even had a cowboy flirt a little, tho' I wasn't interested.  But it was nice to find that I still have a little bit of It left.

Which brings me to my trip, an unexpected opportunity put forth by a friend.  I've become cautious of sharing my plans lest I jinx myself, so I'll only say I'm heading for one of the places I've painted on my shoes.  White Keds from Goodwill display a composite of places I've been and still hope to visit.  I'll be away a couple weeks and will post photos when I return, accompanying, I hope, some interesting stories.

So...so long...farewell...auf widersehen...goodbye!  I'm taking BC's memorial necklace so it'll still be Travels with Buttercup, wish me luck!

5/29/24:  Well, I survived, and remained sober.  Here's the story, beginning with Athens.