Wide Turns Ahead

When illness struck our household it knocked over our bucket list, spilling much of the content into the drain.  We were like bystanders at a train wreck: watching our lives spiral out of control, desperately trying to sift through the rubble to find signs of survival.th-2

Depression, anger, and grief were just some of the emotions that followed, as we fought to maintain personal sanity along with the integrity of our marriage.

What emerged can only be labelled as resilience:  sense of humour intact, love abiding, and an undaunted willingness to dream,.  We adjusted the proverbial sails and set a new course – made a plan to get healthy, reduce waste, and find another way to refurbish our travel dreams.

Two years, we decided, was a reasonable goal.  He’d wind down his business, we’d both focus on getting better, and we’d look for a bedroom on wheels.

th-1We committed the plan to paper two weeks ago.  That weekend we found the perfect motor home.  All going well – he needs to pass a medical, and we have to shuffle funds around – we take possession in two weeks.  Then look out world:

Wide turns ahead!

Sometimes life just needs a plan.

 

 

It’s a Conspiracy!

th

The penny has dropped!  Bear with me here, and I will fill you in on all the sordid details.

My husband and I met online, or I should say, almost didn’t meet online because of one very crucial difference:  our views on camping.

He had posted that he’d love someone to burn dinner with, as well as a travel and camping companion, and I, a decided non-camper, immediately blew him off.  That’s not a deal breaker, he messaged back.  I am quite happy to go camping alone with my kids.

“Have you ever gone camping?” he asked me once our relationship was well established.

“Once,”  I shrugged.  It had been okay, but not an experience I wanted to repeat.  “With a group of friends when I was sixteen.”

“Oh, so you’ve never experienced camping with a Boy Scout?”  I agreed to give it a try (I’m way too preoccupied with pleasing others).

We filled two vehicles with kids and gear and drove to a nearby campground.  I watched as tents were strategically set up – one for us, then a cooking shelter, and a dining tent, and the children’s habitats beyond.  Everyone seemed to be thrilled by the adventure, with exception of me, who sat bewildered by the effort it was taking so that we could ‘rough’ it.

The setting, I had to admit, was breathtaking: high upon a hill, nestled among the trees, overlooking a sandy beach with the waves lapping within our ears reach.  Apart from rain the first day, the weather had cleared, offering us beautiful sunny days with a gentle breeze to add to the perfection.

Two days in, as the children played on the beach and we sat sipping wine, he asked me what I thought.  I surveilled the set-up and suddenly had a realization.  Ric and I liked to dream about life’s possibilities, and one of our dreams centered around a house.  I had described in detail how I would love a house, set above the water’s edge, with a great room in the center, a wing for the master on one side and bedrooms for the children or guests on the other.
Just the way our campsite had been arranged!

I looked at Ric accusingly.  “When I described my dream home, I apparently forgot to mention that I also wanted floors, walls, and a roof!”

After three days, I’d had enough of camping and was happy we’d only planned a four-day excursion.  It was understood that we would not be repeating the experience.

Or so I thought, but the more I ponder my husband’s sudden obsession with motor homes, I am coming to the realization that RVing is just a trumped-up version of camping.  Am I wrong?  Is this not just a ruse to lure me back to nature, strip me of my princess tendencies, and force me to embrace the wonders of camping once again?

Oh, I am on to him.

Maybe we should watch the movie first:

RV Kidding?

One of the last things my ex-husband did before becoming an ex, was to show up with a used motor home, unexpectedly.  I won’t get into the details here, but suffice to say it was neither discussed in advance, nor a suitable vehicle for family outings.                                                     th-2(Okay, it wasn’t that bad…quite.)

So, when I met my current husband and he expressed a passion for travel, I said I was game as long as it didn’t involve an RV.  It has become an inside joke.  Every time I “act up” he threatens to get the RV.  We both laugh.

Then a week or so ago, he mentioned that if he won the lottery, he’d want to buy an RV and drive me across the country.

“Are you kidding?”  I asked cautiously.

“Just a thought.”

Then last night he kept calling out possible options:     th-3

“This one has a washer/dryer.”

“What, and be robbed of the whole laundromat experience?” My sorrowful attempt to get back to the joke.

“Or you can get sleep comfort beds.”

I would let it drop, but I know better.  This is the man who once told me he was going to get our tires changed and came back with a totally different car.  (Did I just see a pattern forming?)

“Too good of a deal to pass up,”  he told me.

Luckily, I liked the new car better.  Point is, I’ve learned that if he mentions something, he could very well be on his way to making it happen.

Today, he came home from work and before removing his coat, blurted out:  “There’s a motor home, the kind with the washer/ dryer, on sale just a few towns over.”

I really didn’t know what to say.  Apparently, he is serious.

“I just thought that if we had a vehicle with a built-in bed, I could drive you
around the country and you could lie down.”

Please appreciate that before I became ill, travel was a regular occurrence for us. Now it is just one obstacle after another to overcome, mainly that my system cannot tolerate sitting or standing for long enough to get us anywhere significant, and should we dare to override that challenge, I will be too done in to enjoy the destination.

Couple that with my husband’s compulsion to problem-solve and what do you get:  A motor home.                                          th

In the interest of compromise,  I suggested that perhaps renting one and trying it out would be more practical than purchasing one.

“Renting is so expensive!” he argued.

“More expensive than buying one, using it once, and then swallowing the depreciation value?”

With a gleam his eye, he responded:  “I could always put a sign on it reading:  Husband’s dog house.

Last time I checked, he’s googling travel routes for RVers.

I’ll keep you posted.