A Family Odyssey...

Chapter 3: Motorhome Located

A few “God things” as my mom likes to call them, happened over the next few weeks, to solidify our ‘odyssey’ plans.  As we began to talk with others about our big plans, a friend of my grandmothers came to her and asked if we would consider renting our house while we were away.  Since this had never occurred to us, there was much discussion about whether or not we wanted to give up the freedom to return to our house during our trek across America.  The thought of someone else sleeping in my bed, decorating my room, playing with my dog did not sit well with me.  Oh yeah, we have a dog.  Dolly. And, she is my best friend. She is the first and only dog we have ever had.  I guess you could say she is irreplaceable.  She hangs out at our house even when we are living elsewhere and keeps the squirrels running and has made very good friends with the rabbits.  My grandfather comes out to the house to feed her and love on her.  She loves having us back and strange children will not be able to whisper in her ear the way I do.

After reading the title of a book my mom was reading, I got my hopes up.  "Travels With Charley", by John Steinbeck, about a man who took his dog on his journey across America, caused me to ponder.  Were my parents considering taking Dolly with us across country? My face fell as mom giggled when I asked about it. "Of course not silly. Dolly would be miserable cooped up in that motorhome.   I did have visions of her shooting out the door every time we stopped. In a friendly sort of way, of course.

Well, it turned out, the family needing a place to live had two children, a boy, and a girl the same ages as my brother and me. Both love dogs, but have never had the chance to have their very own.  Dolly deserved some buddies like that.  Someone excited about having a dog.  She would be their first dog for awhile.  Bonus, since they have family in town, they would be able to move out of the house for the weeks we might drop in.  I could tell my parents were seeing God’s hand in this and agreed to help the family out.  Instead of asking for rent, they would pay a few bills that would continue while we were away, so it worked out well, for everyone.

The next ‘God thing’ came when my dad was asked to be on some board or something like that.  He would get paid to attend four meetings throughout the year.  My mom’s’eyes nearly popped out of her head when he told her how much he was going to be paid for each meeting.  ‘That’s almost what I make in a month of teaching!” I could hear her disbelief from across the house.  “It’s just not fair.”  A common response every time she hears how much money other professions make. Oh well, good thing my dad get’s to stand on a board, because one concern I overheard my parents mention was medical insurance coverage since my dad was a student again. We were all perfectly healthy, so I did not see the need, but parents worry about those minor details. 

After that, it was smooth sailing.  We just needed to find that perfect motorhome out there somewhere, waiting for a family.  One with enough room for each of us to have our own space.  I even began looking at photos on the computer and gave my two cents worth of advice on layout.  It is amazing how many choices there are, but when you have two adults, one eleven year old girl and a twelve year old boy, the choices become limited.  For starters, by brother and I needed our own beds. Helloooo.  And my parents needed a double bed, so after much searching, they were off to look at a used 32 foot Bounder with twin beds in back and a sleeper sofa in the salon.   

Much to my surprise, my parents took off without my brother and I, so they could take a peek before anyone got too excited. Can you believe it?  Well, I was on pins and needles until they called to give us the thumbs up.  After some hard bargaining, we would all return in a few weeks to pick that baby up.  My excitement was growing by the minute.

Chapter Two: The Helpful Pest

Have you ever felt excitement in the air, breathed it in and let the giddiness overtake you without fully understanding what…is…going…on?  Well, after untying the boat, unpacking the trailer, (this was the first vacation that did not involve unpacking a suitcase) and unloading my stuff into my room, there was definitely an adventure of huge magnitude in its early planning stages.  My mom was in overdrive and my dad was in full research mode.  My brother was oblivious, as usual, but my face must have revealed confused interest, because at some point between spilling out of the camper and into what now seemed like a large living space, my parents called a family meeting.

What would we think about traveling around America for a few months?  For however long it took.  Perhaps a year… on the road…as a family.  Of course, after a moment to gather our thoughts, the first words that fell out of my brothers mouth concerned school, or the lack of it, as his hopeful eyes waited.  I already knew the answer to that one.  My mom, being an experienced teacher had that covered.  We were looking right at our teacher for the next year; fifth grade for me and sixth for my brother.  His initial hopes were dashed until he realized we would not be bound to the rigid schedules of school and all of our work would be completed at home, so homework as we knew it, would not exist.

Meanwhile… well, I had a few questions. What would we be studying?  Would there be tests? Would I be prepared for sixth grade when we returned from our big adventure?  Giving up the social aspect of my fifth grade year didn’t concern me.  From what I had seen since moving back for the last three months of fourth grade, not much had changed since leaving for Venezuela during my Kindergarten year.  We had all grown taller and learned to read, but the same cliques were in place and although my best friend had her own circle, she was still there, and was still my best friend. However, I had changed and I could not put my finger on it exactly, but maybe as my world had grown, my small town was now only a part of the bigger picture. Now my parents were going to enlarge my 5 x 7 to poster size.  

Mom and dad spent the next few weeks looking for the perfect vehicle to transport our family across state lines.  Fortunately, our last night camping on our way home from Maryland helped upgrade our potential choices. Somehow, my dad managed to park on top of an entire population of sugar ants, which came in search of food for their family reunion.  Our camper, in a matter of an hour or two, was overtaken and we were forced to clear out every item and rid our little home on wheels of unwanted passengers.  We laugh about it now, but that little experience was a lesson on quality.  Our little camper was a tin cup of a home while our digs for our yearlong odyssey would need to be more substantial. So, for once, and one time only, I am thankful to ants. Because of their invasion, our search moved into the motorhome realm.  You know the ones.  The ones resembling a bus, where the driver is in the same vehicle as the house.  Things were looking up, as my earlier dreams of walking around my little house while dad drives us cross-country was moving closer to reality.

Chapter One:  My Parents Are Up to Something

We had a motor home, and drove across America.  Actually, when all was said and done, our motor home made it to every one of the forty-eight contiguous states, and waited behind as my family took other transportation to explore the other two.  After living in Latin America for five years, ours was a yearlong odyssey exploring as we found our way back home.  But, wait a minute; I am getting ahead of myself.

Why I didn’t suspect something when my parents rented a camper trailer for our annual summer trip to Maryland is beyond me. Whispers followed about whether or not we could cope. Red flags should have been waving in front of my eyes like an overeager boy scout at a parade.  How we cope?  Now, I am a natural worrier, so the reasoning behind the camper trailer idea did not sound encouraging to my ten-year-old ears.  On the other hand, part of me spied a challenge on the horizon.  There was an adventure waiting to happen.

Taking our time to get to Grandma and Pops did sound much better than the twenty-four hour drive-a-thon my mom and dad usually pulled off each year.  Seriously, when we were younger, we would set out in the evening with this small television strapped into one of the seats. This was back in the olden days before the front seats passengers had cool video players hanging from the back of their heads. With wheat thins and squirt cheese for my mom and brother, and gummy worms and jellybeans for my dad and I, a movie would be popped in, followed by sleep before the credits were scrolling.  It was brilliant really.  By the time we woke up the next morning, mom and dad had taken turns driving and only a mere eight hours remained.  At that point my brother and I became skilled in the art of creative excuses to pull over. 

Of course, there were years my mom actually agreed to the ordeal of packing for a family of four into airline-approved luggage, and we flew to Maryland. This required Pop to pick us up at the airport, providing a mini adventure within an adventure, because somehow conveniently, my dad always managed to orchestrate our arrival time to coincide with lunch at Ann’s Dairy Cream for a foot long chili dog with everything. My mom refuses to go in this place because her first visit resulted in head shaking and rolling of eyes. The ladies behind the counter had been working there forever.  They were professionals and if you walked in and hesitated and hemmed and hawed about what to order they would skip right over you to someone who knew what they were doing.  Ordering should never be that stressful, according to mom.  That’s when dad reminds her about regular customers and she just needs to accept her non-regular status.  Anyhow, my brother and I are now ‘regulars’ and know exactly how we want our dog; chili, no onions chased with a strawberry chocolate shake.  We did gain two extra days with Grandma and Pop when we flew, but this year, my parents had a plan formulating in their minds and we were about to be specimens in an experiment of coping.

Needless to say, when we began to pack the camper and prepare for our journey east, I couldn’t help myself.  Excitement started to build when my mom showed me my little corner of the camper, where I could build my nest.  Not much space was needed, but an area free of my brothers’ grubby hands and proverbial mess was prime real estate.  My Little House on the Prairie book set was the first to find a spot, and visions of lounging on my bed reading while my dad cruised down the highway was blind sided when I discovered the law prohibits me from being inside a camper trailer while it’s rolling, rolling, rolling. 

Dashed were my plans of coaxing my brother to ride in the car with the parents while I played house in the camper.  Nope, that did not happen. Basically, the drive was the same as years before, mom and dad in front, me in the middle seat and my brother in the way back.  There was one huge difference.  We only drove about eight hours each day in order to arrive at the camp ground in time to explore before dark.

My ears perked up the first time my dad welcomed us into our first nights campground.  I wish I could say this was my first camping experience, but when I was two or three we went tent camping and my aversion to camping has been reported to me.  Apparently, after my first night in a sleeping bag on the floor of the tent, I awoke the next morning with a crick in my neck.  For some reason my mom finds this hysterically funny and has called me the Princess and the Pea ever since.  “Whoever heard of a two and a half year old getting a crick in their young neck”, she giggles as the story is retold over and over again.

One huge difference with the camper trailer: a bed.  It turns out trailer camping is something I could get used to.  No crick in my neck. After breakfast, we were back on the road heading east.  Another day on the road, one more campsite before arriving on the eastern shore of Maryland, where my family spent the next three days building a boat in St. Michaels.  Yes, we built a wooden boat, but that’s another story for another day. After much sanding and painting, sanding and painting, it was the apple of my dad’s eye until some boat thief snatched it from our bulkhead a few years later.  It is important, though, for you to have a vision of our eight-foot wooden boat, built by our own hands, in your mind. 

When we drove back home to Texas after our lovely visit with family in Maryland, we were a suburban carrying two adults, two busy children, a wooden boat strapped on top of our heads, pulling a camper trailer now loaded down with Grandmas goodies.  Yes, we looked like the Beverly Hillbillies, except we were headed for Texas.  We managed without drawing any imaginary lines across the seat, or getting into each other’s space, and I am here to tell you, we coped.  We coped big time.  Mom and dad were smiling and thought clouds were hovering above their heads.  They were up to something.