There is no doubt that life on the road has its perks. There are many changes of scenery and ample time to explore new places. It is not, however, an endless vacation. It is still life, and is filled with dirty laundry, dirty floors, unplanned changes, inclement weather and broken stuff. The propane issue is fixed but when we finally turned on the heat, it sounded like a percussion section was warming up under one of the cabinets. It seems that the drawer filled with kitchen utensils fell apart and was allowing various items to slip behind it, into the great abyss. We retrieved spoons and spatulas and skewers but will have to dismantle the cabinet to retrieve everything.

Labradors shed a lot, drool a lot, and love playing in mud. Gypsy can turn a relatively clean RV into a grime covered home at warp speed. I have channeled my inner-Pippy Longstockings and am now skating around on Swiffer, wet jet pads in order to keep the dirt to a tolerable level. I clean often, but to be fair, there is not a whole lot to clean. With three Clorox wipes I can scour and disinfect the entire place in ten minutes.

Have I mentioned that it has been bloody cold for Florida? I have to don my winter hat, gloves and down coat to take Princess Gypsy for her morning constitutional. We have not had ice or snow to contend with but I’m glad I packed fleece jackets and warm, woolen mittens! These inclement days are good for completing puzzles or playing Scrabble in a ski vest. So, fun and games manage to remain a small part of the equation.

Our campsite at Grayton Beach State Park is large and private. A good many quaint and eccentric areas are within walking distance. On the warmer days we have managed a few muddy hikes and have explored some fun, quirky places on the panhandle’s Emerald Coast. We stopped for lunch at the Red Bar, which was featured in Jim Carry’s 1998 movie THE TRUMAN SHOW. Rumor is that it is frequented by Reece Witherspoon, Peyton & Eli Manning, and a number of celebrities that I do not know because, let’s face it, I’m old and not up to speed on current pop culture.

Florida is for the birds. I was so impressed by the display of birds that I saw while in the Everglades, but the Gulf is littered with some magnificent winged creatures as well.

A short bike ride took us to the hamlet of Watercolor. The properties there are pristine, pastel colored and overlook the open gulf. There is a small spattering of upscale dining and high-end boutiques interwoven with a caravan of food trucks. I just love the unconventional vibe of the whole area.

Cold rain is in the forecast for today and tomorrow. I see muddy paw prints in my future. Better break out the Swiffer pads….

Stay tuned…

When there is a recall on your motorhome that has to do with a propane line, you turn the gas off until you can have the required service work done. It’s a no-brainer. Propane is flammable, and with just the right leakage factor, potentially explosive.

Do you know how long it takes to get a service appointment when you are bopping around Florida State Parks in a rolling combustion coach? Too long. No propane means no heat, no range top burners, no hot water. I can wash dishes in cold water, but a cold shower is out of the question.

Maybe it’s the shower thing. Maybe that is why I smell like bear bait.

I have had two close encounters with Florida Black Bear in the past week. In the first near-brush with Yogi, I was jogging down a path that ran along the Tamiami trail. A car stopped, rolled down the window and was yelling something about “blah-blah-blah, behind you.” I thought he was telling me that he would soon be jogging behind me. Not so. He waited for me at the end of the trail to inform me that he had been trying to tell me that there was a bear behind me. It was not my lightening speed that kept the bear from catching me. He just lost interest. Mauling me took too much effort.

Later in the week, while walking Gypsy through the Ross Prairie Trailhead, I met a nice man who was walking his dog. Well, he was kind of running with his dog. The look on his face told me that he was not out for a recreational run with his canine companion. It seems that he was in full retreat. Yep, another bear, but this one was ahead of me.

Thank goodness we managed to get that service work done, and I can FINALLY take a nice, hot shower in my own RV. No more smelling like bear bait for me.

To set the record straight, I DID shower. Thankfully we were in Southwest Florida for the few weeks without heat or hot water. A nice, warm bathhouse was close by, and although the mornings and evenings were chilly, the temperature was tolerable.

Yes, we had to confront cold water and a couple of bear, but all was not lost. We also had the pleasure of meeting up with old friends from our Baltimore boating days and sharing a bucket (or two) of cold beer! How wonderful to find some friendly faces. It makes us feel a little more connected to home during this crazy voyage.

The Ross Prairie Trailhead is a beautiful spot, near Ocala. We had planned to be here a bit longer, to explore the parks and eat some gator bites, but it was not to be. There is a cold front sweeping across the Gulf, and torrential rains and high winds are in the forecast. We hightailed it to Grayton Beach State Park (on the Redneck Riviera) a day early to avoid traveling in adverse conditions.

We have just settled in for a night of stormy weather and some NFL action on TV…

Stay tuned…

There are an estimated 1.25 million alligators in Florida and I met three of them on our walk through the Ten Thousand Islands National Wildlife Refuge. They were long, lazy and luckily lackadaisical. These remarkable reptiles were more than content to ignore us while they bathed in the warmth of the sun. The marsh trail was overflowing with feathered friends. Egret, heron, stork, ibis, snail kite and cormorant were abundant. There were lizard and snakes and all kinds of creepy-crawly things hiding in the sawgrass and Cyprus. Gypsy was with us, and I was overly concerned that she might look tasty to some of these creatures, but apparently Labrador is not high on the list of Everglade edibles.

We are blessed to have friends that reside in Bonita Springs. They were kind (and brave) enough to take us offshore, into the Gulf of Mexico, for a fishing excursion. Although I had done some fishing with my dad in my early years, this was NOTHING like fishing on the muddy banks of the Conestoga Creek. This fishing was done on open water that sparkled like sea glass. Our friends are experienced at deep sea fishing and they gave clear and concise instruction. In no time, we were participating, and actually reeling-in fish. There is a WHOLE LOT I do not know about fish, like which are edible, and which are not; which have toxins in their pectoral spines, and which do not. Left to our own devices, my husband and I would be eating bait and pulling venomous dorsal barbs out of our hands. We did catch some “keepers”, a few blue fish, a snapper and a permit. Our knowledgeable and patient host taught me how to filet the fish. The fresh catch was then prepared by our gracious friends. We enjoyed an outstanding dinner of blackened fish and a delicious, lemony fish piccata.  What a thoroughly enjoyable day.

Ahhh….. <sigh>

But back to sun and fun…

Stay tuned….

After leaving Savannah and Christmas Day behind, we headed to Faver-Dykes State Park, near St. Augustine, Florida. Despite my resolution to look forward with optimism, I was still feeling a bit sad and nostalgic about holidays past. I subscribe to convention, and nothing could have been further from long-established traditions this year.

No home, leaving my loved ones, and the reality that all of my belongings were in storage kind of hit me between the eyes as were were rolling Southward. Yet, my mood seemed to improve as the temperature crept upwards. I prefer flip-flops to snow boots.

Faver-Dykes is a gem of a State Park. The campground is small but the individual sites are well laid out and very private. The trails are wide, and well-marked. The atmosphere is subtropical, with large, live oak, and an abundance of both Spanish Moss and Saw Palmetto providing ambiance. The ground was covered in fine sand. Gypsy likes to roll in fine sand. Fine sand likes to find its way into every tread on the bottom of our shoes. Sweeping the RV became an hourly task, and even that was no match for the relentless dirt.

Saint Augustine Beach was wildly crowded when we ventured into town. With Covid still looming large, we opted to skip some of the congested areas. This meant we would have to cross a busy street to escape the throngs of beachgoers. The crosswalks are equipped with orange flags, intended to alert motorists to pedestrians. We noted that, even with orange flags flapping, not all motorists are conscientious. Still, we managed to cross and enjoy a cold beer and a tasty lunch at the dog-friendly Café 11 before returning to our house on wheels.

Next stop:  Collier-Seminole State Park near Naples, Florida. Immediately after setting up, we discovered that our neighbors were old acquaintances from our marina days in Baltimore. Small world! We took advantage of their campfire and caught up a bit. We were enjoying our social time, but it was my husband’s birthday, so we retreated to our site, grilled a couple of steaks and enjoyed a quiet birthday dinner.

The campsites at Collier Seminole are “tight” but there was adequate room at the rear of the motorhome to erect a screen room, which is necessary. The bugs are brutal at dawn and dusk. The park offers trails, boat ramps, and bike paths. The rangers are extremely knowledgeable and kind. We took advantage of a guided hike on New Years morning. Henry, our guide, did an amazing job of introducing us to the flora and fauna in the area. It was somewhat unsettling to be hiking through areas that are inhabited by bear, bobcats, panthers, alligators and rattle snakes but Henry assured us, that (aside from rattle snakes) we were unlikely to encounter these creatures.

Marco Island is a hop, skip and a jump down the road. It is a beautiful place. We were fortunate to be able to meet up with friends to enjoy an afternoon of fun and frivolity, 1st at Stan’s Idle Hour for lunch, then to 2-Shea’s Salty Dog to watch the Raven’s go down in defeat. It was an ugly season. Hoping for a great pick in the draft and a healthy team in 2022.

Plenty more to do near Naples since this is a 2-week stop, and a fishing trip is in the planning stages. Not much opportunity to blog, since WiFi is virtually non-existent in the area….

BUT, Stay tuned…

I am almost done moaning about missing my traditional Christmas celebration. Due to silly circumstances, I could not drink eggnog and carve ‘roast beast’ with my loved ones, and I just need to get over it, make lemonade from lemons, and be joyful for the blessings I have.

Blessed, we are. We are spending Christmas at Fort McAllister State Park near Savannah, GA. The park is gorgeous and the campground is modern, with spacious sites and lots of Christmas lights. The night skies are star-filled. The sunrises and sunsets are awash in vibrant colors.

After calling friends and family on Christmas morning, we decided to see what the “city sidewalks, busy sidewalks” were all about in Savannah. We headed to Forsyth Park, and were surprised to see such a large number of people, out and about on Christmas Day. It should not have been surprising, however. It was a sunny, warm day; feeling much more like late May than late December.

The Omnicron variant of the Covid-19 pandemic is particularly Grinch-like; trying to keep Christmas from coming. We would not be deterred from enjoying a beautiful day, but for safety’s sake, left the downtown area, and headed to an unlikely Christmas destination: Bonaventure Cemetery. It is an historic acreage, and is well worth a visit. The statuary is amazing, and there are some interesting stories about the souls who are permanent inhabitants.

All things considered, it has not been a bad Christmas at all. Many campers have elaborate light displays surrounding their rigs; some making it appear as if snow is falling. Santa and Mrs. Claus have been running around on a golf cart. It’s not Rockefeller Center, but it’s making an attempt.

When my precious granddaughter was a wee, little thing, she thought that those cute, spotted dogs who rode on the back of firetrucks, or hung out with Cruella Deville, were called “dogmations”. When Gypsy emerged from her rampage through a particularly muddy creek, it struck me that she looked much more like a dogmation than the yellow lab that she is.

It all started out so innocently, with a 10+ mile hike in Poinsett State Park. It was a sunny, albeit chilly day, and the trails were wide and well marked. In my mind, we were wandering through Poinsettia State Park, I mean, it’s Christmas time, right? All was beautiful and picture perfect, then SPLASH. Gypsy apparently does not seem to care how cold the water is. I thought she had more sense. She doesn’t. In fact, it invigorated her. It was a catalyst for a severe case of the hyper-zoomies. She ran like a dog possessed, up and down the stream, splashing mud everywhere. There would certainly be a bath in her future.

Inside the dilapidated structure , I encountered THE PAVILION OF MISFIT TOYS. Headless dolls and crumpled stuffed animals hung from the rafters. Cabbage Patch creatures were covered in cobwebs. A Christmas reindeer was cavorting in the fireplace with a naked Barbie. I was flabbergasted, and fearfully waited for Chucky to creep out of a dark corner. Rudolf’s Island of misfit toys, with it’s Charlie-in-a-box and ostrich-riding cowboy, could not compare to this oddity.

Creepy. I’m ready to move on to our Christmas in Coastal Georgia.

Stay tuned…

My sister, Beth gifted me a book entitled THE DICTIONARY OF OBSCURE SORROWS. Yes, it’s an odd title for something intended to bring Christmas joy, but it is a book about new words that attempt to define emotions, moments in the human condition for which there are not already adequate, descriptive phrases. This is how I stumbled upon Ozurie: It is the story of my life. I am torn between what I want and what I already have.

I have always wanted to live on a lake. Be careful what you wish for. We have the lot, replete with beautiful views and a developing neighborhood. We do NOT have a house. Not yet. I’m not sure that I fully grasped that making this dream come true would entail selling our home, moving away from our family, and living in a truck for a year or more, while the architects and builders mess around with site maps and permits. Well, yes, I guess I knew it would have to be done, but actually doing it is a whole different ballgame. Ozurie. <sigh>

It was a tearful departure, raining both inside and outside of the cab as we headed down I-95. I was staring ahead, feeling empty, when a car pulled up beside me, frantically waving in an overly emphatic pantomime, indicating that a door was wide open on the passenger side of the RV. It was the door that was just fixed under warranty. That’s right, folks, the Griswolds are back in full force, and Bertha continues to plague us with her menu of maladies. Thankfully, we were able to force it closed and get on our way.

After a rainy evening, we awoke to a clear, crisp, cloud-free dawn. It was good to enjoy a long hike, clear my head, and focus on the discoveries to be made on the journey ahead of us. They say there is a reason that the windshield is so much bigger than the rearview mirror. I will concentrate on looking forward. That is my resolution for the upcoming new year.

Did I mention that I always wanted to ramble endlessly in an RV? Be careful what you wish for.

I love Christmas. Fa-la-la, deck the halls, city sidewalks, etc. I may not have my mantle filled with greenery, or my shrubbery lined with symmetrical lights. I may not have a welcoming candle in every window, or a decorated tree in every room. (Come to think of it, I don’t even have rooms!) No wrapped piles of presents lie hidden under the beds, waiting for Santa to delivery them. Bah Humbug!

Because I’m a fan of the Grinch, however, I know that Christmas cannot be stolen. So, with my RV gently snuggled in its Whoville site, I began my search for a camping Christmas.

I’m a snob. I admit it. I prefer highbrow holidays, with real garland, and tasteful white lights, tartan prints, and silky red ribbon. I want canapes, Crosby crooning, champagne, pate de foie gras, and solo piano music.

Looks like that may not be in the cards this year. So, I have chosen to embrace the colored lights, the inflatable lawn ornaments, a can of Bud, and the strains of Grandma being run over by a reindeer. I vow to shed my pomposity and to be more like George Bailey, running around the campground, yelling “Merry Christmas, inflatable flamingo! Merry Christmas, inflatable Grinch! Merry Christmas, you wonderful old, problematic RV!”

November is supposed to be all about Thanksgiving, and being filled with appreciation, and counting your blessings. Looks like this pilgrim missed the Mayflower. I have not exactly been brimming with gratitude. I miss my house. I dislike cold weather. Most notably, however, I am totally fed up with RV warranty repairs, dealerships, and motorhome service in general. Waking to a leaky bedroom ceiling started this specific tirade. Cold is bad enough. I draw the line at wet. I am quickly becoming a cantankerous, crotchety crab.

It is said that home is where the heart is. My beloved, brick and mortar house may be gone, but I realized that to grow in gratitude, I would have to make new memories in my existing home, the one with the wheels. Because grumpiness and grandchildren cannot coexist, I grabbed my grandkids and introduced them to our new, albeit temporary, neighborhood. They seemed perfectly content to explore the park acreage and to cozy up in our confined space. There is much to learn from the adaptability of children. I am truly grateful to be able to share special moments with these prodigious progeny of mine.

Author, JK Rowling said, “Family is a lifejacket in the stormy sea of life.” She is so right. My very capable niece generously hosted this year’s feast. It was not easy to pass the baton, but I conceded. I could not bake a turkey and all of the trimmings in my toaster oven, and the RV dinette only seats four comfortably. We’d have been a tad squished. After a few days with family, a perfectly browned turkey, a few pounds of butter and plentiful pie, my attitude shifted towards bona fide gratitude. I was no longer looking for reasons to be thankful, I was surrounded by substantiation.

I sobbed out loud when I closed the front door for the final time. I loved my home and will always treasure the memories that reverberate within its walls.

It’s real. Our beloved home has been sold and we have taken up residence in a truck. It’s a nice truck, with plumbing and refrigeration, and heat. Okay, to be fair, it is really a class C Recreational Vehicle named Big Bertha (which is nothing more than a truck with a fancy semi-trailer attached.)

The bed is cozy. The recliners are relaxing. The kitchen is compact, but functional. We are not starving or freezing but we have been known to step on each others toes; frequently. In some contexts being close to your spouse is a wonderful thing. This is not one of them. Because our four-legged friend is taking up more than her fair share of space, we are even more confined and constantly covered in fine, white, dog hair.

I do miss my home (the one without wheels) but cramped spaces and canine fur aside, the experience, thus far, has been surprisingly positive. Of course, we are only five days into this insanity, so time will tell.

Cherry Hill Park, near College Park, Maryland is one of the finest commercial RV parks that we have ever stayed in. The amenities include a well-stocked store, a cafe (that delivers to your site), a perimeter hiking trail, pools, hot tub, playgrounds, laundry room, dog park and a tour bus that regularly departs for our nation’s capital. The sites are level, the park is well maintained, clean and loaded with conveniences like multiple, large, warm, sanitized bathhouses. It is located near the junction of I-95 and the Washington Beltway, so it is impossible to completely escape the traffic noise, but it is far from unbearable and easy to forgive because Cherry Hill is truly a gem.

Gypsy, poor pup, has no idea, what on earth, is going on. She thinks we are crazy, and she may be right. One day she had an entire house and yard to zoom around in. The next she was living in a big rig. Thankfully, she has been working out her anxiety at the dog park, perfecting her agility skills. This mutt will do anything for food.

We have embarked upon a voyage in which everything is new. Virgin territory can be somewhat intimidating.

Travel along with us. Stay tuned…