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I’ve gathered a few more pictures on my walks around the neighborhood since it’s such a colorful time right now. I am still waiting on the emergence of the hoped-for wildflower abundance earlier rain should be bringing. Right now though we are gearing up for our second bout with 100 degree temps of the year—a harbinger of many more to come. Marc finally finished getting the large a/c unit back into the bedroom window for more comfortable sleeping at night. He had thought about cutting holes in the side of the park model to permanently mount the two a/c units but there just really isn’t a conducive wall space to do so, so he just hung them more or less on a temporary basis again in the only two windows into which they would fit. Everything is minuscule scale in a park model.
We spent the past weekend finalizing the total enclosure on the front porch which makes a nice little retreat from which our cat cannot get out. It’s a great spot to watch the mountains and catch a breeze with a cup of morning coffee. Next up will be a permanent set of stairs with a landing. We spent a quiet Easter with Marc taking on cooking duties by smoking a large ham and two whole turkeys. These we cut up and break down for freezing, making for quick and efficient meals later on. In fact, do tonight’s smoked turkey tostadas sound good? 
Of all the colorful yards around here, this home takes the cake! I just happened to catch it perfectly one morning with a steady breeze making the flag fly. One wouldn’t think roses would do well in such a merciless climate but this guy has hundreds of them.
I always love these purple flowered trees. This one blooming alongside the Palo Verde caught my eye. 
Chollas, of which there are many varieties, are some of the nastiest of cactus, growing reproductive balls of thorns which literally jump off the plant when anything brushes near. The needles are so fine they are like hair and virtually impossible to remove, remaining finely imbedded in skin like the slenderest of splinters. Their vibrant fuchsia flowers are sure pretty though. 
The same holds true about some of the prickly pear type cactus as you can see the fineness of the “hair” thorns. 
Life in Yuma remains on the same trajectory for us, albeit a little warmer. Too soon, it will have us existing inside almost exclusively.
We got a short reprieve from Yuma’s torrid pace of summer-like heat after setting a record 101 degrees on April 1st. One night we even enjoyed a gentle rain falling most of the night which will surely bring a surge of wildflowers in about a month. I’ll look forward to that since it looks like we will still be here! 
I’ll repeat to you my pleasure at working with the seniors that I meet, transporting them around town, mainly to doctor’s appointments. They never cease to amaze and tickle me. It is a true honor to work with them helping them in my own little way, so to that end I have decided to test the water with my own business. Naming my service, “Like a Great Neighbor” Housekeeping and Senior In-Home Care I hope to gain enough referrals to maintain some sort of income stream. Only time will tell, of course, how this will turn out or become a complete flop but since I am here and think I see a need, I might as well try, yes?
My own senior mother celebrated her 84th birthday without us but at least my daughter was able to drive over from Portland for a visit and nice dinner, even though Mom had to bake her own birthday cake! She maintains she is doing well all considered, but also says that she is very lonely and without purpose. I see that a lot with the seniors I work with—I sure wish there was someone like me in Bend to stop by and check in on my mom. Maybe it is some guilt that now drives my passion to work with these seniors but all I know is that it feels good. What I can't do for my own mother, I can do for them. That’s enough for now.
It was party time again last evening, as Ron and Jan, our neighbors across the street, threw happy hour for the last time this snowbird season. You will note Jan holding a drink her daughter-in-law invented for their sports bar, Brewers. Liking jalapenos a whole bunch, Courtney decided to slice a couple up and throw them into a bottle of Limon Bacardi Rum. Let steep for a few days. Then drink straight shots. It is surprisingly smooth and delicious! So under warm Arizona desert air, we enjoyed margaritas, bourbon slushies, and various other adult beverages and had a merry old time. 
I am still engaged with helping the seniors in my volunteer position with Helping Hands and watching the parade of RVs now taking flight and snaking their way across all compass points as they leave Yuma for another year. I now understand how we came to the term “snowbirds” since they really do appear to all take flight at once, just like a flock of birds. Within a few weeks our neighborhood will once again be almost barren of life.
Yes, we are still here and likely will be at least for a few more weeks. Marc got a referral to help a guy out with some remodel work and he’s also engaged in doing a welding project on a gate for a friend of a friend. And, the axle project still needs more tweaking. As long as there is work to be had, we’ll remain. After that, we still don’t exactly have in mind where we will head; only a vague generalization until we do further “heart to heart” conversations about what comes next with our mixed up life.
I’ve always maintained that RV’s are like a magic carpet—whisking you away to whatever new realm you choose to occupy, far beyond mere trucks and cars. A sister ship has surely been our Goldwing motorcycle. We rode on her back above and beyond time, traversing avenues we never dreamed existed. Weather was a constant since you feel every nuance when you are exposed—totally unlike riding in an enclosed vehicle or as motorcyclists call it “a cage”. 
Memories gained on her back are sharper and more cutting than other types of travel. You taste the air as you suck it in, breathe it and smell what is there every foot of the way. Passing fragrances heighten the experience as you marvel at the shadow dancing alongside. Sometimes it’s you; sometimes it’s something else as the tree shadows pass your vision like light flickering on an old nickelodeon. The world seems much larger from the seat of a two-wheeler. Well, it is. After all, you have the entire sky dancing overhead. 
The power of takeoff rumbles in the seat of your pants and in your chest as gravity throws you back and the exhilaration is unleashed. With 1800 cubic inches of engine between your legs, it is little more than a hop, skip and you are well ahead of any car traffic on your tail, doing 100 mph in what seems like split seconds. Merging onto the freeway any kind of chore? Ha! Catch us if you can! You are one with the air. You lean to the curves and become the machine as she tips so low to the ground it’s a fight to maintain control against centrifugal force. But that power is alluring…and sucks you in to become even more daring, racing through the curves.
We all know it’s a dance with death. One little mistake, one second’s lapse of attention, and she will sail like a lead weight off in a straight line into a ditch or off a cliff. Although I am not a risk-taker, that allure even captured me for a time. Despite my fear, I climbed aboard and went for the gusto. I became a little different person that year. 
I stand in front of her now; this trusty steed we are selling to a new joy rider and wonder how I will miss her. I find it funny, looking back, that the last best year of our lives was in 2006—the year we put over 12,000 miles on her just roaming the highways and byways of Wisconsin on weekends. We made her pull a trailer so we could camp; we covered her in her blanket when we had to be away for a few hours. We met terrific fellow riders and felt we fit in. I was terrified at some near misses—cars passing mere inches away and not paying attention; foul weather like rain and sleet on the freeway or winds that had us leaning against them at a 30 degree angle. But beyond and in spite of it all I knew I was living. That’s what being on the edge does to you. And we were happy. I remember being supremely happy. There was always a new adventure waiting for us—just twist the key and go. 
The world has changed since then. She is an asset we can no longer afford. Future dreams of any escape on her back have long gone by the wayside although at one time we had many long, cross country trips planned. We will miss out on those forever. We feel like crying at the parting of this old friend who represents so much of what we used to be that recent life has taken from us.
Her name is Road Gnome. Go Road Gnome, and find a new home with someone who will ride you as exhilaratingly as we once did. You are ours no longer—but you were born to run. Much like Camelot we can never return, but we will always have the pictures and memories of those few exquisite years of daring. Man, I can’t tell you how this hurts….a chapter of life closing that you know you will never have again.
Life hasn’t really inspired much in me lately so I’m finding it’s been very difficult to come up with something entertaining for my blog. In fact, I’ve been wondering if it is better off shut down. The moment I think along those lines however I also think well, what happens when I may have something I want to say or communicate? Or some sweet, glorious pictures I want to show off?
One of my favorite RV blogs has recently shut down. Not off entirely; but just going on a hiatus of only intending to post when something so inspirational happens, that they feel they can do so willingly and joyfully and not feel it as an obligation. As Marc and I move towards probably what is going to become a much more static and stationary experience in one location, I am left wondering if anything inspirational or novel will happen that I want to blog about? Does a blog of one’s mundane existence really qualify to reach out and grab readers’ attentions when so much else is going on in their lives?
Every one of us has the minutia of everyday life that is similar. It was never my intention to regurgitate explicitly what we do with our days, starting off with what we ate for breakfast. I had always hoped to capture at least the spirit of a new day, a new thought, a new perspective, a new horizon. Without traveling and new scenery, how does one do that?
Bear with me as I ponder through this impasse. Expectations are hard to fulfill sometimes.
Meanwhile, life under the undercarriage continues since Marc’s return from Bend. The task of the axle change-out has proven twice as hard and difficult as he ever imagined. It had to be done, but on the other hand is like a “if I knew then what I know now” situation. It’s probably a good thing he is at the no going back stage, eh? 
I have always loved this picture of Marc and it seems to aptly describe our current situation. We were in Wisconsin on one of our every weekend bike trips when the road suddenly petered out and offered up a “Detour” sign. Like any good navigator does, I offered him up a road map so he could see the bigger picture. The bike has GPS built in, but often the bigger picture looks somehow different.
In most lives, there comes a time when we are presented with those crossroads that Robert Frost so aptly wrote about. Take one and you go on to live probably a vastly different life than had you chosen the other. The problem at the time is how do you know which one will be best?
Marc and I have spent agonizing hours contemplating our next move. Recently we’ve felt on the edge of one of those Y’s in life—go left and be flung off to this trajectory; go right and travel to a far different destination. Life isn’t going to allow us to remain on our previous main path; it just doesn’t work that way.
So, once we have our trailer axle fix done, it will be time to choose one of those pathways and commit to something we hope with all our hearts won’t be the lesser of the two. For us, the choice boils down to continuing our wandering ways or to dive back into a static lifestyle of routine and commitment to one location, for likely the rest of our lives. Hey, most others manage to do it….
