The (sheltered) men in my life.

No, this post isn't going to be about my husband nor is it about my son. Actually, it's going to be about my dogs. (If you're a rescued cat lover, I have one of those too, but she's a girl...so suck it up and read on.)


Have you ever been into a shelter or pound? I don't ever remember going as a child, and knowing my mother, she would have spared us of that torture. But when I was 18, I ventured into the Mahoning County Dog Pound, a 72 hour kill facility, for the first time in my life. I was interested in attaining a puppy and I had every intention of saving a life.

I'll never forget the noises I heard the moment I entered the door to the outer hall. The block building was full to the hilt with dogs, every cage full. Some of them even had a few dogs sitting together, and a few others had full litters of puppies in them. And very few of them were quiet.

Instead, they were screeching and barking and yipping and doing what they could to get my attention. I had never felt so wanted in my life.

I was told which dogs were not friendly, and indeed, when I passed the crates, I was welcomed with a snarl or a warning bark. But for the most part, there were wagging tails and smiling faces and ears facing forward, as 50 plus dogs tried to garner my interest. I passed the older ones, though, and headed to the puppy crates.

I wanted a baby. Something to be trained and brought up in the way I wanted to. I was looking for something I could care for, something young and vibrant, as I was living with death. You see, I was staying with my grandparents at that time in my life and my grandfather's health was rapidly declining as he lay in the living room, dying from pancreatic cancer.

I needed to bring a life home. I needed to focus my attention on something that was going to live, something I could actually rescue and keep from dying, because I knew there was nothing any of us could do for the man who spent 18 years raising me as if I was his own daughter.

So I had the keeper open a pen full of wiggly brown balls of fur and one of them chose me. He was soft and cuddly and he couldn't lick my face fast enough. On top of it, he smelled like cocoa. It was love at first sight and without another look back, we left the dog pound together.

It was the first time I had ever bought anything that large, as all my prior pet purchases were always able to live in a tank. So with the puppy on my lap, we headed home. I named him Speagle because I could tell he had some beagle in him, and I just liked the name. I snuck him into the house past my grandfather, because I knew in his condition, he wouldn't have wanted a dog in the house. But my grandmother and I both felt it would help us a little bit as long as it didn't hurt him.

So Speagle spent his days in my room way in the back of the house, playing and waiting for me to arrive home from school, when I would spend the rest of the evening romping around after him. Things were going well until his first bath, when a floppy, wet puppy raced through the house and the smell of cocoa permeated the rooms. Suddenly, my grandfather realized there was a dog afoot. He called me over to his hospital bed and asked to see the animal, so dutifully I produced the puppy. As I watched his nose crinkle and his eyes darken, I knew what was next. He began retching from the smell of the puppy and waved me off immediately.

You see, his cancer and pain medicine had changed his ability to tolerate certain smells. We were limited to what we could cook, bring in the house to eat, or even with what perfumes or bath soaps we used. For example, popcorn would have him heaving almost immediately, as would any type of meat product. And it became apparent to us that chocolate also gave him the same reaction. Without another word of discussion with me, he spoke to my grandmother the next day and demanded the puppy be taken back to the pound. She broke the news to me after school and suddenly I was faced with a horrible realization. I had just saved this puppy from death a mere month before, and now I'd have to put it back in a place where it was sure to face the same fate as before.

I couldn't do it.

I sat down with my grandmother and insisted that she give me the time to find the puppy a good home. He was a great dog, very loving and obedient for how young he was, and I couldn't let him face death twice. Lucky for both of us, she agreed and she lent me the money to place an ad in the paper.

We had him a new home within a few days and together, we drove to drop him off. I can remember crying as I held the puppy out for the man who was taking him off my hands; I was unable to say anything to him but I remember that he was Greek and had just moved to America. His family was replacing a dog he had left back home. When the older woman and the family surrounding him started telling him the puppy was for him, all he said in broken English was, "Dog?" and then Speagle was gone. The group enveloped him and the puppy, each trying to get a look at their newest family member.

I turned and walked back to Nana, who seemed a little melancholy herself. Without speaking, we got in the car and drove home, happy to see the dog had gone to a family who welcomed it so, but sad to see the little guy go at the same time.

So flash forward 16 years. Our rottie had just passed away and my husband was beside himself with shock and despair. I waited a month, knowing we had put down another of our dogs 18 months prior and had also found yet another one a home where she could be the only dog in the pack.We were down to one at the time, Koty, our 12 year old standard poodle. And as Patrick sat in the living room, I headed out to petfinders.com for the umpteenth time to look for our next baby.

I had come across so many already. Mixes, most of them. Some I called on, others I passed by knowing they'd be picked up without issue because of their size or color or breed. And then I came to this face --->

My mind went back to my senior year in high school when a puppy that smelled like cocoa had graced my life for a month or so. He was the same brown with the same dark muzzle, and his ears were floppy just like this puppy. It only took me a second to realize we had found our boy.

I put a call in quietly to Noah's Ark and they informed me he was still available.  They were calling him "The Rock" because his muscle tone and gorgeous brown eyes reminded someone there of Dwayne Johnson. I told her without a doubt, please put a hold on him and we'd be down first thing in the morning to see him.

He was six months old and he was listed as a "Boxer/Cur". That's a generic term they use when they don't want to tell you there's pitbull in there somewhere, because pits don't find homes in most cases. But it didn't deter me one bit. I showed Patrick his picture and then we told Jaryd. I'm not sure any of us slept that night as we anticipated meeting this bundle of love.

But the next day, we arrived to a shelter full of potential adopters and several volunteers. Scared we wouldn't get the dog we wanted, we agreed to at least look at the others if he was no longer available. Patrick and Jaryd waited outside the ruckus, and I dove into the melee looking for someone to point me in the direction of my new baby. I was told he was on a walk with a volunteer and would return shortly. It left me in a lurch.

I was back in an old scene suddenly, with dogs barking and screaming, hitting their cages with their paws trying to get attention. I wasn't sure I was going to make it standing up so I bent over and began to rub the head of the nearest dog around me.

Meanwhile, my husband was sitting outside with Koty and Jaryd, waiting for me to bring out "The Rock". As the volunteers started coming back in from the woods, he noticed a puppy pass him that really struck his fancy and he remembers commenting to Jaryd about how beautiful and sleek the dog was as it passed. He decided he was going to ask to see that one if ours had already been adopted out.

But that switch wasn't in the cards. The same puppy Patrick had seen walked back through the doors with the volunteer, passed the 20 people in the room and headed right up to me. He then proceeded to jump on my back and pantsed me in front of this room full of strangers. As I was hurriedly pulling up my drawers, I turned around to see what would be the next love of my life.

It was love at first sight for all of us and we brought him home, happy to have saved a life. As we were leaving the shelter, I gave the family the option of names. "Tater Salad", as a dedication to our then favorite comedian Ron White, or "Diesel". (The boys chose the latter and we later learned he would definitely live up to his name, but that's a story for another time.)

Eighteen months passed and Koty was sliding downhill. We knew she wouldn't be with us much longer, so we went back to petfinder.com and began our search anew. This time, I wanted something smaller in the house, a dog that would fit nicely into Diesel's routine.

I decided on a Beagle mix and focused my search on finding the right one, which is how we rescued Toby Joe. You'll see him on the right, in the back, behind 2 of his brothers from the litter. There were 5 or 6 of them, total, and none of them even resembled Toby, or Mr. Moseby, as he was known back then. Right then, I knew he was special.

Again, we went down and picked him out; this scared, shy little puppy that was in distress from the noise and anxiety of the other dogs. He was shaking and tense, his little body as hard as a rock and about as unforgiving. He couldn't relax and he couldn't trust, he had been through so much more than any of the rescuers knew, but one thing was obvious - humans had not been kind to him during his puppyhood. It took me a while, but I eventually won him over, and before long, he and Diesel were best buds. Now, as those who have heard his protests can attest, the two of them are inseparable.

So where does that leave us? Ahhh, yes. It leaves us in the middle of the love story we have with these dogs. Both rescues. Both originally in kill shelters as puppies because there are too many born every year that people throw away. Too many that aren't sought-after purebreds or designer dogs, too many that look like pit bulls (or have pit in them) and too many that aren't chubby, wiggly and happy, which are the ones families gravitate towards first.

Instead of buying, instead of breeding, we went with the alternative route on these two and we couldn't have asked for better dogs. All of our dogs have been special, no doubt, with each of them having a certain charm that endeared us to them for eternity. But these two, these two are brothers in every sense of the word. And we, their human parents. It's like they remember, and have possibly shared their tragic and scary pasts, and they know we were the ones who gave them homes with warm beds to sleep in, and fresh water to drink, and nutritious food to eat. They are thankful, still, after all this time, and they show us that with their demeanors and their enduring loyalty.

So in closing, I just want to say that from that first puppy 20 years ago to the latest 2, rescuing is the way to go. You're saving a life and the dogs know it. Their fidelity to you for doing so will be their greatest asset as pets and they will never let you down. I haven't met a rescued dog yet that gave up on his rescuers.

And when it comes to love, what better way to spread it than by saving an animal's life? I can't think of  one, can you?

The decision to stay.

So this month will mark the 90 day anniversary of our move to Florida. For the first two months, I will admit I couldn't relax. I just kept thinking some huge cosmic rubber band was going to snap us back up north against our will. But my husband convinced me that our future is up to us. It's our decision where we end up and how we do when we get there.

So after much discussion, we decided to really put down some roots here. And by roots, I mean deck legs. Yes, we are building a deck. Well, no, we aren't. OMG. It's 100 freaking degrees out there! I mean, we are paying to have a deck built. One of the guys in the park works with another of the guys here and they build decks for the full-timers.

So this will make it official. Well, as official as it gets, I guess. I mean, when we do eventually leave, we can't take the deck with us. We'll have to "give" it to the resort like the one in Ohio that we bought used and already on-site at the campground there. But in the meantime, if you spread the payment out over 12 months, it's literally cheaper than the total monthly cost of Patrick's Dunkin Donut runs. How could we not add 128 square feet of living space?

It's going up over the patio area so we'll be forsaking a wonderful piece of concrete. But it will add a whole bunch of extra space for the dogs and I plan on buying some screen panels and hanging them from the awning so we'll finally be able to eat outside without being eaten alive ourselves!


After all, that is also where I cook every night.

Now, yes, for those of you who have never seen our humble abode, we do have a full kitchen setup inside. However, as any of you who have lived in smaller homes/apartments know, whatever you cook can and will smell up your entire house for days, especially if the rooms are open to each other. Well, in our home, every room but the bathroom is open to the  main area and I'd really appreciate it if my clothes didn't smell like frying fish, baking clams or even the occasional splurge of garlic-laden homemade red sauce. 

So some reconsideration of our set up was necessary if we were going to do live this lifestyle long-term.

First, we took the two old grills to metal recycling and bought a new smaller grill for 2 people (Bonus for the future: it's easy enough and tiny enough to get on a condo patio without paying movers to help). It's a pretty nice model that has enough room for 6-8 half pound hamburgers, which is still more than we would need, but it's got a great compact footprint, especially with the sides down.

It's only about 2x2 and it's fairly no frills, but it does have a really nice ceramic coated inside and it seems to cook very well. But will it hold up? We're notoriously hard on our grills, going through a gas grill every two seasons since we even grill throughout the winter months. Our longest lasting grill was the stainless steel Jenn Air Patrick bought with his first bonus check from BAE, and that lasted us 8 years. But not without all 3 burners dying on us and the starter going fairly early on.

So the BBQ is taken care of. We could grill meats and crisp up corn and potatoes, but what about pasta and sauce? Or frying anything? Our only other modes of cooking are in the microwave or in the toaster/convection oven combo inside. Back to the drawing board.

And that's how we got to investing a small bit into this new diddy:

She's a beaut, ain't she? I named her Sally the Stove. (I don't know why, she just looks like a Sally to me.) We had been eyeing her since we decided to do this trip and then when Patrick started working, we took the plunge and brought her home. Well, really, FedEx was kind enough to deliver her to us from her previous home at Amazon, but you get the picture.

She's got 2 burners, 30,000 BTU's each (your home stove is lucky if it's got 10,000 BTU burners on it as most are 5,000 and 7,500), so of course that means no teflon-coated pots lest we die from poisoning as it melts off the aluminum. (Did I mention I can boil 5 quarts of water in just under 3 minutes on her?)

Nope, everything has to go to cast iron or copper clad. Being that the cost of copper is outrageous and cast iron will last long enough to eventually be willed to my grandkids, we decided to go with the cheaper and longer lasting of the two.

So that then meant I had to add a few pieces to my already established collection of Lodge cast iron cookware. (Do you see where this is going? Have you caught on yet?)

Let me just state this before we go any further:

I LOVE LODGE COOKWARE.

If you've eaten at my house, you've probably been fed from my gorgeous rooster-red ceramic coated dutch oven. It is the bomb! Everything I've ever made in it comes out perfect each time. I can't tell you how much I love this piece!

From a whole 8lb 30 clove garlic chicken to enough Di Russo's sausage links to feed 30 people at 2010's Christmas Dinner, plus all the green peppers, onions and mushrooms it could hold, this baby is one beautiful and solidly build work horse that goes from the stove to the oven and back again with no issue.

All in a striking red paint job. Brilliant!

However, she's currently packed away  and buried in an unmarked and inaccessible box in the storage room. ACK!

So I had to head to Walmart and find something to replace her when we first came down here and were cooking right on the grates of the old grills. We picked up a 6" skillet, a grill pan and another 5 qt dutch oven. I figured that's a good start.

But I just felt with this new stove, there were still a few pieces missing. I searched online to see what else would make me a gourmet full-timing chef and I came across a griddle and this nifty combination of dutch oven base (that I'm going to use for making pasta and sauce in since it has a nice rounded bottom) and lid that doubles as a 10" skillet.

 

Now we're talking...

But how did this lead to the deck, you ask? 

Well, have you ever carried cast iron cookware? It's heavy. With food in it, it's freaking heavy!

So the way things were set up, we had the grill and the stove on the patio, which was down the 3 precarious shifty metal steps of our rig. Carrying food in and out meant having to brave a trip up and down this staircase that rocks like one of those carnival fun-house get-ups. Add to that a 20 lb pot of steaming hot liquidy food and you've got yourself a definite recipe for disaster.

So we opted to have the deck built.

Now all I will have to do at dinner time is step directly out the door onto a nice level surface, with my stove and my grill not but 5 feet away. No steps, no traversing concrete, no extra danger of scalding myself as I try to climb back up 3 wobbly stairs with 20 pounds of food and cookware in my hands. 

And it gives us somewhere to put the picnic table, a few of the wrought iron chairs we got from Craigslist, and second best of all, it gives the dogs somewhere to go outside where they will be safely confined so they can watch the world around them instead of staring at me blankly all day, stuck inside.

And if all else fails, while we're still here, it will double as a very weighted place to tie down all our outside stuff during the hurricanes...

Because if you know me at all, you know that's the main reason I signed on to have it built in the first place.  ;)

Did you know celery has fat in it?

What kind of crap is that? Richard Simmons used to say that veggies were free foods, you could eat as many as you wanted and they didn't count. So we did! Who knew we were still "chewing the fat"?

So why do I care about celery, you ask. Well, I care because the health insurance companies keep telling me that I'm not in their range for coverage because my Body Fat Index isn't less than 24%. What? Really?

Ok, let me start again. I jump in too fast. Sometimes I'm bad that way. Oh, and this is going to be short because that's just how I feel today.

Here's the generally accepted chart.

Body Fat Percentage Categories
Classification	Women (% fat)	Men (% fat)
Essential Fat	10-12%	2-4%
Athletes	14-20%	6-13%
Fitness	21-24%	14-17%
Acceptable	25-31%	18-25%
Obese	32%+	25%+

I am in the "acceptable" category. Firmly in the acceptable category. But based on my weight and my height, my BMI is too high. Which makes my Body Fat index too high for coverage.

If they'd accept me at all, some companies want to charge me an additional $1,000 a month to offset the fact that I'm not below 24%. So, if paying an extra $1,000 a month is Plan A, we're moving onto Plan B.

Get below 24%.

I don't have far to go. Like I said, I'm firmly in the "Acceptable" range. But some lifestyle changes are going to be necessary.

For example, we're buying bicycles. We've been looking at some basic models from Walmart since we don't want to spend a lot of money right now. I think it's come down to a few retro style cruisers with wide, whitewall tires so we can ride around the resort after the sun goes down at night, and plus they'll work well out on Honeymoon Island on the sandy bike trails.

We're also changing our diets up a bit. I'm doing protein shakes and veggies during the day with a protein and veggie for dinner. Patrick is allowing me to change his diet a bit, too, and cut out the extra foods that are holding us where we are. Dinners out are also going away. Can't keep track of what's in the sauces or the dressings, so it's better just to grill it up here at home.

I've even got my food journal and my measurement journal all ready to go, so Mondays I can pull out that measuring tape and see my progress once I pop the numbers into the excel spreadsheet I downloaded. My handy dandy charts and graphs will hopefully keep my spirits up as I see the numbers go down. If not, I'm going to stick a big blowup copy of a  $1,000 bill above my desk here and stare at it until I'm too depressed to eat. One way or another, we're going to get below that 24%. Oh yes we are.

Now where did I hide that body double?

Full-timing isn't for the faint at heart

So when we started this adventure, we really thought we'd stay in the RV maybe 2 months. After all, the deal we got at the resort was buy one month, get one month free. Bonus! It took Patrick approximately 5 weeks to get a job here in Tampa, and we really thought we'd probably extend out that stay in the RV one more month, just in case we didn't hit the goal in the first 8 weeks. But when they emailed to say he was starting this past Monday, suddenly we had to decide what our plans were.

It wasn't that we weren't already talking about extending our stay here. Most of this park is full of people who have lived in their RV's for years. The guy and his wife next to us are on year 17 in that same spot. Other people around the park that we've befriended have celebrated 6, 10 and even 12 years in their rigs. Which is great. Except. Well, they're in much more than 310 square feet. Some of these rigs are 45 to 53 feet long with multiple slides (some even have 2 full bathrooms in them). You're talking 450 square feet and up. Like I said before, my first NJ apartment was the size of a two-car garage, and it's do-able with that kind of footage underneath you.

But what we're in now is comparable to a walk-up in Brooklyn. I take that back, as I've actually been in an efficiency in Brooklyn with  more space.

So when the discussion came up seriously the other day as to whether we stay or not (since we are almost at our 8 week deadline to decide), we looked at each other trepidatiously and began discussing it.

Besides the size, there are several things that are different from house living. Let's start with the good, since I'm a mostly optimistic person.

There is only 310 square feet to clean. Yay! As Nana so truthfully told my husband when I married him, I hate cleaning. OMG. I hate cleaning. Let me say that again. I HATE CLEANING. It's not that I don't do it. It's not that I don't do it well. As  a matter of fact, I probably do it well so I don't have to do it again any time soon. But I hate it. So 310 square feet is perfect for me. It takes me 3 minutes to sweep the floor with the broom. It takes me 5 minutes to Swiffer it. Vacuumming takes about 8 minutes. The hardest part is making the bed because of how our camper is set up, so that actually takes about 43 minutes just to get the sheets on.

This is a diagram of how our trailer looked when we bought it. Do you see the master bedroom in the photo below? See those cabinets on either side of the mattress? Yeah, that design sucks. Let me say that again because it's the truest thing I've ever said - EVER. THAT DESIGN SUCKS!!!

You literally have to fold the foam mattress in half with one person on each side of the bed holding the sheet on for dear life, and then slowly, ever so slowly, roll the foam back until - dammit - the flipping sheet snapped off again. (Yeah, that's how it goes for 43 minutes. You want to talk about being too pissed off to sleep?!?)

But I digress.

What else is different in full-timing? Well, laundry. I was skyping with Jaryd just yesterday and as I gave him a tour around our humble abode and showed him what we've changed out, all the poor kid could see was clothes hanging around the cabin. Being that you can't have clotheslines outside due to aesthetics, we have to hang everything inside. So first thing in the morning on laundry days, I trudge over in the heat to the laundry room (we have 4 so we have a good selection of them) and I do our loads, bringing back the shirts and dress pants to hang dry. In our houses, we had metal racks we put up in unused rooms and let the clothes hang dry behind closed doors. Not in the trailer. Oh, no, if there is a place that I can put the hook of a hanger, there is a piece of laundry hanging on it. So most of the day and evening on laundry day is nothing more than weaving your way through the jungle of hanging damp garments. Thank goodness, with our (sub-par for the RV size) air conditioning unit, they will finally dry in about 12 hours.

Oh, here's a good one. The toilet system.

If you have an RV, you know that there is a tank (called the "black tank") under your toilet that holds waste until you decide to open the valve to let it flush out. You also know this is NOT a septic tank and is nothing more than a an enclosed plastic bin hung by straps to the bottom of your rig. Onto this plastic box of 40 gallons, you attach a hose that leads to the sewer/septic connection for the park. (We have public sewer here, so no septic smell. Bonus!) In between the tank and the hose you connect, you know there is a knife valve that either holds in the contents of the tank or lets them flow freely through the attached hose. (Watch the movie "RV" with Robin Williams in it for what happens if this system doesn't work properly.)

Here is a teaser:

At any rate, if you have an RV, you also know that the knife valve needs to remain shut on the black tank (poop holder) until it becomes 3/4 full, lest you have pyramid poop clogs and all sorts of other nasty things happening to the most important system on your rig (let's not even discuss that right now). Plus, when it's 3/4 full, it does a full flush of the tank by the pressure of the water trying to exit the tank through one tiny little 3" hole, so you get a good clean tank. Well, the joy in holding a tank closed, as the manufacturer tells you do and as good common sense directs, also leads to smell. Yes, there are chemicals and bacteria to put into the tank. Yes, they even sometimes help. But we're in Florida. Not only are we in Florida, but we are in Florida IN THE SUMMER. It's 93 on any given day. It's mostly sunny, although we are in monsoon season, but sun leads to increased heat, and increased heat leads to, well, let's just say, Methane Buildup. Yep, that's right. Monstrous methane buildup in the black tank. So where does that smell go?

Theoretically, the smell should come back up the system and go out the vent pipe in the roof the RV, venting peacefully off into the atmosphere, like it does in your house (yes, methane vents out of your roof from your sewer/septic system through the vent pipe in your walls. Don't get freaked out by this.).

Guess what? As in any other realm, there is a far leap between theoretical ideas and actual experience.

In two days, even with stuff added to the tank that is supposed to control the smell, Holy Lord, does that methane stink!?! I keep a can of Febreze over the toilet and when I'm flushing with one hand, I'm spraying with another. By day four, when we reach 3/4 full, the smell can knock you out. Now granted, when you first empty the tank and close the knife valve, before you even go to the bathroom in it again, you are supposed to fill it 1/4 full with fresh, clean water. This water helps dissolve the special RV/boat toilet paper you are supposed to use to avoid nasty clogs and, like I said before, keep the pyramid poops from forming (YOU DO NOT WANT PYRAMID POOPS! If you get them, you pay the entire cost of the RV to have someone come in and change out your black tank. At that rate, just dump it on the side of the road and write it off because no one is going to deal with your pyramid poops.) So the smell isn't so bad for the first day, or even the second day, since we've got city water here and it's treated. But come visit me on day 3 and you'll wonder if you'll ever go camping again...

That leads me to a funny story about DeShawn, one of our foster kids, and our summer down the Jersey shore, where the methane leaked into the trailer for 2 weeks while we were up at home. DeShawn was the first one to bound into the RV when I opened the door and if you've never seen a fairly dark black kid go in dark but literally come out GREEN, it's a laugh riot. That's not to say I tortured my foster kids, but hey, he was just shy of adulthood, he was taking that risk on his own.  And I thought the 5 of us standing on the outside of the camper still were going to pee our pants from laughing so hard.

At any rate, please don't let me scare you off. Like I said before, there are up sides to living in a rig. Other than the lock breaking on the door that needed fixed, the plastic water pipes bending and cracking, the leaky valves at the sinks and tub, the kitchen sink seal that dissolved with age and had to be replaced, the fuses that blow pretty frequently and leave us without lights, the storage space that only holds about 7 days worth of clothes for each of us, the metal steps that have rusted in 6 years and are slowly breaking off from the RV, the random water leaks in torrential rains, the hot water tank that only holds 6 gallons of water, the need to tighten the stabilizer jacks once a week so you don't rock and sway yourself off the hitch stand, the fact that you have to turn the AC off to use the microwave, coffee maker or the convection oven, and the walls that are only 2 inches thick so you hear everything around you and everyone can hear you if they're close enough, it's actually not bad living.

We changed out the J-sofa (named for the jackknife action of it, and not because my son Jay used to sleep on it) for a dual reclining loveseat and we tore out the dinette to put in a dining room table that we are using as a double desk. The rocker chair you see in the photo is now on the patio outside and we put up a screen room with a nice 7 piece iron set with cushions that we bought off Craigslist. Patrick's plan is to put a fairly large TV out there and make it a man-screenroom. The outdoor kitchen is set up with a pantry cabinet, 2 grills and a prep table, with a toaster/convection/regular oven inside the RV under the microwave. We use Patrick's monitor on it's swing arm when what we want to watch is online instead of on the regular TV. And we've moved in as many of the comforts from home as we could. Even most of my 20-year-old houseplants survived the trip and are in front of me on the desk enjoying the UV rays coming through the slide windows.

So I guess we'll probably stay here another year. That said, we've already put some stipulations on that. For example, if Jaryd (and Nori) were to move back with us, we'd have to get a rental unit of some sort. Or if this rig finally gives up the ghost, being that it's meant for weekends a few times a year and not the steady pounding of daily living, we'll definitely have to find something more permanent. But for now, we're comfortable. And we've gotten to the point where we know things are going to break, sometimes on a daily or weekly basis, so we're working around those things.

After all, we do have a pretty nice yard where I can plant flowers and shrubbery, and they'll let us put up a deck and install patio stones to expand our outdoor flooring area. And the amenities in the resort are very nice - between the pool and the landscaping and the boat launch and the clubhouse and most of the people who work here, not to mention the activities schedule. And on top of it, staying here is half the price of renting, which is great because we could really use the break to pay off some bills that have accumulated over the last couple years.

So, after all our discussions, I guess it's safe to say we'll stay for a while...methane smell be damned, of course!

Changes, alterations and modifications

I know, I know, it's been two weeks since my last confession. I just haven't had time to have a deep thought or even a funny one! Time has sped up to lunacy speed this month and I can't keep track of where I'm going from one minute to the next. So many things have gone on, so much needs to be done on a daily basis. It's almost impossible to keep up with the different schedule now.

However, the one thing that has been constant since we arrived here, heck, even since way back in September of 2009, is change.

Most of you know that story. Man has a good job in a defense company. Democrat (socialist) gets elected to office. Democrat cuts all defense spending and man loses good job. Hence, man's family is put into a tailspin with their lives and 22 months later, here we are now.

3 moves in 2 years. Buy stuff, sell stuff. 4 different cars in 10 months. And now our 3-person group is split across 1200 miles.

It's been a challenge to keep going. The phone doesn't ring often enough. No calls from Jaryd upsets me, and no calls from hiring managers upsets Patrick. Together, we sit and stare at the phones most of the day willing them to ring. (Note: He's winning. Jaryd, CALL YOUR MOTHER.)

But one thing that's for certain is that our marriage is under a deep amount of testing every day. If you think it's hard to live with someone in 1200 square feet or more (I know some of you have huge houses), imagine being locked into one room of your house with your spouse for 31 days. We spend 24 hours each day together in a space the size of a middle bedroom. Sure, we can go outside if we want, but mostly we're attached at the hip. The only real time we've had away from each other is doing hygiene rituals, where it's just not feasible to fit two people together in a room that small.

But we're doing ok. In 31 days, we've had 2 fights, neither too serious, both over within an hour or so with no lasting implications. Our most common bone of contention comes with the discussion of "inside" versus "outside".

You see, it's summer in Florida. Which means it's hot. Not Palm Springs or Death Valley hot. But days are 90-95, and now with the humidity, the heat index is around 100-105 each day. Nothing we can't handle from a past of humid, stagnant Ohio summers or summers in New Jersey, where for a few weeks, barely a breeze would blow by in the 97 degree heat. But I really thought Patrick would have a problem with it, and our staying here depended on his acceptance of these 3.5 months of continual, no-relief-in-sight heat.

Comes to be that he loves it! I don't mean he can deal with it as we walk the dogs or go to the clubhouse to play some pool. I mean, LOVES it. He wants to sit in it, "bathe" in it, relax in it, spend his hours in it. And he wants me to join him.

I, on the other hand, am totally for air conditioning. Ok, fine, our system isn't the best in the RV as it's 81 in here most days with 2 humans, 2 dogs, a cat and 2 computers on; it's still 15 degree warmer when you step outside. I'm sorry, I like it "cool". Ok, I'm not sorry - I just like it cool!

So most days, it's a tug-o-war to see who's going to win. He's resorted to tricks, like, let's go for  ride (in the air conditioning) and then he gets me to a shoreline somewhere and makes me get out of the car to walk it with him. Or, he'll put down the windows while we're driving so there is a heated furnace blast blowing in from the asphalt at us.

Now granted, he does have reason for this. Whatever struck him at the Westview house has completely changed how he has to live. Cold, chilly weather caused his body to lock up and during the Ohio winters, it was impossible for him to get out of bed in the mornings due to horrible pain and stiffness. He would drain the hot water tank while taking a shower upon dragging himself in there just to unlock his joints. Here, when he gets up, he's moving. And he's moving good. After a little while outside, he's like his old self and working as a well-oiled machine. I can't believe the difference.

He's also anxious to go walking - not only around the park but to places where you have to walk all day, Epcot, Sea World, Cape Canaveral. It brings back a memory of last year when we went to Colonial Williamsburg on a weekend where it was 96 degrees every day and he jogged around that place like it was nothing. It's amazing the change in him.

It's just one of many modifications that have been made since we've been here. There's been others, like  when I had him take out the curtain rod in the shower and put in an extender rod in there. Please, people, if you have an RV with a regular shower using a curtain rod, you have to invest in one of these:

Extendable shower rod

It is the best thing on the market. We put a PEVA shower curtain in there so there wasn't any hard vinyl corners and this thing makes showering a pleasure. Even if you just have a small shower at home, go find yourself one. I can't tell you how great it is. (And then, when you're doing laundry and you need a place to hang stuff, it folds into the shower so you can drip dry your unmentionables. Awesome!)

Another thing we've changed is how we store things. I've always loved Command hooks, but we have become vertical storage commandos with those things. Just sitting here right now, I can see 20+ things around me hanging on the walls, held up inconspicuously by Command products.

We've even modified the stuff we eat. Without any way to boil water or use a frying pan, as I refuse to use the stove inside the RV, we are living carb-free for the most part. No pastas, large loaves of Italian breads, or fried foods. None of that stuff. We're grilled meat and veggies most days, with 2 days a week saved for fish. I walked in front a full-length mirror yesterday for the first time in a month and was amazed at what I saw in changes to my body. In Patrick's case, I've been wolf-calling at him this whole time as I can see him slimming down right in front of me but I didn't realize I, too, was being altered by our new healthier and lighter diet.

It wasn't fully unintentional. I did want to lose weight and slim down, as I have a delightful blue and white polka-dotted bathing suit of my grandmother's, in a true rock-a-billy style, that I want to fit into. It's from the forties, maybe fifties, and the look of this piece is absolutely darling. It's in immaculate shape, I don't know that it's ever been worn; but if you knew my grandmother, you'd know she was 4'11" and at her heaviest, a size 14. That's a foot shorter than me and she weighed half of what I do. There's no tag on it, so I can't tell it's size, but it is much smaller than the clothes I currently wear. So I do have a way to go; I have that bathing suit hanging at the foot of the bed on the wall, so I can see it when I wake up, when I'm cooking and when I go to bed. It's going to encourage me to alter myself in this process.

So that's what's been going on and where I've been. Nothing too exciting has happened, but all-in-all, we're still glad to have made the move and are enjoying our location. Please pray, if you get a second, that some work comes through and then we'll be fine. It's the last major change we need to happen (other than maybe convincing Jaryd and Nori to go to school in Florida!).

Until next time...May all the changes in your life be positive, happy and healthy ones! God bless.

Recalculating.

She drives me nuts. I mean REALLY NUTS. Her voice is like nails down a chalkboard for me.

When I first brought her home for Patrick, it was for our 10 year anniversary and we were heading to Connecticut so the kids from Vernon United Methodist could go see Rock the Sound. He needed her because I'm not always around, and since I'm usually the one directing our existence, someone else telling him where to go in my absence seemed like a good idea to me at the time. He named her "Tammie 2", and at first I was honored. What a sweet thing to do!

However, not only did I not realize how jealous I was going to be over her, but I just didn't know how much her existence was going to bother me. He fondly started calling her by his new nickname for her, "T2", and he took her everywhere. Fine. I could have dealt with the fact that she was going along with us for the ride, but she was just so annoying, talking "trash" all the time, getting bitchy when someone made a misstep.

It got to the point that I actually tried to change her personality. I made her male and Australian. Well, that didn't work. It was like Crocodile Dundee had suddenly joined our marriage.

Ok, let's go British. That was even worse. It was one step higher than listening to Ozzy telling us what was up ahead. Patrick made me change the accent back to American and I thought maybe I had gotten away with adding another male to our life, but it wasn't long until he glared at me and told me he wasn't comfortable with a man telling him where to go.

FINE! Back to her. Ugh.

I hate her. Well, I don't hate her, let's just say it's a strong dislike!


But I digress.

I don't know where my navigating skills came from. It's uncanny, if I do say so myself, how I can find my way in places I've never been, without using any form of navigating device besides the sun. But I do it. And I'm good at it. And he has always been in awe of my ability to get us there and home without using much planning at all. But here was this woman again, telling my husband where to go!

And of all things - she was giving him directions that didn't match mine! And he was following hers!

Um, hello?

Oh no he didn't. (Oh, yes he did!)

I had to resist the urge of throwing her out of the car. I mean, really, she was there to help him come home to me. She was designed to get him to where he needed to go. But how dare she take my place. I was furious. And her voice, it seemed to taunt me, to egg me on and remind me that he trusted her capabilities more than he trusted mine. I couldn't take it anymore. I banned her from our relationship for quite a long time.

It wasn't until we were living in Ohio and he was driving to Cleveland where she became a major force in his life again. He would touch her in just the right spot and turn her on first thing in the morning. She'd spring to life and begin seducing him with her "powers" before they were even out of Boardman. Soon, he was locked into every word she said, following her commands as if they were Bible passages. He needed her. She was there for him. He depended on her and she...

Well, one day she was wrong. Oh, yes. She was wrong. (Finally!) She took him 30 minutes out of his way. The first time he had made that trip, he had followed her word for word and did what she said. The second time, though, he had an idea to drop off the highway and take another road he had seen that ended in the same spot he had gone to before. Lo and behold, he landed 30 minutes sooner than she had predicted he would if he went the way she was leading him.

He couldn't wait to tell me. He called and I dutifully answered, his voice somewhere between despair and disbelief as he recounted how she had led him astray. On my end of the handset, all I could do was smile, as I had been hoping this day would come.

Ha! Had I finally won? Would he finally see me again for my ability to steer him in the right direction? Would this be the end of his fling with T2?

If only.

The next day, I placed a phone call to him and when he answered, I heard her voice. She was back. She was in the car with him and she was once again telling him the path his life should take. I was mortified. How could he when he knew she had led him so wrong?

I asked him about it, interrogating him on his need of her services. I was upset. I was jealous. I was devastated by his betrayal. I didn't know what to do.

But, like the smooth talker he is, he assured me she was only there to keep him focused (granted, he does like to drift when he's driving). He said her gentle reminders kept his mind on the road and he needed that to get to where he was going.

I decided to accept her in his life and I backed off, knowing I'd once again have my day.

I'm waiting. Patiently waiting. So far she's only popped in on our travels a few times since being down here and it's usually when I'm admittedly having troubles (headaches seem to be my kryptonite and they disable my internal navigational device.) But one of these days, one of these days - it's going to come to a showdown.

Tammie and Tammie 2 are going to go head-to-head in an all-out battle to win the love and respect of my husband and when we do...she's going down.

That's right, do you hear me, T2?!? You're going down...

And why is that? Because I'm not only calculating, but I'm...


RECALCULATING!

Like a Hand out the Window in the Wind

After Patrick put in his 7 hours researching jobs and sending out resumes yesterday, we decided to go on a drive to explore some more of the area. I suggested Cortez. It's a throwback to simpler times, a place that supposedly hadn't seen much progression in 140 years. I love that.

However, when we finally got there, we zoomed right through the town without so much as even stopping for the lights, as they were green all the way through. Without knowing it, we were suddenly over the water and onto Anna Maria Island. When the road ended at the gulf, we made a right and kept trucking.

With no maps to guide us, no previous visit to help us along, we just drove. Most of the roads on the island are 35 miles per hour, with some dropping to 25, so we had time to just glide along and look at our surroundings. It was a tropical paradise and time had seemed to stop there.

Unlike the northeastern seashore of the United States, most of the houses weren't new, but instead, oozed that traditional Florida Cracker charm; the roads were cramped and the soft edges gave way gently to sugary white sand. People were bicycling and lazily walking down the streets; a blue trolley was ahead of us, dinging it's way through the maze of roads with a load of people inside. It was like the past had come to life in front of us, the island's memory from a long ago time suddenly in motion for only us to see.

We followed the historic vehicle to the end of the island but turned right instead of left, as it had, and we found ourselves at the Anna Maria City Pier. Pulling over, we parked to the right of the structure for a moment on the soft crystals of sand and breathed in the salty, clammy air.

Patrick shot me a look and asked, "Quick, without thinking, what does the smell remind you of?"

Without hesitation, we replied in unison, "Cape Cod." It was a memory of our long-ago past, but one we had imprinted within us because of the time the three of us shared on that wonderful little island together.

The scent was that delicious rich smell of the oceans that only comes when there is low tide and remnants from the sea are left to bleach and decay on the shoreline, baking in the heat of the sunload. That deep ocean smell that you know Poseidon carries on him as he stands out above the seas and raises his trident over all the creatures he rules.

Without speaking, we just sat there and basked in the sun and the smell and the warm salt air, letting our senses mark this moment in our memory and our  minds. Then, Patrick put the car into gear and we were off again, driving deeper into the island to explore some more.

Before too long, we crossed back over to the mainland and headed back to 275. As we drove along the highway, windows open, late afternoon sun casting a gorgeous golden haze around us, I stuck my hand out the window like I used to do as a kid, and I played with the wind.

As we climbed the ascension on the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, where the wind became bolder but the view was ever-reaching, I realized how closely my journey through life resembled the resistance my hand met out the window.

I've always wanted to slow down time, but we barrel through life at an impressive speed. Just like us crossing that bridge at 70 miles per hour, life flies by us before we even realize it's gone.

I thought back to the weeks before the move when I would just sit with Jaryd in the family room, soaking up his presence and just being with him before he began his own journey. I tried, like I had done many times over the course of raising him, to slow down the clock, make it tick just a little bit slower so that I could put more hours in a day, more minutes into the moments we spent together. It never worked, but oh how I tried!

The memory hit me hard and I hid my hand-cum-airplane for a minute behind the mirror, watching as St. Petersburg approached in the forefront and Tampa grew bigger in the distance. I thought for a moment about how many other people had come here before us, refusing to let time pass them by any longer, striving for something better than what they had known in the past.

And I know all too well how people and lives are taken from us every day. My mother was gone in an instant 25-years-ago this week. One moment, her bright smiling face was gracing us with her jokes and laughter and the next, she was silenced forever.

I wondered for a moment if she'd be proud of what we had done, knowing she often talked about moving to Florida but had too much holding her back. I wonder if my grandparents, who have also both passed, were looking down at us and cheering us on. They, too, loved the warm weather and with my grandfather's sister just south in Englewood, came down to visit this area often.

Those were fond memories, driving with them across the state of Florida, exploring the white sands and blue waters, and then growing excited as we went inland to explore the parks and the thrills they offered.

But this trip for me is different. We're alone now. Auntie passed, it's gotta be at least 12 years ago now, and my cousin Dale has moved on with his life, going farther south into Fort Myers. So we explore the Tampa area alone, with only their eyes all looking down on us from above.

I raised my hand one more time in the wind, over the mirror, so the full-blast of air hit it as we charged forward towards our new home, and I spent one more second missing all the people who have meant so much to me but aren't sharing this adventure with us. Then, I pulled it back inside and looked straight ahead, ready to slow down the days and enjoy the ones I have left.

We never know when our time's going to be up so we have to take each minute as it comes. I've spent 38 years rushing towards the next "sweet" spot, whether it be a weekend event or just a day off from the daily grind. It's time now for me to live, to enjoy what God has provided and to have faith that I'm where I'm supposed to be when I'm supposed to be here. I don't know how long it will last, but I do know I'm not taking one more second for granted. I'm going to spend my remaining time on this earth living, because if there's anything that I do truly know, it's that days go by.



Days Go By lyrics
Songwriters: Powell, Richard Monty; Urban, Keith;

I'm changing lanes, I'm talking on the phone
I'm drivin' way to fast and the interstates jammed with
Gunners like me, afraid of coming in last
But somewhere in the race we run
We're coming undone

Days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind, the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
'Cause days go by

Out on the roof just the other night
I watched the world flash by
Headlights, taillights running through a river of neon signs
But somewhere in the rush I felt
We're losing ourselves

And days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind, the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
'Cause days go by
Yeah, these days go by

We think about tomorrow then it slips away
Oh, yes it does
We talk about forever but we've only got today

And the days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window
When the cars go by

It's all we've been given
So you better start livin'
You better start livin'
Better start livin' right now

'Cause days go by
I can feel like 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
'Cause days go by
Yeah, these days go by

So take 'em by the hand
They're yours and mine
Take 'em by the hand
And live your life
Take 'em by the hand
Don't let 'em all fly by

Come on, come on now
Don't you know the days go by?