Cheese Curds, Cheese Curds, Cheese Curds

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Wow...look at the cheddar!  2, 3, 5, 7, 10-year aged! 

What’s the first thing you think about when you think about Wisconsin?  Cheese, of course!  I've been told that the people of Wisconsin are known for their beer and I recently read that Wisconsin is called "America's Dairyland" (who knew?) but I'm guessing most of us have heard the term Cheeseheads?   Think about those people at a sports game with a giant slice of fake cheese on their head.  Yep, that's a loud and proud Cheesehead.   Apparently, historically, it was a negative term used to describe the Dutch but nowadays it's descriptive of anybody from Wisconsin.  Anyway, we pulled into this truck stop/the Sun Rise Restaurant complex an hour into our travel looking for breakfast a few days ago (can't believe we have been on the road 10 days).  It had been kind of foggy/drippy that morning so we packed up and took off before eating.  As you can see from the picture, there was some very delicious-looking, local Wisconsin cheese displayed for sale at this funky trucker store adjacent to the restaurant.   

Lots and lots of cheese curds in lots and lots of flavors

And, we also saw a huge refrigerator bin full of locally Wisconsin-made cheese curds; squeaky cheese curds (say what?).  Who knew there were 870 flavors?  I am kidding but it was like shopping for chips and all the flavors they come in.   In this one case was mango habanero cheese curds, shallot black pepper cheese curds,  bloody mary cheese curds, buffalo wing cheese curds, sassy BBQ cheese curds, ranch cheese curds, horseradish curds, and more!  Given that wide array of choices, Rusty picked plain cheese curds.   I have yet to taste them but he tells me they are indeed squeaky. 


In addition to plain, squeaky cheese curds, we bought  a 5 year-old aged brick of white sharp cheddar (it's was 1/2 the price of the 10-year old) but later thought we should have split our giant breakfast (cheap and huge) and put that money towards purchasing that block of 10-year aged cheddar because, “When are we going to be able to stop for breakfast and buy 10-year old aged Wisconsin cheese again soon?” we regretted as we drove on over the Mississippi River into Minnesota.

Huge Breakfast for two!

About that delicious and very large breakfast for $15.78 that we ate (coffee and tea were only $1.99 for unending cups) at this little Sun Rise Restaurant in Sparta, Wisconsin and the interesting people who live..... Sparta is the bike capital (and it says so right on the cover of the Sun Rise Restaurant menu!), self-proclaimed, by a local who created some really great bike paths (so we were told) in and around town but according to a transplant, see photo of our wonderful tattooed formerly-from-Indiana waitress (Amanda), you actually have to buy a bike license?  Having two young boys who ride bikes, she was somewhat incensed.  “You ever heard of such a thing?  It makes sense to have a fishing license, and I have that but a bike license?"  Amanda looked at us intently, us as she poured another cup of coffee for Ken.  We both agreed that was definitely odd and something we had never heard of and would be resistant to paying, as well.

Amanda from Indiana

 Life on the road is good eats and interesting people! 

Powered up and Ready to Go by Interstate

No, I am not writing about Interstate-90 in this blog post.  I am writing about Interstate batteries which are supposed to be "outrageously dependable," see, that's their sign, large and in charge in the shop window.  After nearly a week trying to figure out why the LP (liquid propane/gas) monitor was flashing green and red, green and red, and beeping every 30 seconds (which I found out is different from chirping which indicates the presence of gas) and why every time we pulled in the slide-out, waiting for it to click, click, click as we tried to lock it back into the trailer, it blew a 30 amp fuse

Here are the FOUR fuses we blew

(well, we blew 4!)  and after all that calling and checking and fretting with a number of kind and "helpful" people (friends, family, salespeople, RV shop owners, manufacturers, etc.) and after laying in bed wishing it would just all work, we went (at the suggestion of the Ohio RV guy and because all Ken could conclude was that all evidence led back to electrical) to Interstate Batteries (Interstate because that's the type of battery we had) in Holland, Ohio and Gary (my new best friend)

Gary, our new best friend in Ohio

hooked our battery up to a battery checker (checking both voltage and amperage which Ken had not checked before) and said, "This battery is crap."

Now you might expect us, the customers, to be bummed but Rusty (I am trying to call my beloved RUSTY but only know him as Ken but I am trying as it seems apropos for our new life and I am in a world where nobody know who Ken is) and I were jumping up and down because THAT made sense that that was the problem!  When the left break light works intermittently (but the blinker always works) and the LP monitor works intermittently, and the slide-out works intermittently, of course it's all related.  And when the LP manufacturer says, "Those monitors never really fail," and when the RV salesman says, "You can have 3 big kids ride that bump-out in and out again and again and not have any problem," (because we thought maybe we put too much weight in the bump-out area) it leads you to know there must be something causing this multitude of failures.  And that was lack of battery power!

 Gary went on, "You are supposed to have 12 volts and you have 3 or 4.  And, you are supposed to have at least 440 amps and you have less than 200."  And he informed us, "Oh by the way, we don't even keep those batteries in stock because they are so bad and oh, my son works in an RV store and tells me that they always put these cheap batteries in RVs!  And, oh, occasionally, just every now and again these batteries don't get fully charged at the factory."  Perfect storm for us.  "For just $12 more (the original was replaced at no cost but we happily paid the cost to "upgrade") I can get you a much better battery with more voltage and amperage," Gary informed us.  Sold.

Crappy Battery!

And so this morning, double-checking to see if, in fact (please great wonder in the sky), the battery was the solution to our troubled Mini, we walked out to our "rig" and as we approached our little RV hooked up to the truck parked by the curb, we were straining to see if we could hear that frustrating and annoying "beep, beep, beep," and all we heard was the rush of cars on the main road and the happy tweeting of little neighborhood birds!  Feeling encouraged, next I climbed inside the trailer to see what was going on with the red/green lights and.....as I glanced below the refrigerator (where the monitor is "conveniently" located), there were NO synchronized red and green lights flashing off and on, just a steady green on the LP monitor, and when I slid out the bump-out and then took a big yoga breath as I slid the slider back in.....Voila!  It all seems to work easily now...thank the Lord from above!  Let's just hope this Interstate battery is indeed outrageously dependable from now on!

We are out on the open road tomorrow.  "Where are we going tomorrow?" I asked my husband as we lay in bed thinking ahead to our trip beyond Toledo.   And he smiled, "We are headed to Chicago in the morning.  Around lunch time we will pull over and decide where to spend the night."

I absolutely love it all :)

Oh, and I have a new pair of Eddie Bauer sandals, bought at Marshalls, Toledo for $9.50 (kids shoes fit my size 6 feet), on sale with the turn of the season. 

For now, we are outrageously good to go! 

Foot Gear

"You see, the most important time of my life there were no shoes."

 Imelda Marcos

 Getting ready for our big adventure, I was so excited that  I'd have not only some space in Mini (our travel trailer) for clothes/shoes but that we would have the whole of the back of our truck to fill up, as well.  While packing light (yes, I did have this in mind!), I most definitely didn't pack as if I only had one suitcase that could easily fit in the overhead bin.  And, so during those last few days of preparation, I would go down into our basement and empty bins to use on the trip (OK, our basement looks a little bit like we could be on featured on that TLC show, Hoarders: Buried Alive after emptying our storage space so there were plenty to choose from but I was able to find and not have to buy a number of bins).  I carefully but happily packed one bin for cool weather clothes, one bin for warm weather clothes, one smaller bin for shoes and then put all my yoga/workout gear in my overflowing gym bag.

It wasn't until we were in Toledo visiting family and we re-packed the back of the truck based on what we seemed to need first as we pulled into a campground  (you just can't really pack the truck right until you have been on the road and have experienced what you want/need first and foremost as you start to set up camp - we seem to like the ice maker, the anti-gravity chairs, the tables, and then the clothes/shoes because all the food is in the trailer)...anyway, it wasn't until that moment as I was moving and shuffling around generators, saws, hoses that I asked my husband, "Hey, where is my shoe bin?"  "Shoe bin?" he looked surprised I was even asking.  "Yea, that smaller bin that had my sandals, flip flops, and one nice pair of shoes in?"  Well, it was no where to be found....nope, no box of shoes for Joy.  Guess in the haste to hit the road last Wednesday morning (wow has that been 5 days ago!) the shoe bin was left at home (hopefully not in the yard?).  At first I cheerfully posted on Facebook, "Oh, no problemo that I have only two pairs of shoes.   I have a pair of gym shoes in my gym bag along with those skanky but beloved Teva camping sandals.  I will use one of those pairs of shoes or just go barefoot."  However, when I finally got back into my routine this morning which is to get up way before dawn (while everybody else slumbers away) to have some alone time for yoga and writing (I know I was a monk in a previous life), I searched for my running shoes in my jam-packed gym bag as I pulled out my yoga pants and got ready to take the dog pee and.....no gym shoes for Joy!  Bummer, right?  I have no choice, right?  I am going to take my father-in-law and my sister-in-law's advice.  My father-in-law's exact words, "Well, I guess you are just going to have to go buy a new pair of shoes.  I've heard that one before!"

What's funny is that I always joke that I'm kind of like Imelda Marcos. I love my shoes.  I have shoes for different outfits in different colors and with different heel heights.  I have always loved my shoes.  Years ago the famous Nordstrom Shoe company used to be just a small shoe store in Seattle (just read up on that...opened in 1901 in Seattle and currently headquartered there) where I grew up.  The most exciting time for me was going into that high-end shoe store to buy a pair of shoes.  I remember a caramel-colored pair I bought that were sort of boot-like with a wooden heel.  I bought these while in high school and I felt so amazing walking around in them.  And remembering these shoes is a big deal because I have a frustrating case of childhood amnesia so much of my childhood and teen years are blank; just can't pull up memories.  In any event, if you remember Imelda, she was the wife of her brutal dictator husband, Ferdinand Marcos, the president of the Philippines from 1965-1986.  She and her corrupt, self-absorbed husband loved things (just read that she remains one of the richest women in the Philippines).  Apparently, she was poor during World War II and once she became the first lady of the Philippines, with access to unlimited money she started buying inexpensive shoes in bulk and then more expensive shoes later on.  When the "People Power" rebels overran the presidential palace in 1986 they found that she had over 1,200 pairs of shoes in her closet which so incensed the people of the Philippines and the world because most of her country folk went barefoot.  Interestingly, and here's your history lesson for today, the new president, Cory Aquinas put all of Imelda's shoes and clothes in a museum but that closed in 1992.  In 1999 the Marikina Shoe Museum was opened (in Marikina, Philippines) which held 200 of her pairs of shoes (and shoes of other famous/infamous souls...soles?).  From what I read on the internet (and so this has to be true!), as she and her horrible husband were ousted from the palace she took a pair of comfortable Nordstrom shoes with her :)  Check out this picture of the shoe maven:   Imelda in her closet with 1,200 pairs of shoes!

I will be happy to have just two pairs of shoes for this trip and so on the list today is visiting an athletic store and picking up a pair of gym shoes for the road (we have one more day in Toledo before going to a family funeral in Fort Wayne, sad story, and then heading out).  My skanky but trusty Teva sandals I brought for walking in the dirt and taking into the camp showers will work fine for now as we will encounter much more dirt and may more campground showers than pavement in our continuing camping travels.  

Life on the road.  I love it!  And I just might say at the end, "The most important time of my life was when I had only two pairs of shoes." 

5 Hour Trip...or 3 Hour Tour!

First Night!

As we pulled out of the driveway of our beautiful home in Maine around 9:00 am  on a humid but exciting Wednesday morning (only 30 minutes off schedule) I waved good-bye to our familiar surroundings, sat back in my navigator/co-pilot seat and settled in for a 5 hour trip to Beaver Spring Lake Campground, New York.  Well, not exactly.  Let me add at the outset that I have a great relationship with my husband.  When things happen we kick into gear and handle them.  Yes, I may be the one to blurt out a colorful explicative now and again or bark at my husband, "That's YOUR job to check the gas gauge in the car!" but generally, and I am glad for that, we get along in times of difficulty very well, thank you very much.  And, what I love the most about us is that we generally laugh when we reflect back on crazy things that happen and wonder how we could change what we did and might do going forward.  If this trip is going to be anything, I have already learned that it will be full of the unexpected.  And so we need to be wide open and ready with good humor and intelligence (yikes!) as we tour this beautiful county of ours.  

Our first stop on our first morning on the road was Camper's Inn in New Hampshire for a quick 10:00 am appointment and to pick up a few things.  We had called the day before to alert our wonderful and generously helpful salesman  (and we found out at the end of the day what a truly great guy he is).  We needed a couple of chock locks (this is what prevents you from rolling down the hill madly once unhooked from the Titan, the big truck we have connected to Mini).  We also needed a 30 amp surge protector so we don't blow all our fuses should Campground WannaBanna experience of surge of electricity through it's system and fry all our fuses which are needed for nearly everything to run.  In addition, we wanted some direction on our audio visual system (it would be nice to watch a movie I can access on my computer...love Amazon Prime! and have audio; I got the video down but not the audio...where is my friend Vince!).  And finally, on our list was an extra set of keys (where did that second set go we asked each other as we packed and re-packed the morning of our launch?).  Importantly, we wanted Camper's Inn to fix a loud and annoying chirping we heard when we unhooked the trailer from the electrical power as we set off on our grand adventure just that morning.  Mini was hooked up into the side of our house for days, but once we unplugged her she immediately began an incessant and ear-piercing beeping.  Mini is brand new so we assumed nothing big could be wrong.  Right?

Around noon, we had been, unexpectedly ("What is taking so long??? we wondered),  at Camper's Inn for 2 hours.  We waited patiently in our car - Ken playing Angry Birds on his phone and me, e-mailing yoga folks regarding a new yoga therapy client.  We had already purchased our chock locks, an extra blank key, a new pry bar (oops...forgot that at home but now we have a spare!) all stowed away (they didn't have the surge protector so that's still on the list), but no camper was hooked up to our truck as 12:00 pm rolled around.  Finally, Ken finally went in the store to see what was taking so long and they welcomed him, "Hey, Mr. Markley, where have you been?"  Oh boy....Mini had been ready for over an hour.  Note to self.  When the camper is being worked on, stay in the "waiting room" area, visible to Camper's Inn staff; don't hang out patiently in the truck.  Wanting to know why Mini was beeping, Ken spent time talking with the guys who worked on her, "She's fine.  She didn't beep," they told him.  Isn't that what always happens when you take your car to the mechanic because of that noise that makes you think the bottom is falling out of your car?  The mechanic tells you, "We don't hear a noise at all."   Both the mechanic and the lady behind the counter  swore the chronic beeping problem had something to do with the polarization in the outlet on the outside of our house.  They claimed Mini didn't get powered up because the outlet wasn't "polarized" properly.  So, I still don't really get what polarization of an outlet is but it was the comment that finally convinced my husband that that was likely the cause of the high-pitched and irritating noise (turns out it's an LP or gas detector easily triggered, as I found doing some online research by all kinds of gas...including farts and smells associated with a "new" camper).   Although they argued with conviction, Camper's Inn was not right.  It wasn't a "polarization" problem because as I edit this on Sunday morning in Toledo, Mini is chirping away like a little sparrow ("We cannot leave Ohio until that is fixed," I tell my husband..."No kidding!") .   In any event, around noon we re-connected a then-quiet Mini (checked first that the electrical was plugged in, that the bars were all set in the tow connection, that all the doors were all locked, that the steps are up) and headed out on our excellent adventure.  

Cranky fuse

Two hours in, so now it's about 2:00 pm, we all had to pee and I wanted to put the sliced ham we ate for an on-the-road lunch into the refrigerator.   We pulled into a truck stop (these "service areas" are all along the toll roads), drove around to the back following the signs for trailers and trucks (that's new!) where the giant semis all pull in to get dieseled up....we looked like a little ant in the land of giants back there!  I hopped out to pee as did Ken, making our way into the expansive store/bathroom/hamburger complex.  Glancing at our "rig"  Ken noticed that Mini was not fully plugged into the truck.  There is a big black connector that gives battery power to Mini from the truck and that had come loose in our travel.  "Oh," I comment to Ken when he tells me this, "so maybe that's why that guy way back there was honking at us when we used the indicator to merge onto the toll road?"  We just thought he was annoyed by how slow we were as we put on our blinker and merged onto I-90 but we are guessing now that he was honking because from his perspective, we probably slid right into his lane, not only slowly but blinkerlessly.  No battery power to RV means no brakes, no blinkers, no lights on Mini.  Ken plugged in the giant black plug and we were good to go....well not really. 

After I visited the bathroom (wow, they have "Trucker Showers" in there!) I came back to the RV to put the cold cuts away before we took off again.  I leveraged myself  up and into Mini (yes, I could have put the steps down but this was quicker) to slide the bump-out just a hair so I could have access to the refrigerator.  We have a giant bump-out which makes our 21 foot trailer so roomy but when it slides back into the trailer there is a narrow little space between it and the sink and it completely hides the refrigerator.  Sliding the bump-out out was easy.  I put away the ham and then, as I pushed the button to slide it back in it moved for a brief moment and then....NOTHING.  Click, click, click I pushed on the button.  There was NO movement.  OK, rule number one is that you cannot drive down the interstate at 60 mph with your RV when your bump-out is not fully in and locked.  I could just imagining us merrily chugging along as we hit a bump in the road, and bam, the slide-out fully extends, destroying the trailer as we tip over from the imbalance of it all or maybe that whole piece would just snap off?, sending us and the dog to the ER and therein ending our adventure before it even begins.  What to do?  "I'm calling Bob at Camper's Inn," I tell my husband.  'No," he barks, "they probably think we are idiots already."  The comment about idiots was because Ken never really bought into the polarization problem with our house power outlet.  Now, my husband has built houses, taught math at the university and is a man who knows what he is talking about.  As it turns out, Mini has continued to beep when not plugged in so Ken was right but on that Wednesday in New Hampshire at Camper's Inns with our limited experience, we may have looked and sounded like idiots but I like to think of us as camping neophytes...we will learn.  Anyway, back to our story....so we wait about 30 minutes  (me going back and forth between the air conditioned truck and the stuffy RV to see if I could slide that bump-out back in).  As we moved into the second 1/2 hour and loving my husband sincerely I decided to take things into my own hands, "I don't care if they DO think of us as idiots we do not know what to do and here we are in the back forty of a service plaza somewhere in Massachusetts, on day one of our trip."  So,  while Olive wonders what in the world is going on, and literally standing on alert (vs. lying comfortably in the back seat on her two doggie pillows), I dial Bob at Camper's Inn.  Thankfully, he answers, and I am so relieved but not completely convinced he wanted to hear from us again, the crazy people from Maine who are having so much trouble just getting road-bound on their first day.

 "Bob, when we stopped, we noticed that we didn't have our power hooked up from the RV to the truck and now the bump-out will not retract.   We have waited 30 minutes and still we cannot re-tract the slide-out."  Bob deduced although we may have not had power, that was not the slide-out-slide-in problem we were facing, parked behind the semis on I-90 at a truck stop on our first day of our big trip.  Bob insisted it was a fuse.  I know what a fuse looks like, this seems easy, I think.  I have flipped those little levers in the basement more than once at home when I try to use the lights, heater, and hair dryer all at once in the upstairs bathroom.  He sent us first into the trailer and we looked at the fuse panel (there are some where around 9,000 different kinds of trailers I have come to learn and no 2 are alike in much of any way).  No fuse was going the wrong way, so no fuse had been tripped.  When we read all the labels aloud for each fuse, not a single one of them, to our surprise, indicated "Slide-Out" or "Bump-Out."  We did see fuse buttons for "Refrigerator" and "A/C" but no fuse for the immobile bump-out.  "OK," Detective and Sent-from-A-Higher-Being Bob advises us next, "you have to get under the RV."  "What??"  I say to him and my husband.  Now, I have an intelligent, kind, loving and loyal husband who I once went to a yoga class with and the instructor said, laughing, "You two are a yoga teacher's nightmare. You (pointing to me as I bent over and put my palms on the floor) are like a Gumby.  While you (pointing to my husband as he bent over as far as he could and his arms were level with his waist) are a yoga teacher's nightmare!"  Wonderful husband has a knee that won't bend, an ankle in need of major reconstruction, and a fake hip.  I knew that during this trip I would be the one crawling up that little black ladder to the roof to brush off the bump-out before we retracted it.  And, at that moment, I knew it would be me crawling under the RV.   Not one to panic in a problem situation (hey I can handle a teenager who is taking off all his clothes in a fit under the table at a middle school - my former life - with ease and calm), my husband asks me as I get ready to lay on my back on the concrete that smells like urine,  "Do you want something to put under you?"  "Yes that would help!"  So we open the back door to the truck where Olivia was still standing at the ready.  As I grabbed one of her bedding pillows she  looked at me like, "Now what every do you think YOU are doing with my bed?"  And then for about 30 minutes, in the heat, still in Massachusetts so we hadn't gone even 1/2 way to our first campground on day one of a very long adventure, with the stinky smell, the roar of semi's downshifting as they roll in to gas up and our apparent location being under the end of a military airport runway with very loud airplanes landing every 4-5 minutes, I am trying to listen to Bob as he patiently directs me to find the fuse.  Laying on my dog's bed under the RV I calmly tell Bob, "I just don't see it".  Getting frustrated and having absolutely no clue what I was looking at after about 20 minutes, however, I let the F-bomb fly out of my mouth as I hit my head.  "OK, I see a metal box.  Yes I am following the red and black wires..." I try to stay focused on problem solving.  "No.  No metal.  It's a cap on a wire," he tries to tell me what I am looking for.  I am clueless.  "We are going to have to be towed!"  I tell him, completely convinced and now beginning to freak out just a little bit, that we are are going to be calling AAA and using that supplemental RV towing insurance I bought (and thank the heavens for that little expense I thought to myself!).  "No, no, I have changed this a number of times and I know this is your problem,"  Detective Bob persists.  And then that wonderful man went out into the RV yard, got under an RV just like our temporarily impaired little Mini and told me exactly what to look for, "Look for the red plastic box on a red wire."  Well,  wait, we got disconnected at right about that time "Bob, Bob, can you hear me?" and yet our Savior Bob called me back (he could have just wished us luck and gone for coffee).  "Got it!  Ken, come here, open this thing and check the fuse," I yelled to Ken.  " Take a fuse from another the fuse panel," Bob continues to help us (yikes, what?).   However, and luckily we were are at that loud and stinky truck stop so Ken knew he could go back into the store portion of the giant complex we were marooned at and purchase a 30 amp fuse telling me, "I was going to get a package of these when we hit Toledo."  Well, that was good thinking!  

Now, what do you think this is?

All I can say is what a first day....oh, and we flew right by the campground in Davenport, NY when we finally arrived from our 5-hour trip at 6:30 pm (so leaving at 9:00 am that was actually a NINE hour trip).  We had to go several miles down the road to turn around (turning around is a much bigger, literally, deal when you are towing 21 feet of trailer behind you), and once we unhooked Mini from the Titan she started beeping AGAIN (but we, yes, the two of us figured out that the problem was that you had to re-set the LP (gas) monitor so we pushed that button in and Mini silenced...more on that later because as she sits in the cul-de-sac in Toledo she is beeping away!).  In an event, we were lucky Angel Bob at Camper's Inn was there to help us via phone, luckily we were at a truck stop when we needed a fuse (Namaste to whatever great power lined that all up), and most lucky (and most grateful) our ice maker (thank you for that recommendation Deb and Jay) worked like magic once we finally set up camp as the sun set and we sipped a cocktail under the most beautiful clear and starry night sky in Davenport, New York, relaxing in our new zero gravity recliners.

Can't wait to see what day two holds in store for us as we make our way to Randolph, New York!

Unexpectedly beautiful New York State!

T Minus 24

Oh my, the list is long and the excitement is building.  We are hooking up to Mini and pulling out of our driveway in about 24 hours!  I will likely be awake until we do, checking lists, running to the store (we aren't going to the wilds of Alaska but I feel like I want Mini all ready with what she needs!), packing bins (which go in the back of the truck), packing Mini (advice was to jam her tight so when we are on the road things don't get tumbled about), dealing with last-minute bills, tenants, packing the briefcase with all our papers (for Mini, for Miss O, including passports!) saying Good-Bye to Comcast (and that hefty $200 plus monthly bill) and forwarding mail (forwarding to a loved one to review for emergency letters/packages we might need to follow up on en route).  And, we have been back and forth about taking Miss O on the trip but she is coming!  And, so in preparation, I am giving her a bath, making sure she has her launch-ball for exercise (and tennis balls), her dental water additive (brand new bottle), her leash, here gentle leader, lots of poop bags, Benedryl (sorry girlfriend, but you may be enjoying a medicated slumber now and again...hey, it was the vet's orders for our Nervous Nellie), and her meds (K9 Advantix and Interceptor Plus).  Not wanting to leave the house in a shambles (looks like a pre-adventure bomb went off this morning with papers everywhere, bins half-packed, washed and cleaned clothes folded into piles all around and dishes needing to be cleaned out of the dishwasher) I am vacuuming and making beds and doing one last load of dishes before we leave town.

It's exciting and a little nerve-wracking.  Tonight is the last night in our wonderful home for what could be months ("What will I miss and what should I take," I wonder as I walk around trying to remember everything). Tomorrow is about 5 or 6  hours into New York.  And, the next night is about 5 or 6 more hours farther into New York.  "No worries, Mam, lots of room here," I was told by the campground staff I called to make reservations for both New York campgrounds, "This is past Labor Day and mid-week."  So far so good.  Friday we arrive in Toledo (and get to sleep in a house) for a great weekend with the Markley clan. 

Stay tuned!  Next post will be literally from the road (I am all set for wifi and iTunes and keeping my laptop powered up as I sit in the co-pilot's seat, with two gadgets I bought from Best Buy).  Or that first on-adventure post may be from a campsite with my feet up with my wonderful husband, Ken (aka Rusty) and Miss O by my side!  Or, with rain expected in New York on Thursday, I may be posting from inside our new tiny home! 

And that is how it will go....we will just embrace what is next.  We will awake each morning and ask, "OK, day, what do you have in store for us?" 

Comfy little family inside Mini!

Dr. Thirty Something

Up until now, I have been able to get by with yearly visits to my cardiologist who would do blood work and take my blood pressure and my gynecologist who would do the pap and mammogram and also take my blood pressure.  I also had a nurse who was very competent with triaging who worked in the school I worked at who was there every day of the school year.   With no medical concerns or complaints (thank you, God and maybe my genetics!),  I have had no need to visit a general practitioner who would do a breast exam, check my blood pressure and ask me a few questions, and so stopped years ago.  But there is more,  I probably really stopped going to a general doctor because of a nervous and maybe inept physician who very dramatically,  sent me rushing in an ambulance to the ER for a heart arrhythmia (yes, it was a complicated one but I clearly was not having a heart attack as I had had the irregular heart beat for several weeks and I later found out that is not so unique around menopause!).  That was several years ago.  In fact, my last visit to that medical group was so long ago I now have to make a written request for my medical records that are archived by a special company!

Of course, and duh, as we age so do our medical team members (which was initially shocking to me) and this is an adjustment I just don't like to make.  My beloved gynecologist died last year.  56 years old and she lost her battle with a rare cancer.  Then my cardiologist retired last year, as well, looking like he had a stroke the last time we met.   And, of course, I retired and so no longer have access to Dr. Nurse at my school.  My little medical team is no more.  Learning to embrace change and transition is my new personal goal.  And so just yesterday, in preparation for retirement and for our trip,  I finally went to meet a potential new doctor.  I had read up on her and she came recommended by a friend.  She's committed to preventative care and runs marathons (so she takes are of herself and others, which I like).  Actually, the friend was recommended by my cardiologist but seemed a little awkward using your friend as your doctor and so I choose to see her colleague.  I was ready to say, "Hello, yes, yes, but I don't really like you so I will try another doctor."  This is one great thing about being older and wiser.  I don't just accept what's in front of me.  I take the option of reviewing everything and if it doesn't feel right, I choose to look elsewhere.  But....she was smart and kind and calm and open to my questions and lists.  She was also very.......young.  I will call her Dr. Thirty Something.

As I left,  happy to have a new doctor to "case manage" me as I age and give me advice about my health (get a shingles vaccine she advised me because I am over 60),  but it was as an odd feeling looking at Dr. Thirty Something thinking, she might be tending to me on my death-bed (retirement has made me much more reflective about my mortality...and when did I start looking like my mother?), but then, again, at least she most likely won't die before me or retire in my lifetime!  

Playing Hooky

Yesterday I went to lunch with a colleague who also retired this year.  She did the same job I did but in a different school district and with a different age of kids.  Driving to meet up with her in a town nearby, I kept thinking that something was missing, something wasn't right, that I was going to get caught!  I felt like I was playing hooky from school.  And then when we sat down for lunch we started reminiscing, smiling and remembering kids who would run out of the classroom when the fire alarm rang yelling, "Save me, save me!!!" Or the kids who would burst into my room like a whirling dervish with a wide-eyed paraprofessional hot on their heels and who I'd have to clear the room for ("Excuse me, Mrs. Green, you might want to go work with Jennifer elsewhere right now.") as I turned down the lights, and settled the child next to the aquarium in the quiet corner with a book to calm down.  As we went on with these really great and warm memories, I started to miss my work, the kids, and wondered if I had retired too early.  My friend and I worried/wondered about how certain kids would do (did the staff remember what notes we made, comments we made about a particular student?  did they care?)  and reflected on how many years we had done our work (and done a good job) and the fact that now, poof, all our expertise and experience was no longer used.  And just as I was starting to really miss my work my friend took a deep breath and said, "But I don't miss the chaos of scheduling, the struggle to get some teachers to understand who kids with challenges really are, the consuming nature of that kind of work, the unending paperwork and computer data entry........"  And, I no longer felt like I was playing hooky.  I felt like I had spent many years in the work I was meant to do and happily moving on!

UpKeep of the Newly Retired

Me in NYC with brother - trying on "products"

Last night I had to laugh as I congratulated myself for completing every task on my evening To-Do-Before-Bed list.  Frequently, and knowing better, I just plop into bed.  So as I settled under the covers last night, knowing that I had "checked" off every item on that list, I was amused and not a little proud of myself.

What's on that upkeep list, you ask?  Well, first, I swallowed (choked down?) the entire mountain of pills I lay out each day and don't always take because it's an intimidating number of caplets and softgels not easily consumed in even two handfuls.  In fact I can be a bit of a gagger when it comes to pills.  "No problem," I tell my granddaughter, " just put a few into your mouth, take a gulp of water, relax and swallow."  I know this routine well because that's what I do every time I ingest that gag-worthy pile of pills.  I take all these pills in hopes of ensuring a healthy entrance into retirement and onto the next 33 years.  I write "33 years" because our financial planner recently wrote 95 as my "termination" date on some paperwork related to our investments.  Termination date?  What if I don't want to die in 2049?  I guess that's how the accountants, attorneys and number people view death in the financial world, terminated like the T-800 cyborg as he melts into the giant fiery, molten abyss in the 1984 syfy movie Terminator.  You know,  the movie where Schwarzenegger says in a deep and foreboding voice dripping with a thick German accent, "I'll be back."  Wait, that was T2 (Terminator 2...bit of a syfy fan,  I am).  In the 1984 movie he was crushed to death.  Terminated, crushed, either way I am supposed to be gone from this earth in 33 years according to my financial planner.  And 95?  I'll take that but hoping it's a healthy skiding-to-the-end 95 and that my husband is by my side although his "termination" or expiration date was listed as 90.  He tells me, in response to hearing his life is predicted to end at 90, "We're doing a Thelma and Louise at some point so there won't be one of us left to mourn the other!"  He's such a romantic.  Just the thought of us, Rusty and Flo, rolling our battery-powered wheelchairs over the nearest cliff makes my heart flutter...

Anyway, back to the boatload of anti-aging supplements, what makes me laugh is the shear number of pills I take (or at least lay out to take), and that none of them are prescription, thankfully not yet (my friend says how lucky I am to not have liver, heart, bone, or some other health problem I need a pill for but I tell her, hey, I had all the mental health struggles in my family's biology so we are even).  Here's the impressive list of supplements/spices/oils I lay out each day in hope of taking:   CoQ10; Multi For Her +50; Triple Omega 3-6-9 (flax, fish, and borage (?) oil); low dose safety coated aspirin; OsCal Extra D3 calcium supplement; advanced and double strength glucosamine chondroitin with calcium and vitamin D3; turmeric curcumin with Bioperine (?).  Just writing that list makes me wonder what the hell am I really taking...Bioprene (just looked that one up - thermoplastic tubing? or I am hoping, what's added to my turmeric curcumin is the other definition....black pepper fruit extract which I know makes tumeric more "bioavailable")!  This whole concoction is supposed to support my aging bones, my aging immune system, and my aging cardiovascular system.  I hope so.  I am counting on this.

Next on my list is the events that happen in the bathroom prior to bed.  The cleaning events.  And, so I went upstairs and tended my teeth by whitening them, flossing them, brushing them, and  then by swishing around non-alcohol mouthwash (my frizzy-haired dental assistant tells me, "Alcoholic mouthwash dries your gums out.").  I finish this little regime by using those tiny green scrubbing brushes to dislodge any lingering piece of meat, onion or mushroom that could still be hiding out between my teeth.  Although none of this will help with the fact that my aging capped teeth (some of those caps are 30 years old at this point) will soon need to be re-capped because they are, as the dentist put it, "Just old," I am counting on this nightly dental plan to at least help keep my gums healthy ("Your gums are slightly receding but then you are older," my non frizzy-haired dental hygenist casually commented the last time she dug and scraped around in my mouth).  I am also thinking, this should keep me cavity free. 

Done with teeth I move onto my aging and wrinkled  (wow, what's going on around those eyes I wonder as I look in the mirror?) face.  Using Neutrogena cleansing towelettes to remove my makeup  (with lavender in it to promote quality sleep....."night calming" it's advertised as....oh and by the way, Prevention magazine calls lavender the sweet scent of sleep! And who knew that Latin derivation of lavender is "to wash" and that the University of Maryland Medical Center endorses lavender because "research confirms" that lavender can have a soothing, calming, sedative (?) effect).  So, it turns out these little wash cloths I have been using at night not only rid my pores of grime but they apparently sedate me, as well.   Maybe that's why I have been sleeping so soundly ever since retiring?  Anyway, next I smeared on a grainy white mask (from an expensive cosmetics company my brother who looks 40 at 52 recommended to me, Rodan + Fields REDEFINE) all over my cheeks, forehead, neck.  This has to sit and "harden" on my face for a bit before being washed off and so I walked into the bedroom where my husband was getting ready for sleep (he takes off his pants and shirt and lays down), "You look like an aborigine with that stuff on your face and your hair all wild. You should look in the mirror and take a picture of that!"  Um, thanks, husband.  After 8 minutes I returned to the bathroom, washed off the aboriginal facial, and slathered on a nightly (well, supposed to be nightly!) and inexpensive, drug store alpha hydroxy and aloe anti-wrinkle cream (my brother would gasp at my second-rate night cream), checked for loose chin hairs (yeah, when the aesthetician said she noticed a long hair coming out of my chin at my last visit and wanted to know if she should pull it, I wanted to say, no, really, I was hoping another one would grow so I could braid them!).

Done with the head, my nightly regime is still not complete until I hop into bed and, laying there, cream my feet with a thick foot cream (this has to be the last thing on my list to do because if I do it before crawling under the bed covers, I have to creep ever so carefully across our bedroom hardwood floors so as to no feel like I'm riding a banana peel as I slip my way across the room from bathroom to bed).  I have few pet peeves but for some weird reason I hate nothing more than those hideous, unattended cracked heels you can see on some women as they break out their summer sandals (don't they even look before they wear?) and so thick foot cream goes on those little feet of mine (hey, what's that old-lady bump on my right big toe?)  right before I close my eyes.

Pilled, flossed, brushed, washed, and creamed....nighttime upkeep complete.  Check, check. 

Tired, Retired, Whatever I am I am Way too Busy

I woke up this morning saying to myself, "That's it."  I mean this in the deepest way I can.  I feel like ever since I briefly rested (took 2 days to lolly around) after my official retirement date, June 30, I have been going like a bat out of hell.  I am not sure if it's just my nature to work hard (maybe?) or if it's more because I have such a ginormous list of what I want to do now that I supposedly have all the time in the world to do it.   But I am, and have heard myself telling the decorators, my trainer, my yoga mentor, my jewelry teacher, even Mary at the post office,  'Yes, thank you, I am so happy to be retired, but you know, I'm feeling overwhelmed."  And then I wonder about what I just said; aren't I retired?  Just this morning I told my husband, "I feel like I'm back at work with such a long list of things to do today!"  To those of you who continue to work full-time, I apologize and I apologize to all the mothers who work (I have never understood how you do THAT); but as I arose this morning I knew it was really time to get a grip. 

Where does the tired come from you retired person, you ask?  Well,  I want to work out every day and have a trainer/coach who I really like working with who is very serious about body work.  "Move every day," she tells me and I believe her and want to do that along with fitting in lifting weights, rolling, getting in some good cardio and remembering to schedule in a very specific local yoga class by the most body-knowledgable instructor around to stretch and keep limber, those well-worked, albeit, 62 year-old muscles.  In addition, I want to spend focused and creative time on my metal jewelry and giant yard art which I LOVE doing (wasn't being an "artiste" one of my retirement visions?) and yet often miss that special Friday art class because I am, as I text my jewelry mentor, "Sorry, too busy for class today!" I also want to redecorate/renovate my home (and am so excited to do this and it's been on my "list" for 2 years).  Yet just telling the young decorators (free consult) what I want to do and how I really, yes, really, want to pretty much do it all myself, exhausts me.  And I wouldn't even dare to take these two gals downstairs to show them the packed-to-the-rims basement ("That's a long term project", I tell them) that I want to perfectly organize ala "The LIfe-Changing Magic of Tidying Up:  The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing" (I think I need to re-read that book and apply it to my life).  Add to all this, I want to plan the perfect trip in Mini (our brand new 21 foot travel trailer which took weeks to research and finally purchase) as we head out on our maiden U.S.A. Northern Route tour and voyage 6 weeks from now.   So, of course, I have been checking atlases, websites, reading everything I can get my hands on to see how campgrounds are rated, do they allow dogs, what kind of services do they have and how much are we going to pay.  And, Miss Mini requires insurance (checking many to get the best price), taxes/tabs through the town (wait until August 1 my husband says, we will save money!), sheets for the murphy bed, and complete stocking of bathroom and kitchen for our upcoming weekend "let's try her out" camping trips (swiftly coming up the next two weekends) which also took time to arrange, coordinate, pay for.  I have vowed  to be a minimalist with Mini ("No more stuff," I tell my husband)  but we do need to stock toilet paper (biodegradable) and dish soap (environmentally friendly?) along with a few clothes and a pillow or two.

And, then summer is always the busiest time with rentals (but, no regrets here, this is WHY I and hubby can retire earlier than most).  But I have 5 leases and 2 re-rents to contend with and one cranky tenant, well and another tenant who I have to pull the rent out of monthly but that's an ongoing problem.  This re-renting sounds easy enough but to turn around a unit involves advertising (and uploading current pictures), writing leases, setting up showings, meeting, calling references, cleaning......Thank goodness we decided to not purchase another house, although we seriously considered it (with all the calls to mortgage people, financial people, sellers).  I am pretty sure if we had pursued one more acquisition of one more property at this point in time, my husband would have arrived home from work one evening, soon like next week, to watch me jumping around in the yard like a crazy person and running off into the woods with the dog at my heels.  He, not me, was the one to say, "I think we have too much on our plate right now."  Ya think?  This is not what I expected in retirement.  Oh, and, I am busily and happily planning a yoga weekend in two weeks, of course co-leading and looking ahead to wonderful yoga workshops next year!  The woman, my yoga mentor, who I am running the workshops with and who owns a local yoga studio interviewed me by way of advertising for our upcoming workshop weekend.  Her first of two questions was, "So you are retired.  Why are you wanting to do yoga therapy with kids?"  Why, I ask, am I?

Add to all this, we now want to travel to Thailand this winter.  And, for whatever reason, I have turned into Martha Stewart, the party planner, inviting every body over all the time for a BBQ or quick lunch, "Who do we have coming over this weekend?" my husband asks every Friday morning.  So, with this new day, nearly one month since official retirement, I am back to writing, yoga, meditation every morning and then, and only then, seeing what the day holds and keeping my panties on, taking it one thing at a time and enjoying all the free time I am supposed to be having in retirement!  But, first I need to address that giant list of "to dos" our new financial planner (who I really am happy is working with us!) sent me.

And, as I get ready to push, "Publish" for this blog post (of course I'd love to also get back to writing that book and publish a post here daily!), I see a little book right by my side on the end table, "Yoga Therapy for Stress And Anxiety."  I think I better re-read that book as well!  Or just take a deep breath.....ommmmmmmm. Oh, and do a few more training sessions with Olive, our barky/lively lab who I am sure I can train into calmness in these next 6 weeks before we embark on our cross country adventure so she doesn't irritate our camping neighbors with her hyperactivity  (or I may just do what the vet suggested, give her 2 Benedryl!).....yep, time to get a grip!

Do You Hear it?

Unheard Music

For a long
time, she
flew only
when she
thought
no one
else was
watching

 Flying Woman 
~Brian Andreas
 

 A friend retired today and is moving on with a new life.  I am retired, she's retired, I have many friends who have gotten to the point of retiring and literally moving on with a completely different life and it's always a complex transition full of mixed emotions.  This particular friend is a tad older than me and has been a confidant for a number of years.  Growing up with a mentally ill mother, trusting has come hard for me.  But, over time and through conversation, I came to trust this woman.  Through our friendship I learned how to nurture myself because she was always such a believer in me.  Sadly (and although I have a bad case of childhood amnesia I do remember this) my mother had the nasty habit of smiling and grabbing me in a hug and then the very next moment, and always unexpectedly, verbally lashing me in the face (as if she had absolutely no control of herself, which, of course, she didn't).  It was impossible to learn learn how to be nice to myself because you learn all you know about yourself and how to relate to and with yourself from those most near you as a child.  As a result of this unintentionally inept mothering (and I do forgive my mother), I basically learned to not trust anybody, relying only on myself, which made my life really hard for a number of years.  Female and male friendships I had long ago were borderline abusive and/or I was always the helper/listener (a role I learned well taking care of my crazy mother).  But, through this friendship, I learned what it meant to have a "good enough" friend and in that developed such a more kind relationship with myself as well as with others (and the little girl inside of me who was hurt so long ago, flying when no one else was watching).  During that last cup of coffee we shared, she thanked me through sharing the poem, below, by Brian Andreas.  I was reminded once again that we really do effect one another, don't we?

And, so even though I may not have said it at the moment we parted because it's deeply painful to say so long, good-bye, have a nice life and happy retirement to some body who has changed my life in such a profound way and who I will likely never see again in this lifetime as she is off on her retirement adventures and I on mine, I want to thank her, from the bottom of my heart for being there for me.

We will miss each other.  And this is how it should be, isn't it?

Don't you hear it? she
asked & I shook my head
no & then she started to
dane & suddenly there 
was music everywhere &
it went on for a very long 
time & when I finally
found words all I could
say was thank you

Unheard Music 
~Brian Andreas  

 

From Story People by Brian Andreas

Pooped and Prepped Pup

Olive, Olivia...Little Ms. O

We are taking Olivia (aka Olive and well, that alias is a whole other blog post!) with us on our U.S.A. trailer trip.  I am a little worried about Ms. O because she can be a barky greeter with hair raised (a golden strip of auburn-colored doggie hair that literally stands up on on high alert about half way down her back) at the sound of a knock or sometimes at the sound of a tree branch cracking/knocking somewhere outside.  It's like Pavlov's dog.  Sound, bark, reaction.  Her hair goes up and as her happy lab tail joyfully wags back and forth, all 58.6 pounds of her (down from a hefty 86 pounds 2 years ago!) charges defensively towards whatever demon (human or otherwise) she believes darkens the doorstep of our peaceful little home in the woods.  Given that our impending adventure launch date is some 5 weeks away,  I am determined I can tame the beast (hey, I used to work with kids who spit, hit, ran away, called the principal, "Mr. Shitty Pants"and/or ran up and down the halls of the elementary school I worked at barefoot....I can do this!) and so am back into being her personalized doggie trainer complete with a clicker, treat pouch, and training sessions.  She's a smart pup and already has re-learned (for we once went to puppy school and she graduated with honors) to, "Come!" when I call or "Leave it!" when I command (yell? scream? try to say with an even tone).  Even in full bark and charge mode, she is just beginning to hear my words, stop, and turn and then walk straight to me for the tiniest piece of chopped salami or cheddar cheese.  I am feeling confident she will learn to be a better greeter before we roll away with Mini literally trailing behind us (husband's warning...do not leave the dog tied to the travel trailer before departing).  But just in case we have to continue our training on the road and in Mini, my ever-crafty husband has plans to reinforce the lower portion of our cute little screen door so she doesn't lunge from trailer to the outside world, barking and charging and shredding as she defends us from whatever she believes threatens our very existence.

Traumatized and resting, drooping on the couch

 But, preparing to bring a pooch on a trip in a trailer across the United States has turned out to be quite a job.  Talking with friends who camp, ladies who run campgrounds, and reading anything I can find on the internet (because you can always believe what you read on the internet), I soon realized you need updated puppy papers (kind of like her passport, I guess) to gain admittance at campgrounds and to legally cross the Canadian border.  Once, when I barely knew my husband, we took a road trip in his little red Toyota with his mellow black lab, Cocoa.  We were headed to Quebec.  As we approached the customs station at the border, my husband casually drapped a blanket over Cocoa's head (after he had her sit at my feet on the passenger side of the truck) and said, "Keep her quiet."  I was terrified we'd be arrested and jailed and yet we rolled away from the little shack and men in official looking costumes (oops...uniforms) and right into Canada; repeating the same frightening process on our way back into the states.  Once again, I digress, but I see the need for papers.   And so today we visited the local vet (Dr. Abby H. who looked about 11 years old with baggy pants, pink tennis shoes and several pimples on her face...what happened to the bearded, pipe-smoking, confidence-inspiring Dr. James Herriot?....you know the guy from All Creatures Great and Small?) where Olivia was poked with several needles (rabies vaccine included), invaded through her nose with a distemper mist, restrained while her ears, teeth, and eyes were examined and weighed.  Along with the 20 questions we answered (I felt like I was in the pediatrician's office with a 2-year old) and the poop sample we left behind not to mention the hefty bill (nearly $300) we were in and out in less than 30 minutes. 

In the end we have a pile of papers for a healthy Ms. O so we can set sail, commence or otherwise embark on our exciting vacation with pup ready to go.  But, first, she needs to recover  from her nerve-wracking visit to the vet:) 

Recovering, snoring pup

Groupon Coupon - Another Bargain for the Trip

My husband is a big fan of bargains (and is quite the bargain hunter...see previous post on the cap he bought for the truck, saving us $1200).  He loves Groupon.  A few weeks ago he sent me an e-mail with  a Groupon coupon attached (just writing this "groupon coupon" makes me smile).  Advertised on the page were several things you could buy:  a Biplane Trip over Acadia Park via Acadia Park Tours ($199 on sale for $84), a One Hour Private Archery Lesson via Lakeside Archery ($30 on sale for $12), Water-Park Visit for Two FunTown SplashTown USA for $33 (normally $54), Monthly Delivery of Doggie Goods from Barkbox ($99 on sale for $68) or a personalized throw blanket (originally $79.95 but Groupon coupon price was $16.99).  My husband wrote in his e-mail to me, "Let's get one of these for our anniversary and for the trip."  I assumed he meant the photo blanket for our travel trailer, Mini, although it might have been fun if not useful to take archery lessons since we will be traveling the wilds of the U.S.A and this skill might come in handy for defense (squirrels?  maybe chipmunks?) or a quick dinner.  In any event, my husband's sentimentality never ceases to amaze me.  He's always reminded me of Grizzly Adams (although less so now that he has dropped some 30 pounds!) with a loud, deep (sexy!) voice, big muscular and tall body, now with a grey beard and all, and yet he has always had this big, soft and loving heart.  

Anyway, back to the bargain......early this week I found a good-sized soft and squishy package, stuffed into our mailbox that stands out on the cul-du-sac (now that's a strange word, comes from the French, "bottom of a sack"?) at the edge of our property.  I had no clue what might be inside and, so, was surprised (maybe shocked) when I opened it up and then laid out this giant photo montage of Ken and I staring back at me (see photo, above, and think, this is the size of her loveseat and there are 9 enormous photos of those people!).  Along with noticing my ever-changing hair styles and the size of Ken"s face  (his face size fluctuates with every pound he gains/loses) I had burst into laughter and knew this was perfect for Mini.  Although I predict it's going to be more than a little weird sleeping under a photo collage of our own faces on a chilly night in Yellowstone National Park (yeah, I really didn't visualize this when adding and sorting all the photos to make this thing) and can only wonder what our camper neighbors will think when we air out our "personalized" blanket and they look over at 18 smiling Markley faces, but what fun.   This undoubtedly is a one-of-a-kind bargain (acrylic and made  in China, say what?) that celebrates our loving and long relationship getting engaged, being married, having anniversaries, traveling, retiring and being so excited about our upcoming trip. 


Groupon coupon...great idea (I think!) husband dear. 
 

Capped and Ready for the Road

There are so many things I love about my husband.  He's smart as well as clever, has a great sense of humor,  he's loyal, loving, kind, a great father/husband/grandfather, and has an adventurous and bold spirit, among many other qualities that make me fall more in love with him as each year unfolds.  And, he's a bargain hunter.  In preparation for our road trip, we bought Mini, our 21 foot travel trailer.  We love her but she's small.  Being small, she doesn't offer up much storage.  To solve that problem, my husband suggested we get a "cap" (say what?) for his truck so that we could have additional space to store stuff.  Although I am committed to being a minimalist on this trip (not buying anything until we need it), we are going to need access to a few more essentials than can fit into mini Mini.  Checking with friends and online we were sticker-shocked to find that the kind of cap we want/need can run up to $1500.  Wise and crafty husband started keeping an eye out on Craigslist and and found this baby, now happily snuggled into the bed of his truck.  The seller was offering this brand-new, custom black cap, specially designed for his Titan for $400.  Apparently he put it on his truck and just didn't like it.  So, he took it off and posted it for sale on Craigslist.  Used but unused.  My husband offered $300.  One quick trip to the outskirts of Portland, Maine last night and our new cap is road-ready.  It is fully carpeted inside (on the inside roof - sounds weird but it's not when you see it), has side windows with screens, locks in the back and looks perfect on husband's truck!  And, it's the brand name recommended to us as the best. 

One more step towards launch date!