Blog – Re-inVentingMrs

Sudsy Reflections

Sitting in a laundromat in Utah, prepping for the final leg of our journey to Yellowstone. Time has surely had its way with us, the year and a half since we signed up for this gig passing like water through a sieve. Waiting for my blankets to dry, I watch the assortment of people making their way into the shop, wrestling with the inconveniently placed, narrow glass door, much too small to accommodate the baskets, bags, and heavy duty duffels of bedding, towels, onesies, pjs, and long-neglected piles of work clothes.

I watch without being watched – an elderly couple dragging their bags behind them, refusing help; a wise old woman, clearly a regular, who laments her chore and berates herself for putting it off for so long; a young woman checking the window impatiently for some unknown person or thing; two young men, strangers to each other, aware only of the sounds emanating from their ear buds.

As I watch, I can’t help but imagine everyone’s story. And I wonder if they’re attempting to imagine mine, though it appears I’m mostly invisible. I wonder if they could imagine what I’ve been doing the past year, where I’ll be in a few days, what I’ll be doing over the next few months. Of course, I realize this is all quite self-absorbed. Yet I feel this urge to tell them all – to gather them in a story time semicircle and regale them with tales of an alternate life and unexpected adventure. Yep, totally self-absorbed.

Someone recently confessed that she often finds it difficult to read my posts, so removed are my experiences from her current reality. She confirmed the nagging feeling I’ve been having recently: Are my posts inconsiderate? Disconnected?

I look back at my fellow launderers and see the life lines on their faces, along their foreheads, dotting the corners of their mouths, outlining their eyes. I see the joy and pain, the struggle and triumph, the stress and the relief of life. A life, with all of its conditions and barriers, I left behind.

I find myself letting out a deep sigh. I am torn between the adventure I have chosen and the ties that bind. And yet, I feel bonds have grown stronger because there is more of me to share – more time, more experience, more stories, more of the person I feel I was meant to be.

My life is made up of several journeys, false starts, bumpy roads, and seemingly endless roundabouts. Along the way, there have been unexpected surprises, welcomed stops, gracious and loving hosts, and everlasting memories.

Somewhere, somehow, I found my way – saw my life through the eyes of my child, saw possibility in the eyes of a forever love. I heard the voices of my parents, urging me once again: “Go!” and “Be!”

And what of stability and responsibility? My parents are gone; my children have grown; my job appears done. Freedom means that stability and support are now mere hours away. Responsibility lies in the lessons, the experiences, and the maps I bequeath children, grandchildren, family, and friends.

I want to climb on the cracked, overused, plastic chair that grudgingly holds my weight and call out to the small gathering of souls, seemingly unaware of the opportunity lying before them. If only!!!!

A Latina woman in her mid-30s, walking in with a gaggle of kids, each holding armfuls of laundry, stops to order her children into position in front of a row of empty washers. “JaVIER!!! You’re dragging the cobijas!!”

Her familiar tone jolts me out of my presumptuous state and causes me to chuckle.

No matter who we are, who we become, or where life takes us, laundry will always be waiting – soiled, fetid, a constant reminder of that which we all share. I remain seated and silent, grateful that the ever-watchful spirits of my parents remain with me and keep me out of trouble – or at least out of perpetual embarrassment. I am instantly humbled.

Nappanee, IN – Rig Work and Other Pleasant Surprises

By Re-inVentingMrs

In Living the LIfe

Anyone who has purchased an RV knows that, like any home, it’s an investment – well, more like a commitment. Certainly, more money will go into the upkeep, upgrades, and maintenance than will ever be returned. Still, if you’re full-timers like us, your RV is your sanctuary, your happy place, the place you hang your hat. Upkeep is a must.

We own a Newmar, and that means a trip to the mothership. If you own a Newmar and you’ve never been to the factory, it’s quite the experience. Even in the midst of a pandemic (and maybe because of it), our visit was impressive.

The Newmar factory is located at one end of town, surrounded by shops catering to the RV industry. With a full hook-up campground, a large and comfortable lounge – equipped with comfy chairs, work stations, and a fireplace – and a state of the art service center, the mothership really does make customers feel as if they are at home. Add to that a stellar customer service crew who are skilled experts in their respective areas, and you’ve really got a welcome sense of assurance in the work being performed.

Now, the Newmar Factory and Service Center is a busy place – all the time. Therefore, appointments are necessary and, understandably, the waitlist is rather long. For example, our appointment was six months out from the day we called. That said, once you are there, you are assigned a tech who meets with you to go over your work list. Work begins promptly at 6:00 a.m. on weekdays (the center is closed on weekends, but customers with appointments are allowed to stay onsite). Your assigned tech will come knock on your door, take your rig keys, direct you to the lounge, and drive to the end of the most efficiently choreographed parade of coaches I’ve ever seen.

At the end of each work day, your rig is returned to its site and hooked up by your tech. You’ll receive a briefing of the work performed, and your tech will have you inspect what has been done. This will continue until all work is completed and you check out with the cashier.

Just as impressive to me was the town of Nappanee, IN, where the Newmar plant is located. Before Mister and I made our appointment to have work done, we spoke with some fellow campers about their respective trips “up north.” Most talked about their experiences at the factory and adjacent campground or their encounters with the Amish folk who live and work in the area, but not many had much to say about the town itself. In fact, one neighbor told me there wasn’t “much to do there” and suggested a couple of places to get a good meal, but “that’s about it.” Now, maybe I grew up sheltered. Maybe my time in the desert Southwest, summer sun beating down on my head, prevented me from viewing beyond the distant horizon through half-closed, watery eyes. Whatever the reason, I fell in love with Nappanee! Small, yes, but oh so charming and so, so different than most anything I’d experienced.

During our days at Newmar, while our coach was having work done, Mister and I explored this quaint town and all of its unexpected little treasures. We walked through downtown and admired the murals and art that adorned Main Street, had lunch at Main Street Roasters , explored The Barns at Nappanee, and wondered at the contrast of the Amish presence in a technologically advanced world. It was simply a joy being there.

At the end of our week-long stay, I was sorry to go – so pleasant was our stay in the Newmar campground, and so enjoyable our visit to Nappanee and the surrounding area. I told Mister, who acknowledged me with a chuckle, I would return one day, whether we needed rig work or not.

Me, Again – One Year Later, Continued

By Re-inVentingMrs

In Living the LIfe

Hello! I know it’s been a while. This crazy year has really taken a toll on all of us and all we do. But, I know you didn’t come here for excuses. So, how ya doin’?

Me? Well, as you may (or may not) know, I’ve been traveling. Not long after Covid shut everything down, hubby and I took a gamble and drove our rig to Florida. And, once we were there, we went up to Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. And since we went that far…you get the idea and, hopefully, the reference. Long story short, we traveled across the northern portion of the United States, westward bound.

What did we see? What didn’t we see! The thing about crossing and actually experiencing the beauty of this country for the first time is that you find yourself struggling to describe it. The words, quite literally, are not there. Still, my friends, you deserve something.

Imagine, if you will, the following:

A Florida beach with sand so white, sun bounces off every grain until the entire ground shimmers like glass
Pickup trucks, fireworks stands, the hunger-inducing smells of bbq, and snow cones dripping sweet, sugary goodness in the Southern summer sun
A small town populated by an unexpected mix of horse drawn carriages, state of the art technology, internet coffee shops, and clotheslined yards in Indiana
Small towns with general stores, narrow winding roads, flags with pictures of soldiers from wars gone by lining the streets, and twenty different shades of green in the trees in Pennsylvania
Slick, rainy freeways crowded with commuters traveling to and from, surrounded by a forest of colorfully painted buildings speaking all at once in downtown Chicago
A quaint town, just outside of Milwaukee, where the aromas of coffee and handmade chocolates fill the sidewalk and your senses, making you feel as if you’ve just stepped into a Hallmark Christmas movie
Golden brown plains, hills blackened by rich coal-colored tree trunks, endless multicolored miles of rock, herds of buffalo freely grazing on native grasses, the sounds of those who came before echoed in canyons and through the trees, a glorious statue named Dignity, and a hundred billboards advertising Wall Drugs in South Dakota
Blue skies as far as the eye can see, snow capped mountain tops reaching to the heavens above and reflected in crystal clear waters below, and nothing but room to grow in Montana
Rows and rows of vegetables, orchards of fruit hanging low on the branches, the comforting and relaxing scents of lavender, baked breads and coffee, fish flying in the market, and the crisp, juicy, crunch of freshly picked apples in Washington
Ocean waves crashing against mighty rocks rising majestically above the water, cool sea spray kissing your cheeks as seafoam outlines the beaches below along Highway 101 in Oregon
Ancient redwoods reaching up above the clouds, blocking out the sun, whispering tales of days long gone for those quiet enough to listen
Rolling hills, air scented with garlic and grapes, peaceful sunsets, and a harvest moon in California’s wine country
Snow covered Jericho trees and trembling, confused tumble weeds weathering a freak winter storm along I-10 in the Southwest
Buc-ees!!!! You know you’re in Central Texas when…
Outer loops, inner loops, tollways, and parkways leading to tree lined country roads, bayous, beef, catfish and crawfish…Houston…home

This, this is what we saw…all of this and more….in the middle of a pandemic…in the safest way we knew how.

And in between, we observed people. People living their day-to-day, not really noticing us, mostly nodding from a distance, focused on holding their masks in place. From time to time, we had the pleasure of conversation, again from a distance, with campground neighbors sitting across a large campfire, with boondocking hosts proudly showing off their farms and the season’s bounty, or with hikers somewhat more adept or in better shape than we.

We saw America, with its cultural and political divides – and unexpected sameness – in the towns we crossed and in the people with whom we shared a greeting, asked a question, or told a story. Unsure at times, we realized nothing is gained from remaining safely behind our closed door, so we opened it.

Now, vaccinated and armed with more masks and hand sanitizer than toilet paper, we will continue this journey. This time heading to Yellowstone with our dear friends, Fred and Wilma. We vow to embrace nature in all its wonder and beauty while leaving no trace in the wilderness but leaving the best of ourselves with whomever we meet.