Blueberry Explosion

Blueberry Explosion


Well, I drove to the medical mess I have to attend to in Melbourne Florida. Fifty-three miles later, when I arrived, I was thirsty. I opened my refrigerator in my motorhome. Out sprang  a pint of treasured blueberries which literally exploded, bouncing merrily across my floor and throw rugs, from one end of the wheel estate to the other. 


I spent the next twenty-three minutes picking up one thousand nine hundred and eighty-two blueberries. I had no idea they could pack so many in a pint. Then I spent another eight minutes trying to wash all the debris off of them. For the price I paid for their health giving benefits, I surely couldn't waste them. (But it was fun to curse them!)

Doggy Collision


I am a very bad pet parent. Normally I have little Harley's pet bed attached to the seat belt. Harley is then tethered to a dog leash, which is attached to the seat belt. This is to prevent him from accidentally going through the windshield should we have an accident. He isn't interested in bouncing around the wheel estate when we are moving, so he doesn't mind this arrangement. But I was in a hurry, the seat belt jammed under the seat when I rotated it back to the forward position. (Many motorhomes like mine have a passenger seat that rotates 360 degrees so you can use it in the living room area too.)  I didn't hook his bed to it. He is so used to sitting in the passenger seat, in his bed, while we ride, that I didn't attach his leash, which had fallen down into never-never land. 


Shame on me. Tsk tsk tsk!  I am a very bad pet parent. I feel horrible. 


Another driver in the lane to the right of us, put on his right turn signal. Suddenly he jammed on the brakes while cutting to the left, directly in front of  my bumper. I hit the brakes so hard to avoid the collision, that I came up out of my seat. I am sure I used up ten thousand miles of rubber. The driver then cut over again, to the next left lane, while his right turn signal was still on. From what I could tell, he just had a turn signal, no brake lights. I thought turn signals automatically turned off, especially if you were turning the opposite direction.


Poor little Harley, bed and all, went cartwheeling into the floorboard with a startled yelp. I felt so awful. Traffic was heavy, and not much I could do to help him but talk softly while my heart raced so heavy and fast, I thought it would leap right out of my chest.  He didn't come crawling out at first. I couldn't see the passenger floorboard from where I sat to drive. Oh my gosh, did I just kill my puppy?


I managed to briefly compose myself long enough to change lanes to enter a parking lot just as little Harley appeared, looking very worried.  I stopped, turned off the engine, then gave Harley loads of loving while consoling him. I am not sure who was more upset. Me or him. 


Irate Camper


I went to Wickham Park in Melbourne Florida to check in for a night of camping. I needed to stay overnight, due to my medical mess, which has taken a, hmm, how to say it, I am not sure. But things are quickly becoming critical and I am in a mild state of shock. There are also problems with my workamping, having to do with my health, that I can't and won't go into now.


Living and loving each and every day is oh so important. I can't keep wasting time crying but it sure feels good to have a good long cry anyhow. 


I was so lucky to eventually get a spot,  because they were nearly booked solid. I had to wait a long time behind an irate man.  When I had called a few weeks ago,  to get a reservation I was told I needed to book 2 or more nights. This would interfere with my workamping which is already "up in the air" about my future here. So at the time, I didn't want to spend 2 nights away, if that was going to cause more problems. So I just had to show up and take my chances they could find a spot for me for one night. 


Matter of fact, I am so glad I had a wonderful Christmas, because my life has quickly gone upset down, with devastating news that I am still trying to process through my tiny addled brain. I am not going to whine about it right now, besides I am still very confused!  Nothing new there is there?  


The irate man claimed the lot they gave him was too small, but he liked lot 81, but someone was already parked there, but plugged into lot 82. He wanted them to move the campers in 81 over to 82, so he could have 81. The clerk tried to explain that 81 only had one night open, and his reservation was for 10 days and she had a spot for him for 10 days. On and on he whined and fussed and complained and berated the hapless clerk. 


He said lot 81 was huge and he had looked at 77 and deemed it too small. He went on and on about his reservation and that he had reserved some other lot number (I forget which) and they had switched him around. The clerk tried to explain that when they are busy and booked to capacity, they have to sometimes shuffle the lot numbers around. She explained they do not guarantee a specific lot number when you make a reservation but they try hard to honor the requests but it's not always a perfect world. 


After about twenty  minutes of patiently waiting and watching this grown man throw a temper tantrum, holding up the line, I was seriously daydreaming about giving him a swift  kick in the shins, tell him to grow up, suck it up, and be damn happy he was alive and vacationing in Florida with his family,  in his RV (which I looked out the window and suspect he paid well over a quarter million dollars for it.)  He was also towing a car that probably cost some where over $35,000 too. Poor fellow. I could see his kids eating at a table inside his RV. 


I was starving for a sandwich and worrying whether I would make my medical appointment on time or not. If I skipped the sandwich, would I be even grumpier?  I realized I was about to drool, whatever the kids were eating, sure made me even hungrier. For good measure, my stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl. It seemed to be the first time the man had noticed that anyone else was waiting to pay rent for a camping spot. 


This poor guy really had it tough, oh life was so rough on him. Now the clerk at the park had simply ruined his entire life.  He wanted to make sure both she and I knew this.  How sad. I debated about bursting into tears and telling the guy that I felt very, very  sorry for him and his rotten lot in life. 


As time wore on, I realized Harley and I would not be going to the dog park. I had this wild ridiculous dream, I was going to pay for my night at the campground, then go to the dog park 100 yards away,  for 30 minutes while Harley played I would eat a sandwich, then we would drive to my medical mess. When we returned we would finally park at the campgound.  If we got a spot. If this man ever got tired of his seemingly endless temper tantrum. 


I seriously began daydreaming again, wondering what would they do, if I really did kick him in the shin and tell him to get over it?  Would I be arrested for assaulting another camper?  What would happen to Harley?


Then I took pity. That poor guy really had it ROUGH. I should get out my violin and play him a sad little tune. 


Here is little old me with my petty little worries about living and dying and being organized when I do one or the other. 


Finally the guy went outside to confer with his wife who was in the RV with the kids. 


I put on my biggest goofiest smile, handed over my ID and money, then tried my best to be polite while I asked for a spot, ANY spot, 81 or 77, I didn't really care, they were all so lovely to me. I also asked if it would be a problem, if my lot sat empty while I went to the doctors, would it still be there when I came back. She assured me that once the lot was paid for, no one would steal it. 


She gave me a parking permit with doublestick tape to put on my windshield, and I bolted out the door. I nearly collided with the man who was entering, loudly proclaiming he wanted a refund.  Well, good riddance was all I could think. If he was psychic, he would have probably killed me by now, for all the awful things I was thinking. 


Harley and I climbed up  in my little old motorhome. We were parked next to his palace.  We looked like a little toy camper next to his mega rig. I looked at the clock, there wasn't time for a sandwich nor a dog park. Just time to go battle traffic for my appointment. 


Shame on me for not planning better. I forgot to plan for this stranger's temper tantrum. 


When I returned hours later, dead tired, green to the gills, it was pouring down rain. At the doctor's office, they claimed I had lost 12 pounds in 2 weeks. I think this is preposterous. Funny math going on here!


I politely said I think they made a mistake weighing me.  Come to think of it, two weeks ago, I was dressed for summer. Today I was dressed up in layers of clothes for the wintry 46F weather. I should weigh 12 pounds more, not 12 pounds less. Then the next lady to come around, looked at my chart and said I lost 12 pounds in 2 weeks.  I laughed and told her it was a mistake. She looked at me like I was crazy. 


The other day  someone else said I had lost weight too, but I laughed at them and accused them of saying that just so I would smile and laugh. It's too cold for me to undress and check the mirror to see if I am missing 12 pounds, but I am sure they got that all wrong. 


Sadly Harley and I had to drive by the empty dog park, while he frantically pawed at the window, whining for me to pull over and play in the park. I don't think he quite understood it was pouring down buckets of rain and not a soul was around. 


We arrived at camping lot 81 after closely scrutinizing 77. It was empty and it was  huge, you could have parked an 18 wheel oversized tractor trailer on 77, with room for 6 more cars and still have space left over for outdoor chairs, table and toys. WHAT was the guy whining about when he told the clerk that 77 was just too small for him?


At lot 81, sure enough, a tiny camper had  parked on lot 81, but was plugged into lot 82. I guess the arrows on the utility post meant nothing to them. But much to my happiness, there was still plenty of room for me to park on 81 and plug up my umbilical cord. Sure I would have preferred to park lengthwise on the lot, but if I parked near the post for 81, I would have plenty of room anyhow. Besides it was still raining so hard, I wondered if I should worry about building an ark instead. No one appeared to be home in the tiny camper. Outside, they had a plethora of soggy wet outdoor camping gear. 


Then I began to worry, was I on the wrong lot?  Was I suppose to be on 81, 82  or on 77?  Why couldn't I remember?  I couldn't find my receipt. How did I lose it so quickly?  


I called the office, then said "Someone is parked on 81, plugged into 82, and I am on 81 also, plugged into 81, but 77 is empty, and I can't find my receipt and am I on the right spot?  She paused for a moment, then assured me I was supposed to be on 81. She also told me my receipt was folded up teeny tiny, then stapled to my parking permit which was taped to my windshield. 


Ah ha!


Mystery solved. 


She said she would send the park ranger out to see about the other camper on 81, and I said not to worry, I didn't really care, I was already soaking wet just from plugging up the electric cord. 


About ten minutes later, a park ranger banged on my door. He explained that the folks sharing 81 with me were supposed to be on 82, but since they were all set up anyhow, and no one was at home, if it was OK with me, then they would just as soon leave them alone. He said he had already mentioned to them that next time they camped, they should pay closer attention to the arrows on the utility post that designate where your lot is. We had a good laugh over it, and I told him it didn't bother me to share the lot with them. 


Later they came home, it was 4 people and one large dog staying in this tiny camper that looked to be about 18 feet long. When the rain stopped, I walked Harley, who stopped to play  with their big dog. We chatted for a bit and they said they were sorry they had misunderstood and set up on the wrong lot. I told them it was OK. Life ain't perfect anyhow. 


I wonder where that grumpy old RV-er in his palace went to camp?  I was glad he took his bad vibes elsewhere.