With new eyes

Celluloid images—about family, friends, departed loved ones—flash, flash, FLASH across my mind’s movie screen. When I walk. When I drive. When I talk to people. When I’m at the grocery store. When I read. When I listen to music. 

Run, run to the laptop, my brain tells me. 

But it’s never near when I need her. Or her battery’s dead and I’m not near an outlet. 

My friend, Julie, shared a trick she does, and I usually do, but never thought it would help while camping: Write notes, she suggested. Create a list with everything you do and need to do, places you visited and liked or didn’t. She’s right. Annotated lists keep me stepping forward, feeling good about my accomplishments, reminding me to “walk two miles” and “use the exercise bands”, “write”, “create art”, “organize the van”, “get gas”, “make a healthy dinner”, and “save leftovers” to eat during my overnight stop to who knows where?

I have a general idea where I’m headed. Tomorrow is my only unplanned night so far. I know I need to drive five hours, so the next day isn’t as long. Tuesday is my true unchartered territory adventure day. Boondock. Harvest Host—if, I can activate the app. It’s my test. My, everything’s going to work out, go with the flow new attitude. Because it’s true. Things do work out. Sometimes, I’ve noticed, overplanning is stressful—must be there by 5 p.m., must keep driving even though I’d rather stop or I’m tired. The same can be said for lists; the worst thing I could do is to be a slave to them—takes away the possibility of discovering important, unplanned moments. I guess it’s all about finding a balance between the whimsy and the watchful. 

If this is, indeed, is a trip of transformation and discovery, I have how to learn to be comfortable putting my finger to the wind to see where it takes me. 

Keep in mind, we’re just talking about a day. The rest of the month is planned out to a T. 

After a second night staying at a Paso Robles winery, I decided to head West and return to my favorite campground, Hearst San Simeon State Beach. 

The sun finally made an appearance, so I skedaddled down to the sea to say thank you and farewell to my blessed beach. 

No matter where I venture, this will always be my heart place. One day, I hope to settle here. But not now. 

News Flash: Did I tell you I sold my VW Eurovan Camper? It was a heart-breaker, but it was time. Too much mechanical uncertainty. But as fate would have it, I was able to replace her with my new, trusty covered wagon I aptly dubbed, Bonnie Doon, which means pretty fort. And that she is. With a toilet, shower, microwave, stove, and lovely bed. A heater. Air conditioner, awning and all the stuff that really matters to me. All the clothes I own. Art materials. Speakers for my music. Big, thick books, and my computer and ukulele, which hasn’t been touched for a year. New tires. A generator. Previously owned by my lovely and meticulous former neighbors. A meant-to-be. 

When I lived on Garnet Street, I’d sigh every time I drove past her. Wow, wouldn’t it be great to travel in her? I used to say.

She was always in the back of my mind, but I came to peace with the likelihood that I’d never own a Mercedes Benz Sprinter, much less a high-end Pleasureway from Canada because of the insane cost. It’s OK, I said to myself, “I’ll wait until the Fall when prices come down.” But they didn’t. The same with California housing prices and rent. The bubble never burst. And folks like me realized that there’s no such thing as a bargain when it comes to Class B RVs. 

Then out of the blue, my former neighbor texted me. She had NO IDEA I was in the market for a 19’ Ascent TS. She was checking in, seeing how my life was going, and that she and Julie were on their way home from purchasing another, slightly larger, Pleasureway 

“By chance, are you interested in selling yours?” I inquired. 

“Yes,” she responded. 

We worked out an agreeable price. Knowing Julie and Kirsten, I was confident Bonnie Doon was well maintained. With 40,000 miles and a German-designed diesel, she was practically new for a 2016. 

Me and my Bonnie Doon. A dream I’ve had for a decade. Taking off. Having an adventure. Minus my dear Monet, who isn’t well enough for the journey, but is being loved by the person who loves her as much as me. I can’t say it’s been easy without my girl. Pretty much my heart is broken. I can’t go to the same places—our beach at San Simeon—because it hurts so much; but I know she is in the best place for her right now, as am I. 

Being alone isn’t lonely. With no distractions, suppressed feelings and random thoughts come to the surface. I mull them over, then let ‘em go. 

These days it feels like I’m seeing the world for the first time. On a hike I noticed the crunchy leaves, a precursor to Fall. The silence following a gust of wind. The smoky fog, the chattering squirrels. The ex-prison guard camp neighbors who helped me thread a ratchet clamp. An e-bike ride down a winding road, a sunset launch into the unknown.  

I have dreamed about going on a trip like this for a least a decade. And now it’s happening. Tomorrow, I head out into tomorrow.