When my daughter was born, nearly 14 years ago now, I remember rocking her for hours while listening to Kenny Loggins' "Return to Pooh Corner" and a cd called "Sleep Sound in Jesus" given to me by my sister. There is a sweet baby smell and then a distinctive under aroma unique to each baby. Settling into the rocking chair, the colonial I was rocked in as a baby, I would nestle her perfect baby body up against mine and rock..back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The time was so perfect that I would drink up every sound, smell, and feeling, praying to hold on to the moments for as long as humanly possible.
As I write this I am in the air, flying back to Arlington Virginia, and I am without Chris. For the first time I've left him and the RV sitting somewhere where I am not. The 6 am flight meant a beastly early morning rise from our warm bed and near silence as we moved with purpose toward the airport. We both confessed that if we could afford the fee and the time lost to the world waiting for me back in Arlington we would gladly delay my return "home."
I am anxious to see my daughter when I get home. I miss her terribly when I am on the road and as her mother, although the sweet baby smell is no longer there, I still recognize the under aroma of her unique scent and life feels right.
Chris will return to DC five days from now and we are already counting the days. I want the days to speed by quickly. And yet as I was considering this I realized that to speed the days by means that I also speed by the time I have with my growing daughter. The paradox does not escape me that I am caught in the grip of a deep love of two people and being with one may mean not being with the other - at least during the school year.
Last night my friend Mike posted the following to his facebook page "Not everything is Good or Bad - sometimes they just are what they are. If we let go of the judgments we are able to accept what is and see things that we did not see before." When I saw it it I thought about the combination of longing that had me wanting to speed time and freeze time. As if life is about running through the stuff you don't want to focus on just to get to the time you want to be in. Run, run, run, stop. Run, run, run, stop.
I hear my mother's voice in my head admonishing me not to "wish my life away" and I know it's good advice. What I need to do is be okay with the ache in my heart that is there whenever I am not with Chris or not with my daughter. Because I don't want to wish my life away with either of them.
Chapter 4: Hot Water
When Dave Drum founded the Kampgrounds of America, or KOA as they are known to most RV'ers, he built the first one with hot showers. Those clean and hot showers can be one of the things a camper most looks forward to - especially after dealing with a cranky hot water heater for several days and resorting to heating up the water and pouring it over yourself as a poor substitute.
When you haven't showered properly for three days you are very careful about your stops. For instance, you pick restaurants like Po Folks over places like Ruby Tuesdays simply because in Po Folks you can't be smelled over the fried steak, chicken, livers, or tomatoes. But if you eat like that non-stop you soon discover that how you smell is the least of your worries.
The morning of day three of our Great San Antonio Adventure, we woke up and blew a critical driving hour by deciding instead to discuss us as a couple. We were finally able to admit that the extraordinary connection we'd felt from the beginning was worn so thin that it was almost non-existent. And we were also finally able to admit that we weren't sure what to do about it but that if we didn't work on it together we were surely going to continuing having to pay for two hours sessions with the therapist instead of the standard one hour. The ever practical (and money conscious) Chris recognized this as an extra $250 a month out of his pocket, for his half, that he certainly didn't have with his new job and the resulting pay cut.
The bond between us is hands down a spiritual connection. On more than one occasion those that know us have referred to us as soul mates. I can't deny believing that myself. The question is, how much time do we really have to dicker around with whether to accept this fact or not? For that matter, what happens if we just let things roll as they have been?
Running later than planned we buttoned everything up and hit the road. The GPS, a model I'm not fond of, sent us twisting and turning until we cried Uncle and decided to remap our route. We grabbed my laptop and headed into the local Forsynth, Georgia Waffle House. The smell of frying eggs and bacon, usually mouth watering, sent my stomach churning and even the grits were half hearted - but then Waffle House doesn't use real butter - which to my mind is almost as bad as putting syrup on your grits.
No matter what I did, I could find no way to get from where we were to where we were planning to go that night. Even worse, the route we were taking would cause us to miss the state of Florida. No state, no decal on the map. Unacceptable. Tasteless food, churning stomach, and now very frustrated because we were going to miss Chris's timetable on a trip I still didn't want to be on, I pushed the laptop away and said "I give up."
Then Chris asked a simple question. What if we continued going south on i75 and if necessary took an extra day to get to San Antonio? I plugged the data in and a lovely route emerged that included a highly ranked KOA, notable for its executive sites (complete with a swing) and hot showers. We booked a reservation and made our way to Florida, the state we were determined not to miss.
For the first time on this trip we arrived at a campground with daylight remaining and our site was, miraculously, across from the bathhouse. We grabbed our shower items and headed over, discovering when we arrived that the private shower rooms were fully enclosed, included a toilet and sink, and were absolutely spotless. I turned the shower on and was delighted to find excellent water pressure. Stepping in I could feel the days of sweat, grime, and grease slide away while I scrubbed my skin and washed my hair.
When I was finally clean, dry, and dressed I stepped out to find myself surrounded in twilight. Chris, who'd finished much sooner, came around the corner of our RV and met me part way. We settled onto the swing and sat, comfortable and relaxed, continuing our conversation from the morning.
For the first time in a month I began to see San Antonio as the hot water shower we so desperately needed to clean up the stink in our relationship.
When you haven't showered properly for three days you are very careful about your stops. For instance, you pick restaurants like Po Folks over places like Ruby Tuesdays simply because in Po Folks you can't be smelled over the fried steak, chicken, livers, or tomatoes. But if you eat like that non-stop you soon discover that how you smell is the least of your worries.
The morning of day three of our Great San Antonio Adventure, we woke up and blew a critical driving hour by deciding instead to discuss us as a couple. We were finally able to admit that the extraordinary connection we'd felt from the beginning was worn so thin that it was almost non-existent. And we were also finally able to admit that we weren't sure what to do about it but that if we didn't work on it together we were surely going to continuing having to pay for two hours sessions with the therapist instead of the standard one hour. The ever practical (and money conscious) Chris recognized this as an extra $250 a month out of his pocket, for his half, that he certainly didn't have with his new job and the resulting pay cut.
The bond between us is hands down a spiritual connection. On more than one occasion those that know us have referred to us as soul mates. I can't deny believing that myself. The question is, how much time do we really have to dicker around with whether to accept this fact or not? For that matter, what happens if we just let things roll as they have been?
Running later than planned we buttoned everything up and hit the road. The GPS, a model I'm not fond of, sent us twisting and turning until we cried Uncle and decided to remap our route. We grabbed my laptop and headed into the local Forsynth, Georgia Waffle House. The smell of frying eggs and bacon, usually mouth watering, sent my stomach churning and even the grits were half hearted - but then Waffle House doesn't use real butter - which to my mind is almost as bad as putting syrup on your grits.
No matter what I did, I could find no way to get from where we were to where we were planning to go that night. Even worse, the route we were taking would cause us to miss the state of Florida. No state, no decal on the map. Unacceptable. Tasteless food, churning stomach, and now very frustrated because we were going to miss Chris's timetable on a trip I still didn't want to be on, I pushed the laptop away and said "I give up."
Then Chris asked a simple question. What if we continued going south on i75 and if necessary took an extra day to get to San Antonio? I plugged the data in and a lovely route emerged that included a highly ranked KOA, notable for its executive sites (complete with a swing) and hot showers. We booked a reservation and made our way to Florida, the state we were determined not to miss.
For the first time on this trip we arrived at a campground with daylight remaining and our site was, miraculously, across from the bathhouse. We grabbed our shower items and headed over, discovering when we arrived that the private shower rooms were fully enclosed, included a toilet and sink, and were absolutely spotless. I turned the shower on and was delighted to find excellent water pressure. Stepping in I could feel the days of sweat, grime, and grease slide away while I scrubbed my skin and washed my hair.
When I was finally clean, dry, and dressed I stepped out to find myself surrounded in twilight. Chris, who'd finished much sooner, came around the corner of our RV and met me part way. We settled onto the swing and sat, comfortable and relaxed, continuing our conversation from the morning.
For the first time in a month I began to see San Antonio as the hot water shower we so desperately needed to clean up the stink in our relationship.
Chapter 3: Was it Indiana or Ohio?
In 2007 we bought our RV. Its maiden voyage would be a 21 day trip that would take us to Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, back down to Yellowstone, into San Antonio (who knew), and then back home to Virginia. We packed up, pulled out dragging my 1999 Dodge Caravan behind us, and naively began trying to decide what we were going to call our new home on wheels.
We kicked around names like "Lady Liberty", "Wyoming Winds", "Freedom" and other lofty sounding phrases that would capture our sense of wandering wonder. We were full of plans.
Those plans didn't include getting such a late start because we'd had trouble with our tow gear. As a result, we arrived at our first RV campground EVER sometime around 10:30 PM. In the pitch black. We pulled in, were shown our space by a kind man who'd waited for us to arrive, and then while parking we backed up. With our car still fully connected to the tow.
Veteran RV'ers know what a mistake this is. We were now good and stuck. Not only stuck but also stuck partially on the site of another camper. Stuck with no idea how to disengage our tow gear because what we were looking at was nothing like the perfect straight flat surfaced tow environment we'd been practicing on.
Our temporary neighbor crushed a beer can and came over to help, laughing mightily. The campground manager (the one who'd waited up for us) shook his head and wandered back over. There stood Chris and the two men as they all attempted to defy the laws of tow physics and get us unstuck. I stood there and apologized repeatedly, knowing that I had absolutely no idea how the fix this situation as I'd been mostly focused on fixing up the inside.
These two complete strangers helped us out with good humor and after it was all finally unstuck and I was still apologizing, one of them grinned at me and said "no worries. You're one of us now. "
What I didn't understand until then was that by buying our RV, we'd committed to a lifestyle - even if for only a few weeks a year - that had its own special sense of community. We weren't "renters." We were owners.
It felt right.
It felt like home.
And I understood what my good friend Vivian meant when she observed that I'd been speaking of the RV as if it were my home - not a vehicle. The woman who preferred to rent and not buy so that she wouldn't feel stuck had finally encountered what might be a perfect home for her - a house on wheels.
I don't remember if our campground was in Indiana or Ohio that first night. I know we'd intended to be in Indiana but I can't imagine how we got any further than Ohio given the miles. I do remember being grateful for the kindness of strangers. And the name we gave our new home.
She has been "The Beast" since that first night...even though we refused to admit it for at least 20 more states.
Chapter 2: And When You're Down
The day after I realized that Chris was going to San Antonio whether I liked it or not I woke up to an unexpected feeling of lightness. It was, I realized after a few minutes, the dawning realization that I could now investigate options around a job that I did well for a company I wasn't sure I belonged in.
A day or two later I was chatting with a friend and he was observing the amazing turn around the project had taken since I'd had the helm. And then he asked a question...a simple and yet powerful question. He asked "how has the company said Thank You?"
A week or so later I got my answer when they slapped me in the face. In this case I became a casualty of political war.
This girl was down and then she got kicked.
I've always believed that we journey our own unique paths. What I didn't realize, until now, is that paths suggest something far more clear cut than what we're (or at least I'm) walking on. This girl isn't on a path. She's on a trail!
Too Trails is the story of that journey. It's a story unfolding even now. It is a story with some chapters already written. It is a story whose telling begins in the front seat of our beloved RV, Chris driving as I write, the two of us calm and relaxed for the first time in not only a month but in, literally, months. Too Trails - a play on the sound of "two trails" and also on "and also."
The tears have stopped. At least for now. There is a lot of change in my life. In our lives. But there is hope as well. And frankly, I'm kind of excited.
Chapter 1: Into the Setting Sun
We're rolling across Georgia with six new tires smoothly carrying all 16,000 lbs of us. I am pensively blinking into the setting sun and thinking back on our travels. So many of them together and this one dancing on the edge of parting.
Three hours ago we were standing in the Sweetwater BP, pointing at a blown tire and the largely filled in map of the United States of America. "THAT", I tried patiently to explain to Chris, "is why we've lost two tires in the past 700 miles. These are the same tires that came with the RV and they've seen 36 states, several of them more than once. Wyoming in July alone is enough to make a tire cry Uncle - and we've crossed that state at least three times!"
**********************************************************************
March 5th, 2010. For whatever reason, the day started cockeyed and never improved. Nonetheless, I was unsuspecting even until the moment Chris left my office after having announced he'd been offered a position in San Antonio, Texas and he wanted to take it. My life is in Arlington, Virginia. More importantly, my daughter - along with her father and the fabulous Arlington schools she attends - are there. San Antonio couldn't be in my immediate future. I will not leave my daughter.
What I couldn't grasp was that Chris was miserable enough in his work that he would be willing to leave us behind and chase a job he was comfortable with. Even with a significant cut in pay. Not only couldn't I uproot my daughter - he flat out didn't want me to. The rejection cut deeply, slicing across my midsection and bringing tears of hurt and anger that welled up from a seemingly never ending supply. Two days later, when I realized how grateful I was for their numbing effect - even in the middle of the night when the drugged state of them wore off and I woke up to shed more, I mentally promised myself I would write a book and call it "The Numbness of Tears."
Two months prior we'd gifted ourselves with the support of a couples therapist whose role would be to help referee us through the 20 percent of our relationship that regularly tripped us up. If not for her I would have held fast to my demand that he "get out and get out now" - words I continued to utter right up until we left our two hour emergency session. He was still going and somehow I was supposed to not only accept his decision but to believe that he wasn't leaving *me* - he was simply going off to do his own thing for a while. Surely I could find a way to make the long distance thing work.
And still the tears continued to come...
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