Sometimes when we’re staying somewhere for more than a few days (and when we’re lucky)—the weekend campers are gone, we’re done with our mystery trips to the local grocery store and laundromat—and we can explore and relax in peace. That’s the sweet spot. I’m thinking we’re in the sour spot about right now.
Time wise, we’ve in the exact middle of our stay in Brownsville, six weeks behind us and six weeks to go. In terms of getting all the stuff done we’d planned, the truck and trailer maintenance and repairs and even the fun stuff, of course we’re behind.
The “of course” is not for lack of effort, but because, as usual, things keep breaking that bump back everything on the list. Just like last year when we were lucky my ACL ruptured while we were in place and I could have surgery (somewhat) nearby, this year we’re lucky the oven/microwave went kaput here because at least we could get a specialty one delivered. (We’d known its days were numbered since the Airstream rally in October when that round, glass platter would start spinning every time we opened the door. Made it tricky to pull out the pans we store in there when they’re in motion). The latest trick is that sometimes the toilet bowl decides to overflow (luckily, after flushing) unless you stand there for up to a minute pressing the flush pedal over and over to keep the trailer from flooding. The jury’s out on whether we have to get a new toilet, but, again, at least we have a delivery address if we do.
These are mere examples of things Tracy’s been so busy with that he hasn’t been able to tackle the list of things he meant to be busy with while we’re in place. The fun stuff (my department) is also feeling the strain. Finn’s visit was the highlight for me, but the visitor both of us were going to luxuriate with, my high-school friend Mary Margaret, had to cancel. Hers was a doomed trip from the start, with absurd hurdles: 1) I had a biopsy scheduled exactly when her flight was to arrive (thank goodness I got a last-minute reprieve; no biopsy needed), 2) unusual cold here has shut down the pool, which she and I had together dreamed of sitting beside like sunbathing teenagers, 3) snow across the country made her flights impossibly unpleasant, especially considering she’s in the states from France for just a bit, and now 4) she’s sick. Sour spot indeed, for Tracy and for me and, Geeze Louise, for Mary Margaret.
Did I mention the cold? In one day it dropped from the 80s here to the 40s. Now, before you tell me to play my tiny violin, remember that when we’re forced inside day after day, we’re confined to 200 square feet. Add in the coats and boots we have to drag out and the dog towels that there’s no room to hang dry, and it’s like living in a dirty laundry room scented with eau du wet dog.
Bad weather has also meant no beach, no lunch at my favorite spot on its deck overlooking a resaca, no evenings at the outside music venue we kinda like.
The sour cake icing is that this rv park is now completely full. All 145 spots, which means about 300 people. This year, ongoing construction of a 1,000-acre LPG (liquefied petroleum gas) project, plus all the infrastructure needed for expansion of the SpaceX launch facility here have meant so many more construction workers—maybe half the trailers here are workers. And while retired people come with their dogs (this year’s dogs are standard poodles and German shepherds), traveling workers come with their children. Who run willy nilly outside because they fare even worse than adults when stuck inside trailers.
A full rv park means a crowded exercise room, broken laundry machines, wet smelly showers, dogs and children everywhere. Did I mention the dogs and children?
So, we’re more than ready to get back on the road, but we haven’t done what we’d planned. The witching hour is upon us. My plan is to ramp up urgency in the fun department. Once a week until we leave, we’re going to the brewery, or the lunch spot, or the band venue, or the beach. The weather is looking better, and I’m going to work on turning sour back into sweet.
That’s a whole lotta sour, as evidenced by Banjo’s face in the first photo.
Sorry things aren’t going to plan and you’re dealing with multiple break downs. That’s bad enough in a house, I can’t imagine how awful it must be on the road.
Urgent fun is desperately needed. Hope you can carve some out.
👍
So glad Banjo’s expression matches the tone of the post, just as I’d planned. That right there is fun. 🤗
I’m curious which you consider worse: the stifling heat and humidity you dealt with over the summer, or the cold that is forcing you to live in a wet dog laundry room now?
Definitely the heat was worse. Even though we didn’t have to deal with the coats and boots, we lived in fear our little ac unit would die, so we taped up the windows with insulation so felt more trapped inside, no views out. That was torture, this is unpleasantness.