by Phyllis McCrossin
It’s the third day of the new year as I write this. I’m not certain it has any significance other than three days ago it was the first day of January 2025.
I have to wonder when, in the march of time, people will start complaining about 2025 being a “horrible year and hopefully next year will be better.” It’s never better. It’s never worse. It just, quite simply, is.
Here’s an example of better/worse/simply is:
Monday we will be leaving Lake Jennings Campground a month early so we can make repairs on the trailer. I probably mentioned we lost a roof vent in a windstorm in Missouri on our way here this fall. Lake Jennings Campground has a very strict rule about working on trailers in the campground. King asked permission to use a ladder to get on the roof to fix it and was denied.
We tried to make a temporary fix from inside the trailer, but one rainstorm will do us in. So we have to leave to fix it. Yes, we could find a place to park, fix it and then return, but at the time we were trying to figure out the logistics it seemed easier to stay in the yard of a gentleman we met last year and leave the campground early.
Anyway, the campground was less than charitable about our leaving early. It would appear we missed the seven day notice by two days so we are going to be charged for the full month. King is less than impressed. I’m resigned. Rules are rules, I suppose.
King thinks with the amount of money we’ve spent here over the past six years there should be some sort of consideration. We’ve been married too long for me to attempt to debate with him the pros and cons of rules and charitable consideration.
We like it here, but I’m not certain if we will be coming back next year.
The reality is we probably will have to (if they will have us), as many campgrounds have age restrictions on trailers. Our little vintage trailer falls far outside the 10 year rule, which is: no trailers older than 10 years.
Petra is another obstacle as many campgrounds consider her a “dangerous breed.” We don’t have a lot going for us, I suppose, other than I think we are nice people. I’m probably a little nicer than King, but all in all we are OK.
I suppose nice doesn’t get you anywhere as isn’t there a saying about nice guys and where they finish?
If employment were a competition — and for for many climbing that corporate ladder IS a cutthroat competition — I generally did finish last, or quit. The few times I got caught up in corporate politics I was always outplayed by a dominating queen. Always. And generally I found myself sitting on my keister wondering what the heck happened?
Trouble was, I wasn’t playing games. I simply wanted a paycheck.
I can be a formidable opponent when standing up for the little guy, but when a supervisor bonks me on the head and lets out a string of expletives because I chose to participate in a “Hawaiian shirt day” with the rest of of peons, I just let it go when what I really wanted to do was punch her in the throat and wipe that smug little smirk off her face. (Maybe I am just a little bitter 25 years later).
King, on the other hand has a way to tell someone to chase themselves and they will thank him for saying it. I recall the school secretary once telling me how calm and collected he was when dealing with students and parents alike.
“I heard him actually yell one time,” she said. “I knew whatever the kid did, it must have been really really bad.”
That’s why I’ll let King handle the conflict with the campground. I’d either roll over or I’d punch someone in the throat. No middle ground for me. He’ll be diplomatic, but will get his point across.
Point is, regardless of the outcome, this hiccup is just that — a hiccup. It doesn’t make the year good, bad, horrible or wonderful. It simply is.
