by Phyllis McCrossin
I have a countdown app on my phone. It says it is 26 days until we leave and 28 days until the election. The election, probably, will go on as planned. Our departure is a moving target, dependent on the last golf scramble for King and our sons.
Technically, there is an outing on Halloween but my daughters-in-law are not too keen on husbands playing golf on Trick or Treat night (depending on social distancing norms – whatever they may be). I can’t say as I blame them.
King does not get it. “They will be home before Trick or Treating starts,” he keeps saying. “It’s no big deal.” Well, it IS a big deal. Pulling into the driveway in just enough time to load kids into the car for Trick or Treating is not conducive to family harmony.
So… anyway, our departure date is still up in the air. We have an arrival deadline of Nov. 13 — meaning as long as we leave shortly after the first of November we can take our time traveling out to Carlsbad, Calif., where our daughter now lives.
The campground is now basically empty. There are five trailers/motor homes parked at sites. Three possibly four belong to the work crew for the I-196 highway repair. They work during the week and generally leave on Thursday night and return Monday night. So things are fairly quiet here. Target date for construction completion is mid-October and then it will more than likely be just King and I clicking our heels alone.
I would think the owners of the campground are anxious to see the place empty so they can begin winterizing. Technically they close Oct. 31, but we can park without power for a day.
We’ve taken down our front planter and given it to our son for the winter, removed the birdbath and will give it to our son in Paw Paw and take the little bunny statues (from Grandma McCrossin) and give them to our daughter for her balcony at her new apartment. One truck tune-up and a trip to the secretary of state for a trailer title and we are ready to go. I’m ready.
I will admit traveling amid COVID-19 is a little unsettling. Normally when we stop for gas and bathroom breaks we grab ready-made sandwiches at the gas station (no, they are NOT yummy, they are rather dry and gross, even when there is not a pandemic). I will probably make sandwiches in the trailer and use our own facilities.
It is always just a little disconcerting for Cindy the first few days of traveling west. When we leave the grassland of the Midwest behind she has a hard time finding just the right spot to relieve herself minus grass. She actually is a private dog. Tall grass is her comfort zone.
As things wind down for the season it’s a good time to reflect.
This summer has been an unusual one, hasn’t it? Everything has been politically charged – from wearing face masks, to tax returns, to conspiracy theories. I think we’ve all grown weary, crabby and mean. We can blame it on social distancing, we can blame the president, we can blame the governor.
Fact of the matter is, we are responsible for ourselves. Point your finger at someone else and three more fingers are pointing back at you. That sentiment looks good in writing, but I tend to be pretty politically charged and what should be an easy concept to follow isn’t always so. I’m working on it.
In the meantime, I have un-followed, un-friended, or blocked a few people on social media. Not because their views differ from mine, but because they are mean or name calling.
There is enough icky in the world.
