Thanksgiving 2007: here is the story of storms and mud and blood... and dashed expectations.
Perfect and unseasonable weather is forcast: sunny and warm with, maybe, showers late on the holiday Monday. Fantasmagorical! Now Thanksgiving is the traditional weekend to close up the summer place, including those with wheels.
And so, this was the last weekend to enjoy Lazy Lady and to get her all ready for her winter slumber. There would still be lots of time for walks and visits with the neighbours and to move Lady to a different site. (More about that in another post. It will involve dogs and short aggressive men and leashes.)
Now the previous weekend things really cooled off at night and Ruby (my retired racing greyhound) and I were glad to snuggle all night but, my goodness, she has a lot of pointy bits. So on Friday I purchased a little ceramic heater to take the chill off things. Originally, I was looking for an electric blanket but not at $80.00 on sale and besides, the little heater would do just fine.
We have a leisurely Saturday morning at home and the van loaded up by noon. Make quick stops for gas, groceries and some vino and we're on our way with the first spatters of rain on the windshield. Damn!
The rain sprinkled off and on for about 30 minutes then the heavens opened. Ever the optimist, I say heavy rain is a good thing; gets it over with fast. By the time I get out of the city, (ie away from civilisation), it's raining even harder and it is DARK. Headlights on full and wipers going at top speed, I dare not move along at more than about 30 kliks. Underpasses are crowded with huddled motorcyclists waiting out the storm. And then it happens... the wipers make their last
downstroke. Repeated twisting of the control has no effect.I'm on a minor country road with narrow shoulders. Haven't seen a gas station, country store or a wide spot for a while.
I decide, for good or ill, to continue: under normal conditions I'm only about 15 minutes away from the RV site. I make the second last turn, which is onto Herald Road, without event. I'm now 6 miles from the last turn which is half a mile from the entrance. No letup in the rain or darkness. I'm beginning to feel like I'm in a murky water world all by myself: no sound but the pounding rain, very little visible beyond the smeary windows. I know I'm doing something dangerous or at least really dumb but for some reason I continue.
Here we go, watching for the sign and watching the odometer. Six miles is about 9 kilometres and so, after 8 kliks, I start looking as carefully as I can - consistent with staying out of the ditch. Eight kliks, nine kliks, 10 kliks - no sign - 11 kliks. Damn, how did I miss it? How much further until I can find a safe place to turn around? Finally, after another 5 kliks, a side road with the stub end of a long forgotten driveway to nowhere and I make a three point turn and get back to Herald Road.
I've been keeping track of distances and so I go back to where the last turnoff before Grangeways should be and there's a country store on the other side of the road. Great. I can't be more than a few kliks away so I cross the road and park beside this typical Ontario country store. You know the kind where you can buy everything from a loaf of bread to replacement springs for your tractor. Inside, the place is stuffed with well, stuff, is dark and smells
powdery - not unpleasant. I approach the counter where a young man sits hunched over looking at a tiny TV sitting opposite him on a second chair. He looks up with that vacant
blank stare and I hear the melody of Dueling Banjos. Taking a deep breath, I ask him if he could direct me to Grangeways Trailer Park. Blank stare, never heard of the place.
It can't be more than 4 or 5 kilometres from here and he's never even heard of the place. I tell him that it's on the 3rd Concession Road and he tips his head toward the intersection where we presently are and informs me that this is it. Well, I know it isn't because the turnoff for Grangeways is at the 3rd Concession Road and this isn't it. I'm not sure in which direction it is but this it ain't.
"Thanks, friend." and I'm otta there. Outside, back in the deluge, people are building boats in their backyards and asking "what's a cubit?" An older couple pull up in a late model SUV and the Mr. gets out. "Excuse me, Sir, are you from around here?" "Why yes", the reply. So figuring this guy has better than a room temp IQ I ask him where Grangeways is and he has no better clue than banjo boy.Well, there's nothing for it but to head back to the last place where I knew where I was and start over... or go home.
About 3 kliks along the way back to Hwy 48 I see the Grangeways sign and make the turn. Less than a kilometre to go. Can't miss the entrance, a great loang wooden rail fence marks the spot and I turn in. The rain stops. Natch.
I pull up to the gate and swipe my card. Of course it doesn't work. I press the intercom button which for some strange reason does work and they open the gate from inside. In I go, across the bridge and along to my site. There's Lazy Lady waiting for me... in the middle of
what looks like nothing so much as a rice paddy. Out I get and slog around to the hatch to let Ruby out. Unh, unh, she ain't getting out. Maybe I like slogging around in water almost up to my ankles but not her.
I bodily wrestle her out of the van, (How is it dogs have this power to increase their weight at will? A dog which normally wieghs about 65 pounds, when she doesn't want to go into the bath or into the rice paddy or whatever can instantly double her weight.) and squelch up to the door and in we go.
I give Ruby a big "Rollup" slice as a reward and go back to the van to get the most important bag: the one with the wine!
This is the end of the beginning of Day One of Thanksgiving 2007. A weekend that shall live on the wall of shame of bad weekends.
Ginger
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Paying it Forward
How many of you have seen the film, "Pay it Forward", starring Kevin Spacey, Helen Hunt and Haley Joel Osment? If you haven't, you're missing something special. No special effects, no towering sound track but skilled actors doing a great job with a touching story. And an interesting philosophy which contrary to popular belief did not begin with the film: the philosophy of paying it forward.
We all know about paying it back, getting even. We've all heard "payback's a bitch" and "don't get mad, get even". But do we ever "get even"? And when/if you finally feel that you've gotten "even", does the other guy think it's "even"? Naw, not even close.
The concept of pay it forward presented in the film struck me with its simplicity and power: the power that anyone could wield to make the world a better place. In my self-absorbed way, since I had never heard of it before, I assumed it was an invention of the author, (the film is based on the novel of the same name by Catherine Ryan Hyde), but not so.
Science fiction author Robert A. Heinlein used the phrase in Between Planets, a book published in 1951, almost 50 years before Ryan Hyde's novel. Heinlein both preached and practiced this philosophy; now the Heinlein Society, a humanitarian organization founded in his name, does so. (Wikipedia)
The idea of "paying it forward", but without the pyramid scheme-like exponential growth, appears already in a letter from Benjamin Franklin to Benjamin Webb, dated April 22, 1784. (Wikipedia)
Here are a few links for you if you would like to read more.
Foundation
Wikipedia
Blog
Why am I writing about this and why now, you ask. Well, since you asked... If you read about Sir Frank here, my knight who was so helpful in my getting my Lazy Lady, you may remember that in my call for help I made it clear that I was more than happy to compensate anyone who helped. When I remended him that I was waiting for a "statement" from him, he merely said "Pay It Forward".
Wouldn't it be a great thing if each person who reads this were to pay it forward to three people in the next few months with the reminder to keep it going.
Ginger
We all know about paying it back, getting even. We've all heard "payback's a bitch" and "don't get mad, get even". But do we ever "get even"? And when/if you finally feel that you've gotten "even", does the other guy think it's "even"? Naw, not even close.
The concept of pay it forward presented in the film struck me with its simplicity and power: the power that anyone could wield to make the world a better place. In my self-absorbed way, since I had never heard of it before, I assumed it was an invention of the author, (the film is based on the novel of the same name by Catherine Ryan Hyde), but not so.
Science fiction author Robert A. Heinlein used the phrase in Between Planets, a book published in 1951, almost 50 years before Ryan Hyde's novel. Heinlein both preached and practiced this philosophy; now the Heinlein Society, a humanitarian organization founded in his name, does so. (Wikipedia)
The idea of "paying it forward", but without the pyramid scheme-like exponential growth, appears already in a letter from Benjamin Franklin to Benjamin Webb, dated April 22, 1784. (Wikipedia)
Here are a few links for you if you would like to read more.
Foundation
Wikipedia
Blog
Why am I writing about this and why now, you ask. Well, since you asked... If you read about Sir Frank here, my knight who was so helpful in my getting my Lazy Lady, you may remember that in my call for help I made it clear that I was more than happy to compensate anyone who helped. When I remended him that I was waiting for a "statement" from him, he merely said "Pay It Forward".
Wouldn't it be a great thing if each person who reads this were to pay it forward to three people in the next few months with the reminder to keep it going.
Ginger
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
The Summer Residence
The "Summer Residence" as I sometimes refer to it is home, well sort of. It's parked on the street in front of my house. Now I live in a typical middle-class suburb of a large city and the neighbours don't take kindly to vehicles up on blocks, old fridges in the back yard or RVs parked at the curb. I know the clock is ticking.
I kinda walk along the edge of respectability around here. Sometimes the lawn gets a bit long before it gets trimmed, sometimes the trash can sits out an extra day after being emptied, I admit that there are a *lot* of Dandelions in my lawn and in the winter and if the van can get over the snow in the driveway without going sideways, the driveway doesn't get shovelled.
I know, I know, I should burn in Hell for being such a slob but I figure the place is there for my ease and comfort not to provide me with a second, unpaid career or as a pretty setting for my next-door neighbour. So I know I'm on a pretty short leash regarding the RV out front.
My friend who was supposed to caravan with me to the seasonal site where Lazy Lady is going to life for at least the next 12 months, had his work schedule changed at the last minute, (How very inconvenient of his employer!) which means that I have no way of getting Lazy Lady to her site. Well, technically, I could get her there but then there would be no way of getting me back. I felt rather strongly about that, and so did my employer. So she sits out front aaaallllll week.
And I avoid eye contact with my neighbours.
I'm also a bit worried about the fridge. It's full of contraband groceries smuggled across the border. Shhh don't tell anyone but there's an RV in Canada full of American eggs, cheese (two kinds: cheddar and Swiss), ham and a peach! I need to keep it running. So how level does a fridge have to be, not to self-destruct? The road kinda slopes a bit at the curb and the side-to-side bubble in the cab isn't perfectly centred. It's a bit off. Now I've heard "half a bubble" is OK. Well is "bubble" a fixed quantity (distance/measurement)? How do I know when I've strayed past half-a-bubble into the death to fridges three quarters of a bubble? My level doesn't even have markings on it so I don't even know how much of my bubble is outside the OK zone. Don't laugh, this is complicated not to mention worrisome.
So, anyway, I'm worried about the fridge and also, will it run out of propane? How much propane will it use in a week? If it runs out of propane, will it automatically switch over to DC? If so, wIll the batteries last for the day until the sun comes up and the solar panels can re-charge the batteries? Why don't I just unload the fridge and turn the darned thing off? I dunno. Stupid I guess. All this over some damn-yankee eggs, cheese (two kinds: cheddar and Swiss), ham and a peach!
Well, good news, I'm sure you've been on the edge of your seat. The fridge and the eggs, cheese (two kinds: cheddar and Swiss), ham and a peach! survived.
Next Saturday my friend, his thirteen year old son and I set out for the wilds of East Gwillenbury. Here follows the pictorial record of our expedition.
Entering Grangeways
Pulling up to the Office
Grangeways Main Building
Lazy Lady Parked
Ahhh, that feels good.
Ginger
Part Three - Getting Back
The original plan was to head back on Tuesday and take my time until Friday: maybe detouring over to Shenandoah in VA and up through PA and into the Finger Lakes region of NY and then directly west and home. But then the "best laid plans" rule kicked in and I didn't hit the road until 11:30 on Wednesday. This change in plans necessitated some freeway driving and no Shenandoah. Maybe next time.
So I boogied up I81 to I68/70 and across to Route 219. Rte 219, from the map, looked like a really interesting ride. Getting there, I exited from I70 a bit too soon due to my misreading the map. (Are they using smaller fonts lately?) And ended up at some small town (Frostburg?)Mental Health Facility getting directions. They certainly saved my mental health! I was close, but close counts only with horse-shoes and grenades.
Rte 219 is a great road - very pretty - mostly through forest. Lots of ups and downs (nothing more than a 6% grade) and lotsa curvey bits. It goes through small towns so you're not going to make great time but then, that's what the freeways are for. There was construction at one point necessitating a detour. NOTE: if you're heading north, when you come to the abandoned RR station with the huge flashing sign saying TURN LEFT, *don't*. Turn right as the small, low down "Rte 219 North" road sign says. Otherwise, you'll be heading south and you'll have to go back up the hill (they call them mountains) and down again. This is the voice of experience. On my first time up the hill I passed a couple of fellows under an overpass resting by their bikes. They gave the LD a good looking over. The second time, they waved like old friends.
There are lots of longish 6% grades on this route and numerous truck escape thingies. There was a mandatory "stop" for trucks at the beginning of one of the downslopes. But none of these seemed all that threatening. As for the LD, I just disengaged the OD and let the engine keep the speed down to about 50-55 going down. (Used the same speed going up.) Climbing was no problem either with no overheating or problems. Made it up all the hills in third gear.
There aren't a lot of services on 219 so watch your fuel. It's a quiet route with little commercial traffic and a long stretch of it has been designated the "Flight 93 Memorial" which prohibits vehicles with advertising panels. So, essentially, no trucks. I would estimate a bit less than half of the way from MD state line to Buffalo on Rte 219 is four-lane divided with a good surface except for about 10 miles right at the NY border which was horrible. Really, really tooth rattleing bad.
On Wednesday I drove until 7:30 which was much later than I planned or wanted to do but I was a bit intimidated about looking for a Walmart and didn't see any campgrounds and of course, no truck stops. Just as the sun was disappearing behind the hills and true panic set in, I saw a billboard for a McDonalds at the Wal*Mart Plaza just off 219 in Du Bois. (That's pronounced "doo-boiss" not as this Canuck would as "doo-bwa".) Halleleujah! And it was easy to see with its mile high sign. The Wal*Mart was great, no problem parking there, lots of space. It wasn't a super centre but it had a good assortment of drygoods plus some dairy and of course sodas. I purchased a $3.00 compass - one of those floating ball types. Worked perfectly. I covered about 350 miles on day one. But I didn't find the LD tiring to drive. There was no fighting the wheel or any white knuckles.
There was the advertised McDonalds across the road and another chain restaurant, Casey's or Kelsey's or some such. The location was quiet, except for the Wal*Mart tractor whose driver kept his engine idling all night. I intended to relax for a bit and then wander over to the McD's for a packet of fries but the thrumming of the WM diesel was kinda soothing and I nodded off.
Next morning I was off to the "Subs and Six-packs" to get some Rolling Rock for my dog-sitter and to gas up. I'm not pushing it since I covered so much distance yesterday so was on the road around 10:30 with a big mug of coffee and some cheese and crackers to nibble on. What a life! (I'm easily amused.) I got myself turned around a bit - hafta get a GPS before I go on the road on a regular basis - but found my way back to 219 and continued north.
Before we go on further, I'd like to comment on the LD handling. There was a discussion, somewhere else, about the relative merits of trailering vs motorhoming vis a vis road stability, interior noise and other issues. I was a bit nervous about my decision based on the numerous opinions that motorhomes get pushed around a lot by the big rigs. And I know that my Astro van gets pushed around. How much worse was the 26.5' LD going to be? May I tell you than I could barely feel those rigs going by? I could occasionally feel a slight nudge when they were overtaking but never when oncoming. I'm delighted with this. As for noise, well the jury is still out since I don't have a lot of rattley stuff onboard - styrofoam plates are very quiet. The stove cover was noisy so I laid a folded towel under the cover and that ended the stove rattles.
Rte 219 leads directly into I90/190 around Buffalo and Niagara Falls, which I followed up to Lewiston where I was to cross the border. This is only Thursday and according to the US Customs web site they want 72 hours written notice before exporting a vehicle and this was only 48 hours. I really wasn't "due" at the border until the next day, Friday, but I thought, what the Hell, maybe somebody got super efficient and my paperwork would be ready early. Silly me.
I found my way to room 135 at the Customs warehouse and met the single most unpleasant, tight-assed, woman I have ever had the mis-fortune to encounter. You couldn't pull a greased pin outta her b**t with pliers. I hate to say this about my own gender, but women can be the worst nitpickers and take the most pleasure in it. Here is a gal with some authority and likes it a whole lot too much. And now, they've gone and given her a G U N.
Not only was I not getting that rig across *her* border on Thursday but it wasn't even going to happen on Friday since for whatever reason, my fax didn't get to her until Wednesday. She was determined that I had to come back on Monday. When I explained that I had faxed the required 72 hours ahead of time and that the 72 hours were up on Friday she merely said she wasn't going to argue with me and then proceded to get on with her other administrivia. Well, she was the one with the gun so what was I supposed to do? Fortunately her superior officer came in asking what was going on. (Had he been eavesdropping?) I explained the situation, mentioning again that I had faxed on Tuesday and had the receipt to prove it, thank goodness. He took my receipt and exclaimed that of course the vehicle should be released on Friday and wrote on the slip that my rig was to be cleared at 8:00 AM Friday. YES!!!
Officer Tight Ass had steam pouring out her ears by now.
All I had to do now was to cool my heels for the night and report back the next morning. I wasn't getting home early but I wasn't stuck here for an extra three days. (Camping is expensive around Niagara Falls.) So I found a KOA with full hookups and free WIFI for $38.00 and settled in for the night. I was really looking forward to the next day and my meeting with Officer T A.
The KOA was very pleasant with grass and trees and nice level packed gravel parking pads. There was reasonable space between sites and the area was quiet. Electrical power was sufficient - 30 amp and the WIFI signal was strong.)
Next day I got my export stamp. I greeted her pleasantly; she ignored me. I thanked her and she sent me off with her opinion that if it were up to her, I'd have to wait 'till Monday. Since I had the form I needed, I replied that I was pleased that it wasn't up to her and left.
Only one more hurdle, Canada Customs. Fortunately a walk in the park: some waiting, some form-filling-out, some waiting, some money changing hands, some waiting and I am home-free. All that remained was a quick stop at the first Timmies en route and 90 miles later... home. Ahhhhh!
Ginger
So I boogied up I81 to I68/70 and across to Route 219. Rte 219, from the map, looked like a really interesting ride. Getting there, I exited from I70 a bit too soon due to my misreading the map. (Are they using smaller fonts lately?) And ended up at some small town (Frostburg?)Mental Health Facility getting directions. They certainly saved my mental health! I was close, but close counts only with horse-shoes and grenades.
Rte 219 is a great road - very pretty - mostly through forest. Lots of ups and downs (nothing more than a 6% grade) and lotsa curvey bits. It goes through small towns so you're not going to make great time but then, that's what the freeways are for. There was construction at one point necessitating a detour. NOTE: if you're heading north, when you come to the abandoned RR station with the huge flashing sign saying TURN LEFT, *don't*. Turn right as the small, low down "Rte 219 North" road sign says.
There are lots of longish 6% grades on this route and numerous truck escape thingies. There was a mandatory "stop" for trucks at the beginning of one of the downslopes. But none of these seemed all that threatening. As for the LD, I just disengaged the OD and let the engine keep the speed down to about 50-55 going down. (Used the same speed going up.) Climbing was no problem either with no overheating or problems. Made it up all the hills in third gear.
There aren't a lot of services on 219 so watch your fuel. It's a quiet route with little commercial traffic and a long stretch of it has been designated the "Flight 93 Memorial" which prohibits vehicles with advertising panels. So, essentially, no trucks. I would estimate a bit less than half of the way from MD state line to Buffalo on Rte 219 is four-lane divided with a good surface except for about 10 miles right at the NY border which was horrible. Really, really tooth rattleing bad.
On Wednesday I drove until 7:30 which was much later than I planned or wanted to do but I was a bit intimidated about looking for a Walmart and didn't see any campgrounds and of course, no truck stops. Just as the sun was disappearing behind the hills and true panic set in, I saw a billboard for a McDonalds at the Wal*Mart Plaza just off 219 in Du Bois. (That's pronounced "doo-boiss" not as this Canuck would as "doo-bwa".) Halleleujah! And it was easy to see with its mile high sign. The Wal*Mart was great, no problem parking there, lots of space. It wasn't a super centre but it had a good assortment of drygoods plus some dairy and of course sodas. I purchased a $3.00 compass - one of those floating ball types. Worked perfectly. I covered about 350 miles on day one. But I didn't find the LD tiring to drive. There was no fighting the wheel or any white knuckles.
There was the advertised McDonalds across the road and another chain restaurant, Casey's or Kelsey's or some such. The location was quiet, except for the Wal*Mart tractor whose driver kept his engine idling all night. I intended to relax for a bit and then wander over to the McD's for a packet of fries but the thrumming of the WM diesel was kinda soothing and I nodded off.
Next morning I was off to the "Subs and Six-packs" to get some Rolling Rock for my dog-sitter and to gas up. I'm not pushing it since I covered so much distance yesterday so was on the road around 10:30 with a big mug of coffee and some cheese and crackers to nibble on. What a life! (I'm easily amused.) I got myself turned around a bit - hafta get a GPS before I go on the road on a regular basis - but found my way back to 219 and continued north.
Before we go on further, I'd like to comment on the LD handling. There was a discussion, somewhere else, about the relative merits of trailering vs motorhoming vis a vis road stability, interior noise and other issues. I was a bit nervous about my decision based on the numerous opinions that motorhomes get pushed around a lot by the big rigs. And I know that my Astro van gets pushed around. How much worse was the 26.5' LD going to be? May I tell you than I could barely feel those rigs going by? I could occasionally feel a slight nudge when they were overtaking but never when oncoming. I'm delighted with this. As for noise, well the jury is still out since I don't have a lot of rattley stuff onboard - styrofoam plates are very quiet. The stove cover was noisy so I laid a folded towel under the cover and that ended the stove rattles.
Rte 219 leads directly into I90/190 around Buffalo and Niagara Falls, which I followed up to Lewiston where I was to cross the border. This is only Thursday and according to the US Customs web site they want 72 hours written notice before exporting a vehicle and this was only 48 hours. I really wasn't "due" at the border until the next day, Friday, but I thought, what the Hell, maybe somebody got super efficient and my paperwork would be ready early. Silly me.
I found my way to room 135 at the Customs warehouse and met the single most unpleasant, tight-assed, woman I have ever had the mis-fortune to encounter. You couldn't pull a greased pin outta her b**t with pliers. I hate to say this about my own gender, but women can be the worst nitpickers and take the most pleasure in it. Here is a gal with some authority and likes it a whole lot too much. And now, they've gone and given her a G U N.
Not only was I not getting that rig across *her* border on Thursday but it wasn't even going to happen on Friday since for whatever reason, my fax didn't get to her until Wednesday. She was determined that I had to come back on Monday. When I explained that I had faxed the required 72 hours ahead of time and that the 72 hours were up on Friday she merely said she wasn't going to argue with me and then proceded to get on with her other administrivia. Well, she was the one with the gun so what was I supposed to do? Fortunately her superior officer came in asking what was going on. (Had he been eavesdropping?) I explained the situation, mentioning again that I had faxed on Tuesday and had the receipt to prove it, thank goodness. He took my receipt and exclaimed that of course the vehicle should be released on Friday and wrote on the slip that my rig was to be cleared at 8:00 AM Friday. YES!!!
Officer Tight Ass had steam pouring out her ears by now.
All I had to do now was to cool my heels for the night and report back the next morning. I wasn't getting home early but I wasn't stuck here for an extra three days. (Camping is expensive around Niagara Falls.) So I found a KOA with full hookups and free WIFI for $38.00 and settled in for the night. I was really looking forward to the next day and my meeting with Officer T A.
The KOA was very pleasant with grass and trees and nice level packed gravel parking pads. There was reasonable space between sites and the area was quiet. Electrical power was sufficient - 30 amp and the WIFI signal was strong.)
Next day I got my export stamp. I greeted her pleasantly; she ignored me. I thanked her and she sent me off with her opinion that if it were up to her, I'd have to wait 'till Monday. Since I had the form I needed, I replied that I was pleased that it wasn't up to her and left.
Only one more hurdle, Canada Customs. Fortunately a walk in the park: some waiting, some form-filling-out, some waiting, some money changing hands, some waiting and I am home-free. All that remained was a quick stop at the first Timmies en route and 90 miles later... home. Ahhhhh!
Ginger
Monday, October 1, 2007
Part Two - Being There
It's Monday morning in the Virginia countryside. There are green hills beyond hills beyond hills disappearing into haze. I pad around the garage peering out windows, sipping hot coffee and every once in a while looking back at the Lazy Daze sitting there: *my* Lazy Daze.
There are black cattle peppered over the surrounding fields. Moo-ing and munching and looking very pastoral. And there, close to the pond, one grass green cow. HUH?!
Later, I learned that the cows like to wade in the pond put there for drinking. The pond is rather deep and green pond plants float all over it's surface. If a cow has been submerged sufficiently, when it emerges it is covered with this green material. Sort of a life sized Chia Cow.
But back to the rig. She's an older gal - 15 years - and in remarkable shape. The inside is almost perfect. The carpeting in the living room and whatever was in the kitchen area have been replaced with hardwood parquet. I would prefer strips, but I'm content with the parquet. It needs a good waxing which it will get as soon as it's cooler.
The upholstery looks new. It's blue and brownish: acceptable although not to my taste. I will use throws in colours more to my liking. Eventually, I'll have the cushions re-upholstered but not any time soon. The cloth is repeated in the centre panels of the driver's and co-pilot's seats. The dinette cushions are navy and I want to replace these covers soon - too dark. And the fabric is velour which doesn't slide. Makes it really difficult for someone to slide into the inside position.
The bathroom is huge and the shower is almost as big as my shower at home. The shower has a big window which I will cover with some kind of translucent film. (bevelled glass or stained glass pattern ?) The floor is carpeted which must go ASAP.
The living room has two opposing couches. There is also, as mentioned above, a dinette. I think I will replace a couch or the dinette with a desk/workbench. Since there is very little counter space, it might be more workable to lose a couch. Opinions anyone?
We spent the morning going through the manuals and controls. And later at Wal*Mart shopping. I was a bit concerned when we got back with umpty-ump bags of stuff and groceries, but they disappeared into the cupboards barely touching the ample storage space. The freezer can best be described as "cozy". But the fridge is OK.
The heat was wearing me down. The A/C kept popping the circuit breaker so I was limited to a ceiling fan which just keeps the hot air moving. Better than nothing but not much. There are two additional small oscillating fans that are so loud they'd wake the dead. Pass on those.
Just enough time for a honey ham and Swiss cheese sandwich, (OK, OK, two sandwiches), a room temperature shower and bed.
Tuesday we go to the DMV to register the change in title. Gave the government computer conniptions over my lack of a valid Zip code. And paid $5.00 for a travel permit - no sales tax - goodie! Then off to fax all the required documentation to US Customs for the export of the rig. Long story short, this took about 4 hours. I won't bother you with the ugly details. It's a tale too horrible for your sensitive ears.
Tuesday AM Willie, (the seller), treats me to breakfast at a local diner she likes. I had scrambled eggs and biscuits so light they kept floating off the plate. It was heavenly. Willie had a biscuit with "gravy". The guy next to me at the bar had biscuits with "gravy". It was the worst looking stuff I've ever seen on a plate: glutinous off-white sauce with brown lumps in it.
Gravy should be a rich brown aromatic slightly runny sauce that fills the room with the scent of beef or pork or turkey or whatever. Nevertheless, these folks ate it with relish. But I found it difficult to watch.
Later that day I treated her to lunch at the restaurant of her choice. Back to the diner. And there on the menu, under sandwiches, I see BBQ. Not BBQ-ed something, just plain BBQ. Thinking back to a recent thread on an RVing newsgroup that went on and on about BBQ I decided to sample my first BBQ (not my first BBQ-ed something). I guess that makes me a qualified BBQ virgin. Sandwich comes with creamy coleslaw. Nirvana. Or maybe not.
The meat is what I'd call "pulled pork". It was mixed with what tasted like bottled hickory BBQ sauce and served on a grocery store hamburger bun. Oh well, there was still the coleslaw. Or maybe not.
Now hereabouts, creamy coleslaw is a simple pleasure: finely shredded cabbage, mayonnaise, salt and pepper: optionally with shredded carrot and or onion. This stuff had cabbage - I'm pretty sure - and some kind of dressing, largish black specks and an undertaste of something that had been sitting on the counter too long. Oh well. One meal out of two ain't bad.
Departure is scheduled for the morning, Wednesday. Tuesday night nothing that runs on gas um, runs. Both the gauge on the tank and the gauge inside read 1/2 and Willie wants to go to the RV dealer Wed morning. It can't be that both gauges are wrong. OK, if you say so.
We go to her regular shop and the owner checks the regulator and valves and opines that we're out of propane (no charge, nice folks). OK. Off we go to the propane place and buy 7.8 gallons: tank capacity (allowing for head room). Back home, drop off Willie, take some pictures, make some promises about writing etc and off I go. Heading back again. Oh boy!
Ginger
There are black cattle peppered over the surrounding fields. Moo-ing and munching and looking very pastoral. And there, close to the pond, one grass green cow. HUH?!
Later, I learned that the cows like to wade in the pond put there for drinking. The pond is rather deep and green pond plants float all over it's surface. If a cow has been submerged sufficiently, when it emerges it is covered with this green material. Sort of a life sized Chia Cow.
But back to the rig. She's an older gal - 15 years - and in remarkable shape. The inside is almost perfect. The carpeting in the living room and whatever was in the kitchen area have been replaced with hardwood parquet. I would prefer strips, but I'm content with the parquet. It needs a good waxing which it will get as soon as it's cooler.
The upholstery looks new. It's blue and brownish: acceptable although not to my taste. I will use throws in colours more to my liking. Eventually, I'll have the cushions re-upholstered but not any time soon. The cloth is repeated in the centre panels of the driver's and co-pilot's seats. The dinette cushions are navy and I want to replace these covers soon - too dark. And the fabric is velour which doesn't slide. Makes it really difficult for someone to slide into the inside position.
The bathroom is huge and the shower is almost as big as my shower at home. The shower has a big window which I will cover with some kind of translucent film. (bevelled glass or stained glass pattern ?) The floor is carpeted which must go ASAP.
The living room has two opposing couches. There is also, as mentioned above, a dinette. I think I will replace a couch or the dinette with a desk/workbench. Since there is very little counter space, it might be more workable to lose a couch. Opinions anyone?
We spent the morning going through the manuals and controls. And later at Wal*Mart shopping. I was a bit concerned when we got back with umpty-ump bags of stuff and groceries, but they disappeared into the cupboards barely touching the ample storage space. The freezer can best be described as "cozy". But the fridge is OK.
The heat was wearing me down. The A/C kept popping the circuit breaker so I was limited to a ceiling fan which just keeps the hot air moving. Better than nothing but not much. There are two additional small oscillating fans that are so loud they'd wake the dead. Pass on those.
Just enough time for a honey ham and Swiss cheese sandwich, (OK, OK, two sandwiches), a room temperature shower and bed.
Tuesday we go to the DMV to register the change in title. Gave the government computer conniptions over my lack of a valid Zip code. And paid $5.00 for a travel permit - no sales tax - goodie! Then off to fax all the required documentation to US Customs for the export of the rig. Long story short, this took about 4 hours. I won't bother you with the ugly details. It's a tale too horrible for your sensitive ears.
Tuesday AM Willie, (the seller), treats me to breakfast at a local diner she likes. I had scrambled eggs and biscuits so light they kept floating off the plate. It was heavenly. Willie had a biscuit with "gravy". The guy next to me at the bar had biscuits with "gravy". It was the worst looking stuff I've ever seen on a plate: glutinous off-white sauce with brown lumps in it.
Gravy should be a rich brown aromatic slightly runny sauce that fills the room with the scent of beef or pork or turkey or whatever. Nevertheless, these folks ate it with relish. But I found it difficult to watch.
Later that day I treated her to lunch at the restaurant of her choice. Back to the diner. And there on the menu, under sandwiches, I see BBQ. Not BBQ-ed something, just plain BBQ. Thinking back to a recent thread on an RVing newsgroup that went on and on about BBQ I decided to sample my first BBQ (not my first BBQ-ed something). I guess that makes me a qualified BBQ virgin. Sandwich comes with creamy coleslaw. Nirvana. Or maybe not.
The meat is what I'd call "pulled pork". It was mixed with what tasted like bottled hickory BBQ sauce and served on a grocery store hamburger bun. Oh well, there was still the coleslaw. Or maybe not.
Now hereabouts, creamy coleslaw is a simple pleasure: finely shredded cabbage, mayonnaise, salt and pepper: optionally with shredded carrot and or onion. This stuff had cabbage - I'm pretty sure - and some kind of dressing, largish black specks and an undertaste of something that had been sitting on the counter too long. Oh well. One meal out of two ain't bad.
Departure is scheduled for the morning, Wednesday. Tuesday night nothing that runs on gas um, runs. Both the gauge on the tank and the gauge inside read 1/2 and Willie wants to go to the RV dealer Wed morning. It can't be that both gauges are wrong. OK, if you say so.
We go to her regular shop and the owner checks the regulator and valves and opines that we're out of propane (no charge, nice folks). OK. Off we go to the propane place and buy 7.8 gallons: tank capacity (allowing for head room). Back home, drop off Willie, take some pictures, make some promises about writing etc and off I go. Heading back again. Oh boy!
Ginger
Friday, September 28, 2007
There and Back Again - Part One
This is a tale in three parts - kinda like a play.
1. Getting there
2. Being there
3. Getting back.
This is Part One: Getting There
There were three ways to get there (the northern part of Virginia where my LD resided), air, train and bus. Air was out right from the start since I don't have a passport. There appears to be no way to get from Toronto to Harrisonburg, (or anywhere near there), in less than two days by train. Hell, it's only about 650 miles! So that leaves the bus. Twenty-four hours, and $150.00 later I find myself in Charlottesburg VA.
What is it about bus travelers? We left the terminal at 9:30 PM. Most of these people have had all day, or at least all evening to eat dinner, call all their friends and use the bathroom but immediately upon leaving the terminal, out come the lunch bags, snack packages or cell phones, for some, a veritable smorsgabord of goodies accompanied by the squeaks, beeps, squawks and various tunes of their cell phones. And a steady stream of people for the tiny bathroom. Since I had the misfortune of sitting at the rear of the bus, I was subjected to repeated bumps and shoves as each squeezed past my seat.
I found myself seated beside a lady of proportions somewhat in excess of the width of her seat who had an MP3-playing cell phone and who sang along with her tunes when not responding to her phone's repeated bleatings of "Miss you have a text message." The previous occupant of my seat had folded the aisle arm rest down and for the life of me I could not figure out how to raise it. I spent the first leg of the trip in mortal danger of tumbling out of my seat onto the floor of the aisle. Welcome to bus Hell.
We stopped at Lewiston to cross the border (looooong slow lineup at Immigration then collect luggage and pass through Customs), Buffalo to change drivers, Syracuse for a snack, (at 3:00 AM for Goodness sake... who wants to snack?), NYC for a 3-hour layover (the Port Authority Terminal hasn't changed in decades) and bus change, Baltimore for another meal break, (Sbarro pepperoni slice - not bad), Richmond for a second bus change and another 3-hour layover (the only seat available in the terminal was next to the garbage can - I wonder why it was available - and about a zillion flies), and finally Charlottesville 24 hours later.
I have never been so tired.
This lovely lady, and seller who is of some advanced years, met me there and promptly got lost finding her way out of the terminal and to her vehicle. Oh, boy!
We find her truck and surprise surprise, we don't have the detailed maps of Charlottesville I had sent her and she has no idea how she found the bus terminal let alone how to find her way back to the highway. Not to be delayed by incidentals such as going in the right direction, we hurtled off for some random point - at a high rate of speed.
When, 15 minutes later, I see the bus terminal sailing by, I gave up all hope. Like that guy in the song lost on the Boston Transit. Finally we stumble on a sign pointing to the Interstate. Pure dumb luck. Then my chauffeur informs me that she really doesn't like driving at night. Great! She's chatting away like a three year old who's eaten too much chocolate cake and I'm needing toothpicks to keep my eyes open. The speedo is somewhere north of 80.
She stays in her lane by jerking to the right or left when she hears the BBBBBRRRRRRPPPPP of her tires on the edges of the lane.
Finally, we turn down a driveway lined with pine trees and pull up in front of the largest garage I've ever seen. And there, in the garage is my baby. I mumble apologies about being so exhausted and when she opens the door to show me the inside, I almost fall on my face. We say our goodnights and I tumble into a deep dark pit of exhaustion and neither see or hear anything until 8:00 AM the next morning when a cheery voice pipes at the door, "Good morning, Ginger. I have a cup of coffee for you here."
Oh boy! I'm there.
Ginger
1. Getting there
2. Being there
3. Getting back.
This is Part One: Getting There
There were three ways to get there (the northern part of Virginia where my LD resided), air, train and bus. Air was out right from the start since I don't have a passport. There appears to be no way to get from Toronto to Harrisonburg, (or anywhere near there), in less than two days by train. Hell, it's only about 650 miles! So that leaves the bus. Twenty-four hours, and $150.00 later I find myself in Charlottesburg VA.
What is it about bus travelers? We left the terminal at 9:30 PM. Most of these people have had all day, or at least all evening to eat dinner, call all their friends and use the bathroom but immediately upon leaving the terminal, out come the lunch bags, snack packages or cell phones, for some, a veritable smorsgabord of goodies accompanied by the squeaks, beeps, squawks and various tunes of their cell phones. And a steady stream of people for the tiny bathroom. Since I had the misfortune of sitting at the rear of the bus, I was subjected to repeated bumps and shoves as each squeezed past my seat.
I found myself seated beside a lady of proportions somewhat in excess of the width of her seat who had an MP3-playing cell phone and who sang along with her tunes when not responding to her phone's repeated bleatings of "Miss you have a text message." The previous occupant of my seat had folded the aisle arm rest down and for the life of me I could not figure out how to raise it. I spent the first leg of the trip in mortal danger of tumbling out of my seat onto the floor of the aisle. Welcome to bus Hell.
We stopped at Lewiston to cross the border (looooong slow lineup at Immigration then collect luggage and pass through Customs), Buffalo to change drivers, Syracuse for a snack, (at 3:00 AM for Goodness sake... who wants to snack?), NYC for a 3-hour layover (the Port Authority Terminal hasn't changed in decades) and bus change, Baltimore for another meal break, (Sbarro pepperoni slice - not bad), Richmond for a second bus change and another 3-hour layover (the only seat available in the terminal was next to the garbage can - I wonder why it was available - and about a zillion flies), and finally Charlottesville 24 hours later.
I have never been so tired.
This lovely lady, and seller who is of some advanced years, met me there and promptly got lost finding her way out of the terminal and to her vehicle. Oh, boy!
We find her truck and surprise surprise, we don't have the detailed maps of Charlottesville I had sent her and she has no idea how she found the bus terminal let alone how to find her way back to the highway. Not to be delayed by incidentals such as going in the right direction, we hurtled off for some random point - at a high rate of speed.
When, 15 minutes later, I see the bus terminal sailing by, I gave up all hope. Like that guy in the song lost on the Boston Transit. Finally we stumble on a sign pointing to the Interstate. Pure dumb luck. Then my chauffeur informs me that she really doesn't like driving at night. Great! She's chatting away like a three year old who's eaten too much chocolate cake and I'm needing toothpicks to keep my eyes open. The speedo is somewhere north of 80.
She stays in her lane by jerking to the right or left when she hears the BBBBBRRRRRRPPPPP of her tires on the edges of the lane.
Finally, we turn down a driveway lined with pine trees and pull up in front of the largest garage I've ever seen. And there, in the garage is my baby. I mumble apologies about being so exhausted and when she opens the door to show me the inside, I almost fall on my face. We say our goodnights and I tumble into a deep dark pit of exhaustion and neither see or hear anything until 8:00 AM the next morning when a cheery voice pipes at the door, "Good morning, Ginger. I have a cup of coffee for you here."
Oh boy! I'm there.
Ginger
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The Search Goes On
The search goes on. Thank goodness I didn't get embroiled in that money-pit in Memphis.
The next breakthrough - I discover Craig's List. No, wait a sec, let me back up. I had been looking for LDs in the on-line RV Trader sites (two of them) and in the for sale section of the Yahoo Lazy Daze group plus random and irregular Google searches of the web. It seemed, to me, that there was a vast black hole somewhere in the universe into which all 1992 26.5' Lazy Dazes were tumbling. I found everything but what I wanted and needed.
Then, someone posted on the Yahoo group that they had found the LD they wanted through massive searches of Craig's List. (By the way, it was a 1992 - major bummer and goodly amounts of envy - that should have been my LD).So I added this to my now daily search regimen. Oh my aching fingers.
As it turns out, all that Craig's List-ing was unnecessary. I found my LD on the RV Trader site. It was a terrible ad: not even a picture, no mention of what floorplan, colour or optional equipment. But it was the right year and length. It was a private ad posted by a lady in Virginia. Well! That sure beats California and even Tennessee for distance. For me, that's just through New York and Pennsylvania and presto! there's Virginia. Well, OK, there's Maryland too and maybe a bit of West Virginia but just tiny bits. Hardly worth mentioning, right?
By the way, why does West Virginia exist? Why isn't it all just Virginia? Or why isn't it West Virginia and East Virginia? Same goes for North and South Carolina, North and South Dakota. We Canadians don't chop provinces up into North and South Alberta or East and West Ontario. Oh well... Anyway, back to the saga.
I called the seller who turned out to be a delightful lady by the name of Wilma. She had bought a newer 30 foot LD and this, of course, necessitated selling the older one. The one she was selling sounded to be in very good shape, well maintained and with some nice extra goodies such as two, count 'em, two solar panels and six newish tires. On the down side it was my least favourite floorplan - the Rear Bath - and the colour was silver which comes out better only than brown but by a vanishingly small margin.She was happy to have someone come and look it over and even take it to an RV dealer for a professional going-over. We had a nice chat about Lazy Dazes and this 'n that. She was quite a chatter-box and totally charming. I liked her right from the start. I almost told her I would buy it then and there but I restrained myself.
Images of senior citizen con artists popped into my head just in time. I saw visions of banks of computer terminals manned by grey haired retirees in headsets sweet-talking us youngsters out of our hard-earned savings. Yeah, right... Anyway, a cooler head prevailed and I set out to find an evaluator samaritan or at least a local RV dealer, deep in the terra incognita hills, (they call them mountains), of Virginia.
I posted a request in the Yahoo "lifeinalazydazerv" group for someone, who I would compensate, who was near the RV's location, who could take a look and/or maybe deal with the local RV service operation on my behalf. Now, this wasn't such an unreasonable request: people made them all the time and usually someone responds positively. Not this time. Someone made the suggestion of just contacting a local RV shop. Well, hmmm, I guess...
I decided to post the same request in the Internet news group rec.outdoors.rv-travel (RORT). Now, moderated groups like the Yahoo LD group and kind of warm and fuzzy: friendly and supportive. Un-moderated newsgroups like RORT are more free-wheeling, edgy and sometimes downright mean. Kinda like the difference between Pleasantville and New York City. I had few hopes of finding my "white knight" and some fear of getting smacked around (electronically speaking). But nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I posted my story and request and waited......
My white knight, who shall hence forward be referred to as "Sir Frank", answered and volunteered to go for a looksee. I immediately called Wilma and asked if she would be alright with this, (older lady, strange man, could be a problem), but she was fine. (I later learned that not much fazes Wilma.) I gave her the details and passed on hers to Sir Frank. And immediately began fussing.
While we're waiting for the results I'll tell you a snippet about Wilma. To begin, this lady is past retirement age and a couple of decades older than me. I have no plans to climb up into the over-cab bed to sleep. Uh, uh, not me, no way. The reason she bought the bigger unit was to get a proper bed, on ground zero so to speak, on the insistence of her son who isn't OK with her climbing up into and out of the over-cab bed. She had no problem with it herself. And that sums up Wilma. Adventurous and fearless. Back to the story.
After a couple of days of world-class fussing I come home to voice mail from Sir Frank and e-mail with a link to a web page he had set up with pictures!!!! He was shown everything but the water heater - no water in the rig - and assured that the non-functioning dash air would be repaired. Everything worked as expected and was found as described. The rig was clean and in good shape and he recommended buying it. He also mentioned that while he was there, Wilma took a call from another interested party.
Even though it wasn't the desired floorplan and colour, I wasn't going to let it get away from me. I called Wima, made her an offer and she accepted! So, two years of study, wishing, hoping, dreaming, envy and of course, fussing, were finally coming to an end and I (almost) owned a Lazy Daze RV - my first motorhome.
Good grief, what have I done? Well, I've spent a largish sum of money on a complex machine in a foreign country owned by a stranger on the advice of a stranger which I must navigate across 650 miles and an international border - all by myself.
Are you curious to see her?
Pretty, isn't she?
Catch you later,
Ginger
The next breakthrough - I discover Craig's List. No, wait a sec, let me back up. I had been looking for LDs in the on-line RV Trader sites (two of them) and in the for sale section of the Yahoo Lazy Daze group plus random and irregular Google searches of the web. It seemed, to me, that there was a vast black hole somewhere in the universe into which all 1992 26.5' Lazy Dazes were tumbling. I found everything but what I wanted and needed.
Then, someone posted on the Yahoo group that they had found the LD they wanted through massive searches of Craig's List. (By the way, it was a 1992 - major bummer and goodly amounts of envy - that should have been my LD).
As it turns out, all that Craig's List-ing was unnecessary. I found my LD on the RV Trader site. It was a terrible ad: not even a picture, no mention of what floorplan, colour or optional equipment. But it was the right year and length. It was a private ad posted by a lady in Virginia. Well! That sure beats California and even Tennessee for distance. For me, that's just through New York and Pennsylvania and presto! there's Virginia. Well, OK, there's Maryland too and maybe a bit of West Virginia but just tiny bits. Hardly worth mentioning, right?
By the way, why does West Virginia exist? Why isn't it all just Virginia? Or why isn't it West Virginia and East Virginia? Same goes for North and South Carolina, North and South Dakota. We Canadians don't chop provinces up into North and South Alberta or East and West Ontario. Oh well... Anyway, back to the saga.
I called the seller who turned out to be a delightful lady by the name of Wilma. She had bought a newer 30 foot LD and this, of course, necessitated selling the older one. The one she was selling sounded to be in very good shape, well maintained and with some nice extra goodies such as two, count 'em, two solar panels and six newish tires. On the down side it was my least favourite floorplan - the Rear Bath - and the colour was silver which comes out better only than brown but by a vanishingly small margin.
Images of senior citizen con artists popped into my head just in time. I saw visions of banks of computer terminals manned by grey haired retirees in headsets sweet-talking us youngsters out of our hard-earned savings. Yeah, right... Anyway, a cooler head prevailed and I set out to find an evaluator samaritan or at least a local RV dealer, deep in the terra incognita hills, (they call them mountains), of Virginia.
I posted a request in the Yahoo "lifeinalazydazerv" group for someone, who I would compensate, who was near the RV's location, who could take a look and/or maybe deal with the local RV service operation on my behalf. Now, this wasn't such an unreasonable request: people made them all the time and usually someone responds positively. Not this time. Someone made the suggestion of just contacting a local RV shop. Well, hmmm, I guess...
I decided to post the same request in the Internet news group rec.outdoors.rv-travel (RORT). Now, moderated groups like the Yahoo LD group and kind of warm and fuzzy: friendly and supportive. Un-moderated newsgroups like RORT are more free-wheeling, edgy and sometimes downright mean. Kinda like the difference between Pleasantville and New York City. I had few hopes of finding my "white knight" and some fear of getting smacked around (electronically speaking). But nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I posted my story and request and waited......
My white knight, who shall hence forward be referred to as "Sir Frank", answered and volunteered to go for a looksee. I immediately called Wilma and asked if she would be alright with this, (older lady, strange man, could be a problem), but she was fine. (I later learned that not much fazes Wilma.) I gave her the details and passed on hers to Sir Frank. And immediately began fussing.
While we're waiting for the results I'll tell you a snippet about Wilma. To begin, this lady is past retirement age and a couple of decades older than me. I have no plans to climb up into the over-cab bed to sleep. Uh, uh, not me, no way. The reason she bought the bigger unit was to get a proper bed, on ground zero so to speak, on the insistence of her son who isn't OK with her climbing up into and out of the over-cab bed. She had no problem with it herself. And that sums up Wilma. Adventurous and fearless. Back to the story.
After a couple of days of world-class fussing I come home to voice mail from Sir Frank and e-mail with a link to a web page he had set up with pictures!!!! He was shown everything but the water heater - no water in the rig - and assured that the non-functioning dash air would be repaired. Everything worked as expected and was found as described. The rig was clean and in good shape and he recommended buying it. He also mentioned that while he was there, Wilma took a call from another interested party.
Even though it wasn't the desired floorplan and colour, I wasn't going to let it get away from me. I called Wima, made her an offer and she accepted! So, two years of study, wishing, hoping, dreaming, envy and of course, fussing, were finally coming to an end and I (almost) owned a Lazy Daze RV - my first motorhome.
Good grief, what have I done? Well, I've spent a largish sum of money on a complex machine in a foreign country owned by a stranger on the advice of a stranger which I must navigate across 650 miles and an international border - all by myself.
Are you curious to see her?
Pretty, isn't she?
Catch you later,
Ginger
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Catching Up
Oh, my! The last post here was way back in March. So much has happened... where to begin.
Firstly, let me till you "the rest of the story" about the Lazy Daze in Tennessee. That darn rig caused me more fussing than any broken romance. I checked that ad - at least weekly, (oh OK OK almost daily), - until it disappeared. Poof! Much regret and second-guessing followed. I should have bought it and stored it 'til July. I watched the ads like a hawk for other '92s for sale; not even one. Then, in July when I hadn't found another unit and the original one would have been importable I found "my" LD in someone's blog. I was searching the 'net for Lazy Dazes for sale, and came across the blog of the scoundrel who had purchased "my" LD.
Well, let me tell you, did he ever buy himself a world of hurt. If he paid the price the owner had was asking me, he got fleeced good and proper. The blog didn't say whether he knew about the rig's problems before he bought it or whether he knew but didn't understand the cost to repair the damage or what, but the rig had been leaking around the fridge vent for some time and the wall and floor was rotted. The rot was so bad that when he filled the fresh water tank you could see the side panel open up as a result of the floor sagging under the weight of the full tank.
This is a very bad situation. In an RV, water is not on your side. Sometimes, my friends, things happen for a reason. If this guy is handy and he was savvy about the water damage and negotiated hard for a much reduced price then he may come out of this with a rig suited to his needs. I do not need a project. I am not handy. Don't want to learn how to be handy. I want a rig where everything works and I will pay people to keep them working.
Here's a link to the poor soul's blog. I have forgiven him for snatching "my" Lazy Daze.
http://www.coxontool.com/index.php/LazyDaze/HomePage
And here's a link to the water damage page.
http://www.coxontool.com/index.php/LazyDaze/MajorWaterLeak
It took until August to find the right rig for me. It wasn't exactly what I was looking for but it was perfect for me. I will post the saga of my journey acquiring it and getting it home.
Catch you later,
Ginger
Firstly, let me till you "the rest of the story" about the Lazy Daze in Tennessee. That darn rig caused me more fussing than any broken romance. I checked that ad - at least weekly, (oh OK OK almost daily), - until it disappeared. Poof! Much regret and second-guessing followed. I should have bought it and stored it 'til July. I watched the ads like a hawk for other '92s for sale; not even one. Then, in July when I hadn't found another unit and the original one would have been importable I found "my" LD in someone's blog. I was searching the 'net for Lazy Dazes for sale, and came across the blog of the scoundrel who had purchased "my" LD.
Well, let me tell you, did he ever buy himself a world of hurt. If he paid the price the owner had was asking me, he got fleeced good and proper. The blog didn't say whether he knew about the rig's problems before he bought it or whether he knew but didn't understand the cost to repair the damage or what, but the rig had been leaking around the fridge vent for some time and the wall and floor was rotted. The rot was so bad that when he filled the fresh water tank you could see the side panel open up as a result of the floor sagging under the weight of the full tank.
This is a very bad situation. In an RV, water is not on your side. Sometimes, my friends, things happen for a reason. If this guy is handy and he was savvy about the water damage and negotiated hard for a much reduced price then he may come out of this with a rig suited to his needs. I do not need a project. I am not handy. Don't want to learn how to be handy. I want a rig where everything works and I will pay people to keep them working.
Here's a link to the poor soul's blog. I have forgiven him for snatching "my" Lazy Daze.
http://www.coxontool.com/index.php/LazyDaze/HomePage
And here's a link to the water damage page.
http://www.coxontool.com/index.php/LazyDaze/MajorWaterLeak
It took until August to find the right rig for me. It wasn't exactly what I was looking for but it was perfect for me. I will post the saga of my journey acquiring it and getting it home.
Catch you later,
Ginger
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Bessa Me Mucho
The famous Life Magazine photograph taken by Alfred Eisenstaedt I'm weird, I admit it. Valentine's Day was over a month ago and I got to thinking about kissing now. So Idecided to Google "history of kissing"... 1,310,000 entries later... well not exactly. There were, 1,310,00 entries: I didn't read them all, just the first 100 or so promising ones. If was a fun way to spend a couple of hours. I'd like to share some of this stuff with you.
Most of what follows are direct quotes from various web sites. There's lots more where each comes from so click the link following the exerpt to get the whole story. Well here goes.
No one really knows where the first smooch came from. One less-than-romantic theory suggests it began with ancient mothers passing chewed-up food to babies, which is 1) not sexy, and 2) gross. And kissing isn’t universal: People in Japan and Siberia only started kissing relatively recently, and some sub-Saharan African societies still don’t do it.
The erotic significance of the kiss didn’t come dominant in Europe until the 17th century. Not coincidentally, that was around the same time that dentists in France first promoted the use of toothbrushes. (Yes, the French were on the cutting edge of dental hygiene!) Before toothbrushes, the average European mouth was such a grim place that 16th-century maids often carried clove-studded apples when courting, insisting their suitors take a bite before attempting a kiss.
http://www.neatorama.com/2007/03/09/k-i-s-s-i-n-g-tidbits-from-the-history-of-kissing/
The article above, from mental_floss’ book Scatterbrained. is published in Neatorama with permission.
[Wow! I quoted a quote. Ginger]
----------------------------------
References to kissing did not appear until 1500 B.C. when historians found four major texts in the Vedic Sanskrit literature of India that suggested an early form of kissing. "There are references to the custom of rubbing and pressing noses together. This practice, it is recorded, was a sign of affection, especially between lovers," Bryant said. "This is not kissing as we know it today, but we believe it may have been its earliest beginning."
About 500 to 1,000 years later, the epic Mahabharata, contained references suggesting that affection between people was expressed by lip kissing. Later, the Kama Sutra, a classic text on erotica, contained many examples of erotic kissing and kissing techniques.
With the conquering armies of Alexander the Great, the Greeks learned about kissing from the Indians, then helped spread the practice throughout Europe and Asia around 326 B.C.
However, Bryant says, the Romans should be credited for popularizing kissing. They had several forms of kissing, including the osculum, which was a kiss of friendship often delivered as a peck on the cheek as a form of affection, not passion. This was such a popular form of kissing that members of the Roman senate often exchanged this sign of affection at the opening of each session. Non-senators would kiss a senator's toga as a sign of respect for the person and his office.
http://giving.tamu.edu/libarts/content/newsandevents/headlinenews/news.php?get=212&area=1
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Kissing as symbolism
A symbolic kissWhen not an expression of affection, a kiss is a largely symbolic gesture in that the purpose of the kiss is to convey a meaning, such as salutations or subordination, rather than to experience the physical sensations associated with kissing.
Kisses on the cheek as salutations are traditional in many parts of continental Europe, and the number of kisses, alternating cheeks, depends on which region one comes from.
Kissing may also be used to signify reverence and subordination, as in kissing the ring of a queen or other figure. A kiss can also be rude or done for the sake of irritating or proving one's superiority.
[Like dominance humping by dogs? Ginger]
A more ominous use of the kiss is as a symbol of condemnation as may be observed when a crime lord kisses an underling, in effect imposing a death sentence upon that person, the ultimate "goodbye kiss" or the "kiss of death". Indeed, Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss.
Kissing is a complex behaviour that requires significant muscular coordination; in fact, a total of twenty muscles working cooperatively.
The 1896 short film The Kiss featured the first known screen kiss, a forty-seven second recreation of a stage kiss from the musical The Widow Jones. The movie was considered scandalous at the time of its release but has since entered film history as one of the most memorable early films. The longest onscreen kiss was performed by Gregory Smith and Stephanie Sherrin in the 2005 film Kids in America and lasted "just over six minutes."
The Romans distinguished three types of kiss: osculum, a friendship kiss on the cheek; basium, a kiss of affection on the lips; and suavium (also known as savium), a lovers' deep kiss.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kiss
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Until 1528, the holy kiss was part of Catholic mass. In the 13th century, the Catholic Church substituted a pax board, which the congregation kissed instead of kissing one another. The Protestant Reformation in the 1500s removed the kiss from Protestant services entirely.
But not all kisses have been happy events. Works of literature like "Romeo and Juliet" have portrayed kisses as dangerous or deadly when shared between the wrong people. Some folklorists and literary critics view vampirism as symbolic of the physical and emotional dangers that can come from kissing the wrong person.
Kiss of Judas
One of the Western world's most famous kisses is the kiss
Judas Iscariot used to betray Jesus shortly before his crucifixion. This kiss had an influence on Christian spiritual practices. Early church sects omitted the holy kiss – or abstained from kissing entirely – on Maundy Thursday. Maundy Thursday is the Thursday before Easter and the day used to commemorate the Last Supper, after which Judas betrayed Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.
When you really think about it, kissing is pretty gross. It involves saliva and mucous membranes, and it may have historical roots in chewed-up food. Experts estimate that hundreds or even millions of bacterial colonies move from one mouth to another during a kiss. Doctors have also linked kissing to the spread of diseases like meningitis, herpes and mononucleosis.
Yet anthropologists report that 90 percent of the people in the world kiss. Most people look forward to their first romantic kiss and remember it for the rest of their lives. Parents kiss children, worshippers kiss religious artifacts and couples kiss each other. Some people even kiss the ground when they get off an airplane.
So how does one gesture come to signify affection, celebration, grief, comfort and respect, all over the world? No one knows for sure, but anthropologists think kissing might have originated with human mothers feeding their babies much the way birds do. Mothers would chew the food and then pass it from their mouths to their babies' mouths. After the babies learned to eat solid food, their mothers may have kissed them to comfort them or to show affection.
Do We Have to Hear the Kissing Part?
Modern research suggests that just about every culture on the planet kisses. However, anthropologists and ethnologists have described a few cultures in Asia, Africa and South America that do not kiss at all. Some of these cultures view kissing as disgusting or distasteful. However, other researchers point out that these societies may view kissing as too private to discuss with strangers. In other words, they might kiss but not talk about it.
Kissing the Blarney Stone
Tourists visiting Ireland often stop by Blarney Castle near Cork to kiss the Blarney Stone. It's said that kissing the stone bestows the kisser with the gift of blarney, or eloquence. Kissing the Blarney Stone takes a lot more than just lips. To reach it, people have to lie on their backs, hold a set of handrails and tip their heads backwards until they are essentially upside down.
Anyone who has ever been kissed knows that the sensations involved aren't confined to the mouth. Your facial nerve carries impulses between your brain and the muscles and skin in your face and tongue. While you kiss, it carries messages from your lips, tongue and face to your brain to tell it what's going on.
Your brain responds by ordering your body to produce:
Oxytocin, which helps people develop feelings of attachment, devotion and affection for one another
Dopamine, which plays a role in the brain's processing of emotions, pleasure and pain
Serotonin, which affects a person's mood and feelings
Adrenaline, which increases heart rate and plays a role in your body's fight-or-flight response
http://people.howstuffworks.com/kissing1.htm
---------------------------------------------------------
When parents kiss their children it means one thing, but when they kiss each other it means something entirely different. People will greet a total stranger with a kiss on the cheek, and then use an identical gesture to express their most intimate feelings to a lover. The mob kingpin gives the kiss of death, Catholics give the "kiss of peace," Jews kiss the Torah, nervous flyers kiss the ground, and the enraged sometimes demand that a kiss be applied to their hindquarters. Judas kissed Jesus, Madonna kissed Britney, a gambler kisses the dice for luck. Someone once even kissed a car for 54 hours straight.
The German language has words for 30 different kinds of kisses, including nachküssen, which is defined as a kiss "making up for kisses that have been omitted."
There are two possibilities: Either the kiss is a human universal, one of the constellation of innate traits, including language and laughter, that unites us as a
species, or it is an invention, like fire or wearing clothes, an idea so good that it was bound to metastasize across the globe.
Scientists have found evidence for both hypotheses. Other species engage in behavior that looks an awful lot like the smooch (though without its erotic overtones), which implies that kissing might be just as animalistic an impulse as it sometimes feels. Snails caress each other with their antennae, birds touch beaks, and many mammals lick each other's snouts. Chimpanzees even give platonic pecks on the lips. But only humans and our lascivious primate cousins the bonobos engage in full-fledged tongue-on-tongue tonsil- hockey.
All across Africa, the Pacific and the Americas, we find cultures that didn't know about mouth kissing until their first contact with European explorers. And the attraction was not always immediately apparent. Most considered the act of exchanging saliva revolting.
Among the Lapps of northern Finland, both sexes would bathe together in a state of complete nudity, but kissing was regarded as beyond the pale.
To this day, public kissing is still seen as indecent in many parts of the world. In 1990, the Beijing-based Workers' Daily advised its readers that "the invasive Europeans brought the kissing custom to China, but it is regarded as a vulgar practice which is all too suggestive of cannibalism."
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/14/opinion/14foer.html?
ex=1297573200&en=64bad474e17f3713&ei=5088&
------------------------------------------
Ooh la la! – The “French” Kiss
Smooching Culture
The Japanese have always been extremely bashful about kissing, as puckering up in public is considered taboo On the other hand, many Southern Europeans have a more liberal attitude toward sex, making PDAs (personal displays of affection) an acceptable practice In Belgium, respecting your elders is a primary concern during greetings. When someone is 10 years your senior, it is commonly-accepted to bestow them with three kisses
http://www.closeup.com/news/news_kisstory.asp
---------------------------------------------
In For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ingrid Bergman -- playing a girl who's never been kissed before -- is about to be smooched by Gary Cooper, and she asks "Where do the noses go?"
Fess up -- that was the same thing you worried about on your first date, wasn't it?
Kissing Under the Mistletoe Derives From Norse Myths -
[I'm not going to quote parts of this great little story about kissing under the Mistletoe. But I bet you'll enjoy it. Ginger]
http://holidays.about.com/od/decorationscelebrations/a/mistletoe_2.htm
Here's a great little book for you or your sweetheart.
[Hmmm, I wonder how "sweetheart" came into favour as a term of endearment? Why not "sweetliver"? or sweetspleen? Ginger]
Saturday, December 23, 2006
My Friend Andy
Andy is my hero. He had a great job in the tech industry, a condo and what appeared to be a very nice life. But he wasn't happy with this so he bought an old motorhome, sold everything (including the condo) and hit the road. He hasn't looked back since, unless you count geographically. :-)
Buying the motorhome was his first step and the RV he chose was a 22 foot 1985 Lazy Daze, class C. He vacationed in "Gertie" for a couple of years before going full-time. It's hard to believe that a person can be comfortable living in just 176 square feet of space but Andy was and from photos of Gertie she appeared to be very homey.
This is almost exactly what I want to do. I will - eventually - find my Lazy Daze (a 26.5 footer for me), vacation in it for a while and then pull up anchor and hit the road for as long as it feels good and I'm healthy enough to do it.
Andy's an interesting guy and Lazy Daze RVs are interesting rigs. I've addd a link to Andy's blog. If you're interested in RV-ing I recommend you check it out. As for LDs, they have an almost cult-like following. The Yahoo LD group is a good read.
All the best for Christmas and the New Year.
Ginger
Buying the motorhome was his first step and the RV he chose was a 22 foot 1985 Lazy Daze, class C. He vacationed in "Gertie" for a couple of years before going full-time. It's hard to believe that a person can be comfortable living in just 176 square feet of space but Andy was and from photos of Gertie she appeared to be very homey.
This is almost exactly what I want to do. I will - eventually - find my Lazy Daze (a 26.5 footer for me), vacation in it for a while and then pull up anchor and hit the road for as long as it feels good and I'm healthy enough to do it.
Andy's an interesting guy and Lazy Daze RVs are interesting rigs. I've addd a link to Andy's blog. If you're interested in RV-ing I recommend you check it out. As for LDs, they have an almost cult-like following. The Yahoo LD group is a good read.
All the best for Christmas and the New Year.
Ginger
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Dang Me!
Have I blown an opportunity???
You may or may not remember (heck, you may have not read it at all) in my "About Me" write-up, I mentioned that I am interested in RVing. I fell in love with the Lazy Daze brand of RV and wanted one for weekends and vacations now and as a permanent residence when I retire and hit the road. Now there aren't a lot of Lazy Daze's around: the LD company is a small privately owned business in Montclair CA that sells direct from the factory only - no dealerships - maybe only a few hundred coaches per year.
They are not imported into Canada. In fact, LD has never bothered to acquire Canadian approval. How can you blame them? However, there is a loophole of sorts. Any RV over 15 years old can be imported. This would mean that next year, 2007, I could import a 1992 unit. So, back in January I started watching to see how many 1992's were listed for sale in the size and style I preferred. Guess how many there've been?
One. Two weeks ago.
It was in Tennessee... not so far as Arizona or California. Also, the friend of a friend was going to be in Memphis (where it was) that weekend and was willing to go and take a look at it for me... gratis. Wow! Was this Kismet or Karma or something?! I began assembling the forms and rules I would need to get this thing across the border. To my dismay, I found that to be legal, the unit must be 15 years old based not on model year but on year and MONTH of manufacture. Oh, nooo...... I contacted the seller and learned the unit was manufactured in July 1992. It wouldn't be "legal" until July 2007.
What to do. I could go ahead and buy it and pay to store it in the States for over six months or give it a pass and hope for another. (Or hope it doesn't sell in six months - fat chance.) Cheap-Ginger won and I gave it a pass. Now I compulsively check the ad every day to see if/when "my" RV sells.
I think I screwed up.
Take a rope and hang me.
Ginger
You may or may not remember (heck, you may have not read it at all) in my "About Me" write-up, I mentioned that I am interested in RVing. I fell in love with the Lazy Daze brand of RV and wanted one for weekends and vacations now and as a permanent residence when I retire and hit the road. Now there aren't a lot of Lazy Daze's around: the LD company is a small privately owned business in Montclair CA that sells direct from the factory only - no dealerships - maybe only a few hundred coaches per year.
They are not imported into Canada. In fact, LD has never bothered to acquire Canadian approval. How can you blame them? However, there is a loophole of sorts. Any RV over 15 years old can be imported. This would mean that next year, 2007, I could import a 1992 unit. So, back in January I started watching to see how many 1992's were listed for sale in the size and style I preferred. Guess how many there've been?
One. Two weeks ago.
It was in Tennessee... not so far as Arizona or California. Also, the friend of a friend was going to be in Memphis (where it was) that weekend and was willing to go and take a look at it for me... gratis. Wow! Was this Kismet or Karma or something?! I began assembling the forms and rules I would need to get this thing across the border. To my dismay, I found that to be legal, the unit must be 15 years old based not on model year but on year and MONTH of manufacture. Oh, nooo...... I contacted the seller and learned the unit was manufactured in July 1992. It wouldn't be "legal" until July 2007.
What to do. I could go ahead and buy it and pay to store it in the States for over six months or give it a pass and hope for another. (Or hope it doesn't sell in six months - fat chance.) Cheap-Ginger won and I gave it a pass. Now I compulsively check the ad every day to see if/when "my" RV sells.
I think I screwed up.
Take a rope and hang me.
Ginger
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Easy Peasy Bracelet
I made a bunch of these very easy little bracelets at Christmastime as gifts for my clients this year. Each takes about 10 - 15 minutes to make and uses about $1.50 worth of beads. They were hugely popular and generated sales for extras and necklace versions. I expect there will be more orders in the coming year sparked by these inexpensive give-aways.They can be worn singly or in combinations: multipule strands might work too. You will need about 45 size 8/o Delicas and 44 size 11/o seed beads. This will stretch about 6.5 inches. Add an inch for the crimps and clasp and you have a 7.5 inch bracelet. Make it 8.5 - 9 inches and
you have an anklet; 18 - 20 inches, a necklace. The necklace can be threaded through a medium sized bail for a pendant. Wow! A triple threat.
Let's use this simple pattern as an introduction to stringing on wire and attaching clasps.
Stringing materials include thread, ribbon, rubber, leather, string, wire and more. This time we will use Softflex fine wire which comes in 30 and 100 foot spools. There is a worthwhile saving if you purchase the 100' spools but that's a lot of wire... more than 100 bracelets, if
you're careful. If you never use it up, there goes your savings. A 30' spool should be good for up to 35 bracelets or about 15 necklaces.
To attach the wire to the clasp we will use Tornado (twisted) crimps. Wire attachments come as crimp beads, crimp tubes, screw tightened crimps, twisted crimps plus bead tips and more. Crimp beads or bead tips would be less expensive and I will demonstrate them in future discussions. (We're using Tornados since that is what I used in these bracelets.)
I used a plain silver plated lobster clasp and tab. I won't attempt to list all the different kinds of clasps but we'll get to them all... eventually. Lobster clasps are popular: they work equally well for necklaces or for blacelets. They are secure and, if you select the right kind, you can avoid jump rings. Yea!
Using Beading Wire
For stringing, I use beading wire way more often then thread, even
though it's more expensive. The fine weight wire "hangs" as nicely as
thread. In fact, for light beads, it adds more weight that in my
opinion makes them hang more nicely than thread does. It is stronger
than thread so I don't worry about a bracelet or necklace thread
letting go and the beads getting scattered all over the floor. I prefer
SoftFlex fine but most multi-strand, nylon coated brands are good
products. Tiger Tail does have more of a propensity to "kink" if bent
during assembly.
You can even knot fine beading wire although I don't. I don't trust the
knots to stay, um, knotted.
To begin, pull about 18 inches of wire out of the spool and replace the
"C" shaped keeper. This will lock the wire and prevent more wire from
unwinding. Leave the wire attached to the spool. This will prevent the
beads from falling off the end and it saves wire.
Beginning with an 8/o Delica and finishing with an 8/o Delica, string
alternating 8/o's and 11/o's to the desired length, (6.5 inches for a
7.5 inch bracelet). Make sure you can fit two thicknesses of wire
through the last 11/o.
There are two main reasons for the seed beads between the Delicas. One,
they look nice. Two, they allow the bracelet to bend. If you string
tube beads end to end (snugly enough so that there are no gaps), the
bracelet won't bend. This is true also for all beads that have flat
ends where the stringing material enters and exits. Try it and see. In
a way each seed bead, along with its neighbours, forms a ball joint.
String a Tornado crimp and the "tag" half of the clasp. After the tag,
thread the wire back through the crimp. Leaving an inch or a bit less
of wire exiting the crimp, pull the wire snug so that there is only a
small loop of wire going through the tag.
You should be holding both wires in your non-dominant hand now. - Make
sure the wires do not cross. - Flatten the crimp with your pliers.
NOTE: I have difficulty squeezing the crimps hard enough, especially the genuine band "Tornado" crimps which are heavier weight than the "no names", so I use the ends of my crimping pliers. This is a very small area thereby allowing me to exert much more pressure per square inch.
Now, push three beads along the wire towards the tag and thread the end
of the wire back through them and snip off the end. This is what the
"tag" end should look like.
You are now ready to attach the "lobster".
Slide all of the beads together against the tag you just attached and hold the wire up so the bracelet dangles. Give it a shake or two. This allows the beads to settle against each other. Snip the wire off the spool leaving 1.5 - 2 inches to work with. String a crimp, the lobster
and back through the crimp and the three beads closest to the end.
Pull the wire to snug up the beads so there is no gap and hold onto the end with your non-dominent hand. Flatten the crimp as you did before. For the lobster part of the clasp. You will need a slightly larger loop of wire else the clasp will not align straight with the bracelet: it will tilt off at an angle which although functional dosn't look very professional. To finish snip off the end of the wire.
Ginger
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Klew Expressions
I've just added a link to the Klew Expressions site to my On Topic Links list. This lady, I think her name is Karen Lewis (but I'm not sure), does things with clay I never thought posible. I am in awe of her work. My favourites are her drum beads but it's all good. Here is a sample she has named "Faux Ivory". You can purchase beads, clay, findings, courses and jewellery incorporating her polymer clay beads. (I have no links with or financial relationship with her.)The mainstay of her work is millifiori cut from canes built from colour blends (sometimes called "Skinner" blends named after the author of a technique to make them). But her work doesn't end there. She finishes her beads with stains and washes and transparent layers that raise the bead from something merely pretty to astonishing.
If you have a few moments to browse, pay them a visit.
Ginger
Santa and an Adventure With Grandma
.
I have a friend, Rosemary, who sends me stuff. I have no idea where she gets it... maybe she's on a bunch of lists, or she spends every spare moment surfing. Some of it is political, some inspirational, funny, shocking, but always thought-provoking. I will, from time to time as the spirit moves me, re-produce them here. I hope you enjoy. Here then with no further ado... "Santa and an Adventure With Grandma". Rosemary included no attribution but I know this is not a story from her personal experience.
Ginger
______________________
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker.
He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all the kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough, and he didn't have a coat.
I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it - Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.
Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door, and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby. Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.
That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: "Ridiculous." Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95.
.... Anonymous
I have a friend, Rosemary, who sends me stuff. I have no idea where she gets it... maybe she's on a bunch of lists, or she spends every spare moment surfing. Some of it is political, some inspirational, funny, shocking, but always thought-provoking. I will, from time to time as the spirit moves me, re-produce them here. I hope you enjoy. Here then with no further ado... "Santa and an Adventure With Grandma". Rosemary included no attribution but I know this is not a story from her personal experience.
Ginger
______________________
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker.
He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all the kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough, and he didn't have a coat.
I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it - Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.
Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door, and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby. Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.
That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: "Ridiculous." Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95.
.... Anonymous
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Toggle Technique 2
.
Not so much a technique but a cautionary tale. I used a toggle with a plain, unadorned bar on a necklace. Although plain, it was very fine and looked quite pretty. I will never use a toggle on a necklace if the bar does not have some kind of bump or lump or flatish bit at the ends. (Check the breast cancer awareness bracelet pictured in the very first post from yesterday.) This clasp is an instrument of torture with that bar poking me in the back of my neck like an overactive conscience. One of these days, I'll re-make the necklace with an "S" clasp - my favourite for necklaces. Till then, it's easier to deny myself the pleasure of wearing the necklace.
Not so much a technique but a cautionary tale. I used a toggle with a plain, unadorned bar on a necklace. Although plain, it was very fine and looked quite pretty. I will never use a toggle on a necklace if the bar does not have some kind of bump or lump or flatish bit at the ends. (Check the breast cancer awareness bracelet pictured in the very first post from yesterday.) This clasp is an instrument of torture with that bar poking me in the back of my neck like an overactive conscience. One of these days, I'll re-make the necklace with an "S" clasp - my favourite for necklaces. Till then, it's easier to deny myself the pleasure of wearing the necklace.
Toggle Technique 1
My first effort at beading was a bracelet with a "toggle" clasp. In case you aren't familiar with toggle clasps, I will describe them for you. (I still love them, mostly for bracelets.) A toggle clasp comprises a bar and an "O". The bar is attached to the bracelet (or whatever) at the middle.
To operate the toggle you fold the bar so that it is more or less parallel to the bracelet, poke it all the way through the "O" then straighten it so that the bar is perpendicular to the bracelet. The bars in a toggle set is usually a bit longer than the inside dimension of the "O". This prevents it from pulling out and opening the bracelet.
However, there is a crucial bit of information that isn't immediately obvious with mere observation. (A good life lesson there somewhere.) If the beads are close in diameter to the inside diameter of the toggle's "O" then the bar won't fold down enough for it to pass through the "O". In these cases you must attach the Bar to the bracelet with a short, maybe 3 links, piece of chain (or 3 small jump/split rings chained together) . This way the bar will fold down nice and flat and slide right through the "O".
I didn't allow for this. The bracelet is very pretty, (barring its other manufacturing 'amateurities' but totally unwearable. Sort of like some people, nice to look at but you just can't live with 'em.
To operate the toggle you fold the bar so that it is more or less parallel to the bracelet, poke it all the way through the "O" then straighten it so that the bar is perpendicular to the bracelet. The bars in a toggle set is usually a bit longer than the inside dimension of the "O". This prevents it from pulling out and opening the bracelet.However, there is a crucial bit of information that isn't immediately obvious with mere observation. (A good life lesson there somewhere.) If the beads are close in diameter to the inside diameter of the toggle's "O" then the bar won't fold down enough for it to pass through the "O". In these cases you must attach the Bar to the bracelet with a short, maybe 3 links, piece of chain (or 3 small jump/split rings chained together) . This way the bar will fold down nice and flat and slide right through the "O".
I didn't allow for this. The bracelet is very pretty, (barring its other manufacturing 'amateurities' but totally unwearable. Sort of like some people, nice to look at but you just can't live with 'em.
Monday, November 27, 2006
So Where Are We Going Now
.
What I want to do with this blog is to write/ramble about beads and jewellery. Also, from time to time I may write about other stuff as the spirit moves me. Some of the topics that interest me include RVing & travel, the single life, women's issues, animal rights, photography, early retirement... and other stuff that passes into and out of my field of view.
As for beading, I spent years learning to make nice jewellery, (someday, I want to make great jewellery), I want to share the things I have learned and maybe save you a bit of trial and error frustration. I would also like to offer a question and answer (tutorial) section for folks who may want to ask questions or pose their problems. I will publish tips and techniques, patterns and reccommendations. I may add a "Donation" button, friends say I should, so folks can offer what they think my material is worth to them, if they want.
This is a concept which has worked with computer software. Someone develops a program and offers it to others as "shareware". You can use shareware and pay nothing to the author - nobody will know or do anything about it. But if you find the product useful, you can pay the author what the product is worth to you: only you know that. This honour system is working well enough for authors to continue to develop and release shareware.
I want to see if it works here.
What I want to do with this blog is to write/ramble about beads and jewellery. Also, from time to time I may write about other stuff as the spirit moves me. Some of the topics that interest me include RVing & travel, the single life, women's issues, animal rights, photography, early retirement... and other stuff that passes into and out of my field of view.
As for beading, I spent years learning to make nice jewellery, (someday, I want to make great jewellery), I want to share the things I have learned and maybe save you a bit of trial and error frustration. I would also like to offer a question and answer (tutorial) section for folks who may want to ask questions or pose their problems. I will publish tips and techniques, patterns and reccommendations. I may add a "Donation" button, friends say I should, so folks can offer what they think my material is worth to them, if they want.
This is a concept which has worked with computer software. Someone develops a program and offers it to others as "shareware". You can use shareware and pay nothing to the author - nobody will know or do anything about it. But if you find the product useful, you can pay the author what the product is worth to you: only you know that. This honour system is working well enough for authors to continue to develop and release shareware.
I want to see if it works here.
Links
.
Do you ever surf and let the links take you where they will? I do, from time to time and always amaze myself at where I've ended up. The net is an amazing thing.
I was looking for some info on using a Blog as an e-commerce site and ended up at an entertaining "vegetable soup" blog posted by a fellow named Richard Soderberg. I've included it in my list of Off Topic links. It's called "floating atoll". Give it a peek if you're looking for some interesting, eclectic stuff with a bit of a techie bent.
I've also included a link to Tioga and George one of my favourite sites which I have followed for over a year. George, or rather Jorge at the moment since he is in Mexico now, lives full-time in his motorhome and 99% of the time he "boondocks". Boondocking in the RVing world is camping for free, usually with no services (water, electricity, sewers). He has a child-like writing style (not childish) which is charming, and a philosophy of life to be envied.
I recommend giving vagabonders supreme a looksee.
Do you ever surf and let the links take you where they will? I do, from time to time and always amaze myself at where I've ended up. The net is an amazing thing.
I was looking for some info on using a Blog as an e-commerce site and ended up at an entertaining "vegetable soup" blog posted by a fellow named Richard Soderberg. I've included it in my list of Off Topic links. It's called "floating atoll". Give it a peek if you're looking for some interesting, eclectic stuff with a bit of a techie bent.
I've also included a link to Tioga and George one of my favourite sites which I have followed for over a year. George, or rather Jorge at the moment since he is in Mexico now, lives full-time in his motorhome and 99% of the time he "boondocks". Boondocking in the RVing world is camping for free, usually with no services (water, electricity, sewers). He has a child-like writing style (not childish) which is charming, and a philosophy of life to be envied.
I recommend giving vagabonders supreme a looksee.
It's all Mom's Fault!
Yeah, that's right. Sure...
Mom is artsy: needlework, painting, sewing... you name it. Mom had also moved from a large three bedroom townhome to a small two bedroom apartment undergoing, in the process, the inevitable purge. Out went the paints, sewing machine, and other artsy stuff. Ruthless that woman is.
Mom is also difficult in the extreme to buy for. "Oh, I don't want anything, Dear. I have everything I need." You've got one of those too, eh? Well, there I was in one of the trendy areas of town and there was the bead shop. They had all these pretty baskets with cellophane shreds and nested there all these little tubes of pretty beads. There was everything you needed to make a jewellery box full of earrings, bracelets, necklaces - even a couple of key rings. It was all I could do not to buy two: one for Mom and one for me. Greedy me.
I have bought Mom clothing I've never seen since. Books that now reside in the building's lending library. Jewellery that's "too nice" for the places she goes.
She really loves the coffee at my place. I use only Colombian beans and use a Bodum coffee press which, in my opinion makes the best coffee anywhere. So, I bought her a bag of Colombian beans, a grinder and a Bodum pot with a matching set of coffee cups. I swear the only time it gets used is when I visit. She always has to get instructions on how much coffee, how to run the grinder etc etc. (She never has to ask how much Tasters Choice to put into the cup.)
One year I figured I'd really cracked the code and bought her a case of edible treats: black olive bread sticks, lobster bisque, a packet of saffron, smoked oysters, Paris toasts... You get the picture. A couple of years later I found them at the back of one of the top shelves in her kitchen. "They're too fancy for me." What should I give her a case of cream of tomato soup and a box of saltines?
Anyway, back to the beads. I was really happy to find the beading kit. I gave it to her with hopeful expectations. She seemed so excited about it but then she always seems excited about the presents I give her. Guess what! I never saw one article that came from that darn kit. Until one day, we were chatting about hobbies and stuff. I mentioned that beading seemed like an interesting hobby. "Just a minute, I have something for you." And off she went. I just knew what was coming back. And there it was, all pretty and shiny with cellophane shreds and lots of little tubes filled with every colour in the rainbow and some no rainbow has ever seen.
"I really haven't had the time to use this - maybe you would like to give it a try." I felt the greed rising in my throat. Oh, OK, I said non-chalantly, unwrapping the basket. Conversation stumbled to a halt while I rooted around in that stash.
That was the beginning of my addiction. And it really was all Mom's fault, right?
This is a set I made for Mom, at her request, to her specification. It is Carnelian and Fire Agate with gold filled findings. I will let you know if/when I ever see it actually on her person.
Mom is artsy: needlework, painting, sewing... you name it. Mom had also moved from a large three bedroom townhome to a small two bedroom apartment undergoing, in the process, the inevitable purge. Out went the paints, sewing machine, and other artsy stuff. Ruthless that woman is.
Mom is also difficult in the extreme to buy for. "Oh, I don't want anything, Dear. I have everything I need." You've got one of those too, eh? Well, there I was in one of the trendy areas of town and there was the bead shop. They had all these pretty baskets with cellophane shreds and nested there all these little tubes of pretty beads. There was everything you needed to make a jewellery box full of earrings, bracelets, necklaces - even a couple of key rings. It was all I could do not to buy two: one for Mom and one for me. Greedy me.
I have bought Mom clothing I've never seen since. Books that now reside in the building's lending library. Jewellery that's "too nice" for the places she goes.
She really loves the coffee at my place. I use only Colombian beans and use a Bodum coffee press which, in my opinion makes the best coffee anywhere. So, I bought her a bag of Colombian beans, a grinder and a Bodum pot with a matching set of coffee cups. I swear the only time it gets used is when I visit. She always has to get instructions on how much coffee, how to run the grinder etc etc. (She never has to ask how much Tasters Choice to put into the cup.)
One year I figured I'd really cracked the code and bought her a case of edible treats: black olive bread sticks, lobster bisque, a packet of saffron, smoked oysters, Paris toasts... You get the picture. A couple of years later I found them at the back of one of the top shelves in her kitchen. "They're too fancy for me." What should I give her a case of cream of tomato soup and a box of saltines?
Anyway, back to the beads. I was really happy to find the beading kit. I gave it to her with hopeful expectations. She seemed so excited about it but then she always seems excited about the presents I give her. Guess what! I never saw one article that came from that darn kit. Until one day, we were chatting about hobbies and stuff. I mentioned that beading seemed like an interesting hobby. "Just a minute, I have something for you." And off she went. I just knew what was coming back. And there it was, all pretty and shiny with cellophane shreds and lots of little tubes filled with every colour in the rainbow and some no rainbow has ever seen.
"I really haven't had the time to use this - maybe you would like to give it a try." I felt the greed rising in my throat. Oh, OK, I said non-chalantly, unwrapping the basket. Conversation stumbled to a halt while I rooted around in that stash.
That was the beginning of my addiction. And it really was all Mom's fault, right?
This is a set I made for Mom, at her request, to her specification. It is Carnelian and Fire Agate with gold filled findings. I will let you know if/when I ever see it actually on her person.
Getting Started
I confess. I am addicted.
I buy beads and make jewellery. The making isn't keeping up with the buying. (Let's not even mention the selling.) Yet I continue buying. How can anyone resist the gold spirals cat, the irridescent pink leaves, the new dusty rose Swarovski crystals...? How did it begin, you ask? Well, it's all Mom's fault. Isn't it always?
Stay tuned for all the dirty details.
The first bracelet I ever sold was just like this one. It's a cancer awareness bracelet using Swarovski crystals, AB glass drucks and sterling silver findings and spacer beads. I am still using the same silver toggle clasp on most of my silver bracelets.
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