Читать книгу I Know How A Butterfly Feels - Ann Palmer - Страница 9

CHAPTER 5

THE FIRST TRIP

When driving a motor home towing a car, one must choose gas stations very carefully so there is easy exit access. In Yucca Valley, I spotted a station that I thought would be an easy exit. After filling the gas tank with $62 worth of gas, I was heading out of the driveway when wham, stuck, the motor home would not budge. I shifted forward and reverse -- nothing! What on earth was I going to do! Days before, I had inquired about emergency service via AAA and Good Sam Club but neither would be in effect for this trip. Who would I call? Oh me, oh my!

No matter what I tried, the motor home would not dislodge! THEN suddenly two Angels appeared in the form of two young Mexican men - one was a mechanic and was even wearing a leg brace. That did not stop him from getting down on the ground, helping to jack up the motor home. The bars on the car had to be removed with the tow parts detached, then part of the hitch had to be removed, finally after two hours work, the motor home at long last moved. I drove it across the street where the one young man, wearing the brace, reattached everything so that the motor home and car were ready to travel. About the same time the manager of the station appeared, not to help but to take a report. I assumed to try to collect off my insurance. One of the young men had left and when I tried to pay the other one, he refused but I insisted he take his girlfriend out for a nice evening and stuck the money in his pocket. I couldn’t believe they could have helped me so much then refused pay for their time. Unfortunately, while I was inside filling out the report with the manager, another motor home snuggled up in front of mine making it impossible to move. After the day I had, very apprehensively, I decided to just fall in bed and stay right there on a side street for the night. They assured me it was safe. My very first night in my new/older motor home was spent on a side street in Yucca Valley, California.

May 22nd - Wednesday - As I observed the damage done by my hitch and recalling the photos taken by the manager, I decided to take photos for my Insurance Company of the many scrapes on that dipping driveway, plus other major cracks in their asphalt. The other motor home was still parked in front blocking mine. I waited and waited for the auto dealership to open assuming the other one was there for repairs. Finally a man arrived -- no, they knew nothing about it. The night before there had been no lights on inside so I also assumed no one was in it. Finally I decided to knock on the door, and much to my surprise, it brought a sleepy-eyed bearded man to the door that was quite accommodating and moved immediately.

I drove on through 29 Palms. Although I had been to the cabin a number of times, I managed to pass the road I was supposed to take - good thing - I would have had to drive miles on a dirt road. Once a car is attached to a motor home you go in one direction – forward. Mark, Martha’s son, has a new SUV and could easily whiz by on the gravel road. Mark took a look at my hitch and said the neck of the ball was too small, etc. We drove into 29 Palms and bought another one $10. Now, this is just to say that had I have bought a NEW hitch in the first place, I would have saved money and had a brand new one. Mark reversed the whole thing so that it was higher and that was the end of my dragging hitch - I hoped…

I am supposed to be psychic and my intuition kept telling me to take Highway 62 and 95 to Vegas, even if it was further but Mark had been so helpful and had drawn a back roads map for me to take the shortcut. I did and a bumpy short cut it was! Worse than the bumps, road workers had just put down new asphalt on part of it. My motor home has a “skirt” dragging the ground to keep stuff from hitting the car -- BUT - when I got to Vegas, I realized my NEW little car was COVERED with asphalt and for months afterwards was still scrapping it off. Anywhere that asphalt could hit the motor home or car, it did. I stopped in Las Vegas to visit with very dear friends. I used their hose, washed and swept off as much of the asphalt as I could but deep in the crevices of the hood cover, asphalt was an inch or more thicker - I was sick about my cute little car but kept reminding myself it is just a material thing! My friend was counting on my staying and having breakfast at her favorite restaurant (not mine), however, I awoke before 6 A.M. and just thinking about getting away later with a heavy breakfast in my stomach when my best driving time is early morning, I cranked up the old girl and off I went on a long day’s drive…

May 23rd - Thursday - At the edge of Vegas, I filled the gas tank again -- another $50. It is a long drive to St. George, Utah and I had seen it all before. When I encountered wind, I had to slow down and hang on to the steering wheel. I stopped in Mesquite, Nevada. I was going to take a quick turn at the slot machines. I got out of the motor home and started walking toward the Casino when I said, “What am I doing, I hate gambling!” I whirled around and back on the road I went.

After leaving Nevada, there is a stretch of Arizona before Utah. The area on the way to St. George is very pretty. The whole state of Utah is gorgeous. I enjoyed the views. When I drive all day, I and the vehicle become one.

Memorial Day weekend was approaching. I really wanted to just get past Salt Lake City as I assumed heavy traffic would begin on Friday. Another $66 for gas in Beaver, Utah, then stopped at a roadside park to fix a sandwich. I did get through all the heavy traffic and road construction around Salt Lake City. Being so new to driving that big thing, heavy traffic is a bit nerve wracking. Finally the traffic and road repair dwindled away and I stopped for another $50 worth of gas near Brigham City, Utah. It was getting to be late afternoon but as I looked at the sun, I knew I had more driving time. What a beautiful drive it was - I always feel sorry for those who do not or cannot get out to see our country! The sun was half hidden behind clouds that created beautiful lighting on the mountains, dotted with snow and fresh shades of green on both sides of the highway. There was a half rainbow visible. The drive was so pleasant without the wind pushing against the motor home and I could just inhale all the beauty that lay before me. By now, I was comfortable driving the big bus. I pushed on as I wanted to cross into Idaho before dark. I did and I kept driving as it was still daylight. Just as it was getting dark, I made it to Pocatello, Idaho where I drove through the town looking for a Wal-Mart to park in their parking lot for the night. I found a very large similar store and parked at the far end of the parking lot. I was uneasy but it had worked OK in Yucca Valley so “Early to bed and early to rise.”

May 24th - Friday – It was one week after my botched birthday and one more beautiful drive - plus another stop for gas in Idaho Falls. From the moment I entered Montana, I could see why it is called “Big Sky” country – with the high altitude and driving between mountains, with the clouds ducking in and out that were hiding the mountain tops, one feels so high up and the sky does seem to be so big - it is truly beautiful and I might add -- cold! I arrived in Gold Creek around noon and waited about an hour just off the skinny barely two lane road for Martha to come and guide me back to her place. I am glad she did as I have a terrible fear of getting stuck where I cannot turn around. Remember, a motor home towing a car cannot be backed up without detaching the car. It was a beautiful day. A sweater or sweatshirt was comfortable. Well - problems had not ended -- trying to get my huge bus across the cattle guard through the narrow gate and then curve it around to go where she was directing me caused me to damage her gate, tear off the drain for my water tank. The water was gushing out of it until I lost all the water in my holding tank and again the hitch was stuck in the ground! Apparently we misunderstood each other. I thought she wanted me to curve around missing farm machinery, as well as her sewer drain field. If I had driven straight in, then maybe backed around after detaching the car, I would have made it without damaging her gate. It is my first real trial in driving the Big Bertha! I felt awful about damaging her gate, then on top of that digging a deep rut. I got two large boards and put them under the back wheels. Martha’s son, Dale, tried to guide me so that the motor home would move out of its stuck position. I rocked “her” back and forth in reverse and forward until she finally moved and I circled around to the area where Martha wanted me to park. It was definitely not a RV parking site as she had told me. It was just in the field. Martha couldn’t remember where the sewer hookup was so we awaited her other son, Tim’s arrival to show us where to hook into it. That took days but my black water tank was not full. We were also waiting for the long Memorial Day weekend to end so that we could go into Missoula. I had to get the proper electrical connector for the motor home and a longer water hose, etc. At long last I was in Montana, after about 15 years of her inviting me to visit. My leg was hurting and beginning to show red. I was concerned about infection.

May 25th, Saturday: Sandy, Martha’s daughter, her ex-husband, her four year old daughter, Tina, Martha and I went on a picnic planning on picking wild flowers to put near Martha’s husband’s ashes but there were few in bloom. Spring seems a bit late this year. Later that day, we had the privilege of watching Tina’s performance at her ballet recital. Tina is such a darling ham! While the older girls were doing their dance, consisting of lying on the floor, with legs moving to the music, Tina was behind the curtain mimicking their movements. She seemed to know the routines better than any of the girls who were performing on stage. She is also a real beauty, with a bit of devilish deeds at times. Later, observing her antics, I felt she needed some psychological help.

The first night I froze – I couldn’t connect my electric blanket because I was operating on the 12-volt system. Not knowing my new home yet, it was just a matter of setting the thermostat - dumb me! Some things have electric starters, except the hot water heater which is what the guy at the dealership told me. Much later I found out that it did work and was just a matter of turning it on at the heater. I was very confused about many other aspects of the motor home. As soon as I had the electricity connected to Martha’s house, my electric blanket was on each night. I was getting all settled in for the summer stay in Montana. Within a few days, I hoped to be all set up to begin the task of digging into writing and completing my unfinished books.

Sunday, May 26^th, it sprinkled all morning. One disappointment was that my niece from Texas was here the week before I arrived. I was looking forward to seeing her but she left with no word of where she was going… Oh well, I was happy to be finished with the anxiety of selling my house, learning to drive a motor home, buying a car to tow, etc. – It was, at last, all finished - then I just need to get my leg well! The entire back of my leg is bruised, about 5” x 7” with a deep gash and blood blisters still weeping. Martha mixed up some clay that I put on my leg hoping it would help. It seems that no matter what I put on it, nothing helps. Along with the continuous weeping, it has been dreadfully painful.

Monday, May 27^th, Memorial Day – The family remembered Tom, Martha’s husband, who died two years ago. In the evening, we each brought food and ate in the picnic area. There is a fire pit and a fire is usually going. After the good meal, we sat around the fire talking. The sound of the water in the creek rushing by, the sawing of the wind in the pines and the smell of the smoke added to the peace and joy I was now cherishing in Montana.

The rest of the week I continued to try to find where I put things and organize my stuff in the storage areas. When the weather was nice in the evening, we gather in the picnic area sharing dinner. It seemed pleasing to commune with a large family. Martha’s son, Dale, had dated me years before. I assumed we went our separate ways and that was that but he is always very irritating. He pretended I didn’t exist. If I brought food, he wouldn’t eat it. He would not speak directly to me but would say “tell her” this or that. It was obvious the toll his drug use had on his brain and personality. Frankly, I didn’t care. He made his choice but I didn’t want him to interfere with my relationship with the rest of the family.

On May 30^th, Thursday - At least a third of my leg is beet-red and no healing seems to be taking place. I can’t keep treating it with no results so I went to Deer Lodge to the clinic to see a doctor. I felt I had to know what was happening with my leg since I had never had any wound take so long to heal - red meant infection. My imagination could run away with me, especially at night. After all my struggles to get here - own my motor home and car, just my luck to get an infection and die!

Actually my doctor at the Deer Lodge Clinic was a Physicians’ Assistant who seemed to know what he was doing. He ran many tests. Sternly he warned me that I could loose my leg if I did not do exactly as he said - I could check into the hospital OR take antibiotics plus physical therapy. The infection has developed into some kind of “Venous” ulcer. He wanted me to stop everything I had been doing – Martha’s clay, peroxide, Aloe Vera, et al. He also said the antibiotics I had been taking were wrong, so there went another $65 for each of the two prescriptions. After seeing him, I went across the street for physical therapy. I returned the next day for about a twenty-minute treatment. My leg was put into a Jacuzzi type bath, then a 5-day sterilized waterproof pad put on it. I really HOPED to see some positive results soon as I was very tired of limitations and pain. I thought I always healed quickly, yet no amount of prayer or meditation attempting to heal it helped, which I regret to say, since I believe in hands on healing and the power of prayer.

Friday, May 31, 2002 – After my one-week stay, around 1 PM, I was still trying to find places for everything I packed into this motor home. Lots of storage underneath but trying to decide how to organize it was the problem. Of course, THAT has been the least of my problems this week – getting sewer connected, water hoses and electrical cords, yet; the main PROBLEM has been my leg. With all our attempts at healing, visiting Martha’s favorite doctor before I went to the Deer Lodge Clinic, no healing seemed to be taking place and after two weeks, still oozing blood.

For it to be almost 9 PM and still daylight amazes me, the sky was blue with pinkish mauve thin stringy clouds. The sun often has its last small rays shinning on a wheat colored field with everything else in the shade – the barn, the rusting farm equipment, the layer of trees out my window across the field – the pines behind assorted greens, the rolling hills, another layer of pines, another layer of rolling hills. All the while hearing the creek rushing by with waters fresh from the melting snow covered nearby mountains.

We had another cook out in the evening with the family. Mark and his wife, Gina, returned from 29 Palms. Martha’s other two sons, Dale and Tim, her daughter, Sandy and Sandy’s Tina – the 4-year-old terror (when she ate sweets.) I enjoyed sitting out side surrounded by the pine trees, just a pleasant temperature, a fire going and a great spread of food, including our first watermelon. Cody, a beautiful black longhaired herding dog, I found to be so sweet even thought Martha warned me she was crazy and might bite – not at all. She was a guard dog – the minute someone drove up, she was ready to attack. Apparently she especially did not like men in any kind of uniform. She would swim in the creek often, then she wanted to be very loving when very wet. I found her to be a sweet dog at all times.

Of course nothing is ever perfect: Martha could be annoying as a back seat driver – “go there – go here – turn –” etc. like I’ve never driven before! She talked incessantly about totally mundane things, so that I didn’t “hear” half her conversations. After loosing her husband of 50 years just two years ago, I assumed she needed to talk. The least I could do was let her and try to listen. She thought I was angry when I wasn’t. I endeavored to do what she said to do since I was her guest. It became quite difficult since she changed her thoughts rapidly. All in all, I believed we were getting along OK. Social life away from their farm consisted of a $2.50 lunch at the Senior Center. Martha is a woman in her late seventies with the enthusiasm of a teenager, she always seemed down to earth and I thought was a very bright woman. She was always the brain behind their businesses. Her husband and the two sons, Dale and Tim, worked for Tom and Martha. Dale was moody and cranky all of the time. In close proximity to me, his refusing to speak to me directly is so childish for a man in his fifties. What a handsome young man he was, very bright with so much potential but his years of smoking pot destroyed him. Tim would get off in Never-Never land talking to himself; yet, he is quite bright and could do most anything, except hold a job for more than a few weeks. It is like he is always in the right brain with no linear thinking. He had been helpful to me. He was a total loaner – totally self-involved. Both sons should have been doing far more to help Martha but each “does their own (selfish) thing” – Dale’s “thing” was to sit and watch TV all day – EVERY day! At least Tim would work occasionally. Martha had created this situation by holding all of them to her apron strings, except for Mark who had far more independence.

Sandy was darling and well into her thirties. She is divorced and has her own business in her basement. She works very hard each day. She does beautiful creative work. Martha has always been very creative with painting, hobbies and handy work. Sandy’s house was up for sale as she hopes to move out of state. Mark, the oldest son, divides hit time between overseas business ventures, 29 Palms and in Montana for part of the summers. He was the “man” around there and knew how to do just about everything. Mark has had an overseas manufacturing business for years. He is always very entrepreneurial. He was always the most successful and the strength of this family. Martha had always been very capable but without her husband and aging, she doesn’t have the management skills she used to have or just not the energy to create a workload for herself - maybe too much “let it happen” attitude. I understand operating on FAITH, as that is my code in life but I also have to make things happen and have faith that they WILL manifest. So that was my summer family – I appreciated each one for being who they are, even though I may not agree with the way they operate, I honor their right to BE who and what they chose to be as I was the guest. I knew each of them for many years and they had felt like a surrogate family for me.

I still had so much organizing to do in the motor home. It isn’t easy as there are never enough places to put things for full time living. One thing about RV living is if ONE thing is out of place, you have a mess. There always seems to be a lot of things out of place. My leg definitely slowed me down, as well as problems getting the sewer and water connected satisfactorily.

“Everything in its proper time.” With the help of Tim, I finally got connected. The propane service man filled my tank. The phone man finally came to check the layout, next day the phone was connected. I thought my phone would never get installed but finally on Friday, the outside connect was in, then I had to string a 100’ telephone wire into the RV. At last, a dial tone – however, since it was a Friday, I could not subscribe to the only one local Internet server until Monday. On top of that, I did not order a long distance service; therefore, I could not use my AOL, even on long distance or call anyone unless I called collect. Even that became complicated. Ahhh… it seemed my settling-in was finally coming about. My TV had only two very faded giggly stations.

To have my motor home neat with everything in place seems to be a constant “work in progress.” Each day, I sort through things trying to put as much of it as possible in the lower storage compartments. Still, every time I looked around, there was a stack of something else. I love my little portable home. I just wish I wasn’t such a pack rat with my “necessities.” Each time I used some food item, there was a bit of usable space. Oh well, I’m not in a metropolitan area, might as well get used to the simple life and inconveniences of “country” living. Another good thing about aging is that we usually learn to adapt to what is happening, otherwise, we can create illnesses with stress and worry.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the summer heat of the desert but never considered sitting in my motor home watching snowflakes fall in the middle of June! It was simply unbelievable! It had rained part of the day before and all nights, then raindrops were turning into large snowflakes, then hail. The idea of possibly having to turn off my water in June was unthinkable. It didn’t happen. The air felt like air conditioning, then the sun would be shinning brightly. I looked forward to the next few months of summer and getting my writing done.

At least, I was beginning to get my writing area in order. That was the reason for being in Montana. I planned, for the next four months, to totally commit myself to finishing some of the books I had started writing - one in the mid 1980s and several since. The one about my daughter’s disappearance was written in the 1970s and needs a lot of revision. By keeping my expenses down as low as possible, I needed to take the time to concentrate and focus on writing. Will I ever get published? Who knows! At least, if I finish all these writings, I won’t have to return in another life to finish them then!!

June 26^th -- One year anniversary of the beginning of my last summer’s trip of 2001 with my “First Love” …