My husband and I are on a road trip with our motor home. Along the way we’ve experienced good news and bad. Our initial stop was Petersburg, Nebraska, population 380, for my 50th class reunion. The first few days storms raged every night. The sound of thunder and the pelting of rain on our motor home gave snuggling a whole new name as our 75 pound Golden Retriever, Guinevere, terrified of thunder, jumped on the bed and dove under the covers. By morning the rain had stopped and left in its wake farmland drenched with a brilliant green that almost hurt your eyes.
We had been experiencing some problems with the motor home; the refrigerator wouldn’t work without the generator on, which meant we’d have to keep it running all the time and pay higher gas bills. Mice had gotten into the kitchen drawers so after scrubbing all of them and their contents we set mice traps. Two dead mice later (and one time where a trap caught me when I reached into a drawer I didn’t know had a mouse trap) that problem was resolved.
Our class had a party the night before the official reunion at the local Legion Hall and when I walked in the door I was showered with shrieks and hugs from my classmates. I had brought along a photo album and several stacks of photos from our former classmate, Peggy. She had been my best friend from childhood on, covering many decades of memories and love, and had passed away after a long battle with cancer on December 31, 2009. Her last words to me before she died was to bring the photos back she had collected over the years of former class reunions and to tell everyone how much she loved them. We had planned for many years to attend this memorable reunion together. Neither of us had graduated with the class; we had both moved to California, Peggy after eighth grade and me after my sophomore year. We had remained homesick for Petersburg ever since.
The rest of the evening was spent with everyone looking through the photos, remembering Peggy, yelps of, “Was I ever that skinny? Oh look there’s that dress I can’t even fit into anymore,” and other such predictable comments. I stood on the sidelines, watching everyone, their heads together as they sat at the tables pouring through the photos and felt a tug at my heart, a moment of such intense and peaceful joy that it will live forever in my memory.
The following night was the actual reunion. I had been asked to be the spokesperson for our class and had no idea what I would say. I felt honored that even though I hadn’t been in the graduating class they still treated me as if I had. I took the microphone in my hand, looked over at all of my classmates and their spouses and after introducing each one of them I spoke of the great love I had for Petersburg and for all of my classmates. I described to them my moment of intense joy from the night before. I must have done all right as I had several people come up to me afterwards to say it was a wonderful speech.
The next morning we headed for Texas where Tom, who had been born in north central Texas, wanted to visit 18 cemeteries to take photos of his ancestor’s graves. We buzzed through Kansas and then Oklahoma, the heavy rains following us with flooding everywhere. We spent the third night out in a Dallas RV park and when I tried to stand up the next morning after eating breakfast the motor home starting spinning. I sat down but the vertigo continued. I tried to walk and couldn’t. I tried to crawl to our back bedroom and couldn’t; the dizziness was so great it held me incapacitated. I had a heart problem and Tom became alarmed. He rushed to the office of the RV resort we were staying at to have them call an ambulance. Within minutes, still experiencing vertigo of such an intense nature that now I was nauseated, the ambulance arrived, took my vitals and sped me away to McKinney hospital. Tom tried to follow a few minutes later and became so hopelessly lost that he almost gave up. After several tests it was decided that I had something called “acute benign positional vertigo” caused by an imbalance of the inner ear. Telling me it may or may not return and reminding me to see my personal physician once I got home, they gave me medication that within 20 minutes had me feeling normal.
On our way again we were grateful the problem was minimal. After completing his visits to most of the cemeteries in east Texas Tom decided to head for Wichita Falls where we planned on spending a couple days with friends. Within 48 hours the generator quit working which meant the refrigerator was now out. Fortunately we were in a Wal-Mart parking lot where we had spent the night. I headed for Wal-Mart to buy two ice chests. When I returned Tom had decided that maybe it needed a new battery. Back to Wal-Mart, bought a battery, installed it and the generator started working. Back to Wal-mart to return one of the ice chests (Tom had decided we might need the other) and we were on the road again. We pulled into our friend’s driveway and within a few hours the generator started chug-chugging and then quit totally. We found a place in town that would take a look at it so after removing what personal items we might need for the night he drove it to the repair shop. They said it needed a new carburetor (I’m hoping they’re right) and once ordered they’d have it in by morning. We decided to run into town and get some groceries. More bad luck! Our dependable Jeep Wrangler refused to start. All the gauges were hopping around like frogs. Tom decided he was a jinx and contemplated hara-kiri. Someone (I’m hoping to take the credit but can’t remember for sure) thought, since batteries seemed to be the solution of the day, it might need a new one also. Back to town with our friend chauffeuring us, we bought a battery, came back, installed it and the car started.
Time for dinner. The four of us headed for a restaurant in town that specialized in BBQ. My cheese enchilada turned out to have meat and being a vegetarian I ate the beans instead. Tom ordered the special, ate it and once outside threw up. We went to Walgreens and bought Emetrol to give him for his nausea. At this point all we wanted, including Guinevere, was to go home.
In the morning the carburetor was delivered to a shop called Storkland by mistake. By the time the error was discovered and the carburetor sent to its rightful destination the repair shop was getting ready to close for the weekend. Moaning and groaning we dragged more personal belongings back to our friends.
So here we are, four days into Wichita Falls, imposing on our wonderful friends, who deserve at least a trip to Europe for their hospitality (but after all the added expenditures we can probably only afford a trip to a Dallas Super Eight). Tom has been trying to figure out what has caused all of our bad luck. I told him maybe we were in the exact place where we should be for reasons unknown. Not wanting him to feel responsible, which he was beginning to, I repeated my philosophy that sometimes tough times are thrown into our path to initiate some kind of character development. He doesn’t necessarily agree but we’re both sure that one way or another we’ll make it home. Right now all I want is a big bowl of popcorn, something to drink and a movie.
That would be great except that our friend’s microwave just quit working.
