We have a saying around our house: “Well, if this whole EOD thing doesn’t work out….(insert random ideas here).” So far the endings to that sentence have been: you could always open a restaurant; you could always run a gentleman’s club; you could always open a maid service (cough, cough, giggle); we could always open an RV park. See? It’s that last one that has kept me awake at night. Because though I took that statement as a fleeting idea, he hasn’t let it go. I’ve seen schematics, been shown property locations, the works. In all my life, I never would have attributed “RV park manager” to my resume or life’s pursuit. Just another notch in the belt of life in camperville. Lord, please let this EOD thing work out!
We have begun to make preparations for another chapter in this adventure. We have to relocate to another state, so the move will be a two act play. First, the husband takes the truck and bike trailer and heads to the new state as an advance party (or “advon” to you military savvy’s), leaving a wife, two children, a dog/teenager, and two cats behind at the wheeled fortress to man the base operations. Should everything go as planned (again, cough, cough, giggle), part one will require patience, understanding, and a case of wine. Now, once the “scout” completes his initial recon, he will return at a later date to assume command of the family and act two will commence. Act two is where the General, that would be me (because really, that’s just how it is), assumes her nervous breakdown. We are going to pull this 42 foot camper across the East Coast and it will be the first time we’ve been responsible for such a long haul with the camper. The husband had made mention that at some point I would be driving the truck and pulling the camper, and I think I spit my drink out of my nose. Seriously. Has he forgotten how poor of a driver I am? In my little car/crossover/whatever? It’s only what, ten feet long? And I can’t even park that correctly. Does he seriously think I’m ever going to assume the responsibility for the massive twenty car pileup that would inevitably ensue on the interstate because he decided to let me pull the camper? I think not. That would be like asking a deaf-mute to sing the Star Spangled Banner at Yankee Stadium for opening day; or asking Magnus von Magnusson to dance the lead in Swan Lake. Nothing really great could come from it is all I’m saying.
I was informed before I left for work today that my husband’s agenda included bathing the dog, cleaning out the cat room/storage room, and some other things that didn’t register in my brain. I was gone for four and a half hours, and the kids were with me. When we came home this evening he was working hard, had made a pizza (frozen, not from scratch; white, no marinara because of my tomato allergy- hahaha, God), and had pulled everything out from that back room and strewn it all over the kids’ room and living room. That’s about 8X4 feet of space littered with crap. The dog had yet to be bathed. The room was far from “cleaned.” My point here is that a woman’s plan and course of action for a given task is far different from a man’s.
In our years together we’ve had to move several times; that’s just how it is in the Marine Corps and you learn to be flexible. You make friends, usually military, and you know the time together is limited though sometimes you meet again. If we’d had a crystal ball we would have lived our RV life sooner, but again, hindsight…This is the first time that a move is going to impact me in a way I never thought. Huntsville, believe it or not, is truly a perfect place- for me, anyway. Yes, the weather is tumultuous at best; brutal at worst. But with rain comes rainbows, and I suppose to get the beautiful landscapes a few storms must fall. The people here are truly special, because they are friendly, loving, kind, and fun. If I had my way we would live here forever, and I laugh because I never would have thought I would desire to spend my life in Alabama. It’s just a really great place, and I’m sad to go….
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