Here's what an excellent friend back in MA did with my rather grim picture of the Airstream and Darth Vader in the snowy hills of VA. I have been saying all along that whenever I felt a little desperate or unsure of what to do, that some angel would turn up and rescue me. Here I was, feeling sorry for myself about Christmas, and look at all those angels singing like mad, and generally making a joyful noise unto both God and me ! Darth Vader likes his lights too, and the peace symbol is just right. I wonder about the sheep, perhaps they are hoping I will invite them in for cookies. So thank you, Mo (angel that you are), now I have a wonderful way to send good tidings of great joy to everyone, where ever you are.

On Christmas eve, I went to church, an Anglican one which is indistinguishable from RC, and happily sang carols for half an hour before the service, more carols during the service and then went next door for eats. The wind was cold and strong and we had snow ! We bundled up, and the small historic brick church has old fashioned stained glass that glowed like a Christmas card in the dark night. It was good to be in church, to say the familiar prayers and kneel and close my eyes, revisiting an inside place of comfort. It was wonderful to sing, I really miss that especially at Christmas.

I have been making cookies and more cookies, and when I sort of hint that we can settle down and go back to eating more normally, faces fall. We here are finding much solace and joy in butter and sugar, which is really all cookies are with other stuff in for variety, and today we drove to a little town called Hico which has the best pies in Texas. They have 16 different kinds, bosomy lemon meringue and key lime, frothy cream pies, Black Forest pies, banana blueberry, and pecan and lemon chess and apple pie like a great brown pastry mountain shiny with juice. We ate our restrained soup or salads and then had pie. And bought one to take home. I used to call this season the festival of greed, too much stuff to buy and give and get, frosted with anxiety, followed by the thud afterwards as we all glumly looked at our loot and worried about our credit cards. Cookies appear to be the answer to this, no anxiety, people can eat what they want, and the only thuds afterwards are my foot falls.

The three kings worried about bringing the most expensive and impressive presents to the new born King, and chose gold ( always good) and two perfumes (for a baby?) when all they had to do was get their harems going on cookies. This superior present would have been difficult to transport on camels, but try to imagine the scene in the barn, with everyone munching on cookies, sheep, shepherds, ox, donkey and all, with the angels caroling and trumpeting away up above. That is Christmas!

So, I wish you a warm barn, jolly people around you, a cookie in each hand, and music in the skies in this dark cold time. Make sure the angels have some cookies to take home.

Winter in Texas

Winter has reached even into Texas, well north Texas at least. I guess I expected that driving nearly 2,000 miles SW would get me away from winter. It hasn’t snowed down here just south of Dallas/Fort Worth yet, but it’s been in the high 20’s a couple of nights. I look at the temps down in Big Bend NP longingly. The picture above was back in Natural Bridge VA, the day after I left Providence Forge.

I have been welcomed here at the North Texas Airstream Community by an old friend and a new friend. The old friend is letting me stay on his guest lot, and feeding me. We went geocaching once, shopping, and out to dinner, and I’ve been to a few of the park’s meetings. I am waiting for word of work at Big Bend, getting a new fuel lift pump on the truck and some other work, and trying to get into a holiday spirit.

We put up some lights, made a wreath, and I have my little tree up in my trailer. My cookie offerings are on their way to my children, and my cards too. Since I might (hope) to be called for work, I feel very transitory and adrift, do I plan my Christmas to be here, buy some small things for my hosts, have dinner with the rest of the older Airstream folks here at the park? Or do I just ignore Christmas? Can I find a redeeming good deed to do here where I am a stranger?

Both of my friends have lost partners and spouses, so I don’t have to pretend, and they are a comfort that way. My principal difficulty is with food, as I love to cook and feed people, but they are both vegetarian, and worried about unnatural foods and ingredients. My offers to cook are met with a close examination. There is no Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s for miles and miles so usually I’m not acceptable.

Cookies. It turns out that the cookies that were traditional were only ones that Don liked, that my children didn’t like most of them, so I tried to make what they like. But I don’t get to see them eat, and there is little point in making extra just for me to eat. One cookie, called snowballs or pecan sandies was a particular favorite of Don’s, I’m not even making them, nor the ones with cherries that my excellent mother-in-law taught me to make. I’m finding that having no one to cook for is very hard. And since that was a major part of Christmas, I am tempted to just forget it all, and hunker down until the days get longer, maybe hibernate in bed with books and chocolates.

NTAC is an odd place. Most lots have “villas”, which are rather industrial looking metal sheds that have room for the Airstream to be under cover and hooked up, and then various configurations of rooms, like a bathroom, laundry, kitchen and maybe a bedroom or two. Mostly intended for storage, a lot of them seem to be lived in, the trailer sitting dark and idle. On one side are fancier brick houses, with a covered carport for the trailer or motor home. There is a barbwire topped chain link all around and an electric gate. We are on the outskirts of Hillsboro, doesn’t seem like the security is warranted. There is a metal building with a hall, kitchen, library meeting room and an office, and another with a work shop, and that’s it. No pool, no tennis courts. I don’t see where anyone could be sitting outside on a nice day. I’m told most residents are elderly, some very elderly. The Ladies committee meeting I went to spent time organizing cards for those in the hospital or nursing homes. I don’t know how many of these people get out and travel and how many are just waiting here for death, but I don’t belong here, and don’t want to. I’m underdressed and bored. Some of them are wearing stockings…..

A Christmas to be gotten through. I imagined that the migratory world of National Park workers would invent some instant community holiday festival down at Big Bend as everyone there is away from “home”. There I would find at least a younger group and an activities director to keep things bubbling along, right now I dunno if I’ll get there by then.

I haven’t much cheer to send you, getting through the holidays has always meant burying myself in cooking and decorating and wrapping, now I’m not doing that. Only hanging here like a lone ornament, reflecting the light of others as best I can.

Away

The day came, and I found myself weeping as I did the chores of getting ready to leave the piney woods. Don has been gone two months, but I guess leaving the last place he lived was something to be mourned. Did my heart think he might come back here on a breeze looking for me and the trailer? Perhaps in some corner of my brain ungoverned by good sense I’m still hoping he will just drive in with his truck. Once again, the nest of angels that are working here at the forestry center hugged me and wished me well, inviting me to return if I needed to, even just for a few days. And I had a nice last dinner with the good daughter and husband on their sailboat.

My first stop was at my cousin David and wife Sally’s wonderful house high in the steep hills near Natural Bridge. They have moved into their house, but are still happily working on it. The woodwork is so smooth I can’t help stroking it, and many of their ideas are innovative useful and beautiful. Good food and lots of catching up, and sorting out of family tangles. The next day we awake to 2 inches of snow, changing everything around the house, and that night it went down to 24 degrees, weather that doesn’t belong in Virginia at this time of year. A warning to me to get south, I guess.

Next day, I headed down I-81, which threads its way through the mountains, now covered with snow. The roads are all clear and dry, the ground is not frozen yet so it isn’t real winter driving yet. I’m still driving in silent mode, except for the CB to listen to the truckers. I have several ways to have music as I drive, or even books on tape to listen to, but I like being alone with my thoughts, watching the traffic patterns, wondering who is going where, what the trucks are hauling, rerunning old times in my head or imagining the future.

There are many signs warning us off I-40 which runs to the south into North Carolina. The whole mountainside came loose about a month ago and buried all of the interstate in huge rocks. They say it will take nearly 3 years to repair. The interstates seem like such superbeings, zooming over the ups and downs, rivers, canyons and lesser roads. I was surprised to hear that one was just taken out, laid dead by a fall of rocks. I guess I thought they would have stabilized the overhanging cliff. Mountains don’t often rear up and just smash things, baring earthquakes, but they are still alive in some ponderous way. I am irritated by the people who build right on the ocean, expect new sand to be trucked in, rip rap to protect them. Then, inevitably a storm comes and washes the house away, and the beach sand and the rip rap. They then start all over again, often with gumment help. The intervals between ocean rampages are short enough so you would think people would start to see the pattern. Not with mountains, that steep rocky place in North Carolina probably won’t move again for 500 years, plenty of time for us to forget.

Today on the road I blew my horn at a dangerously stupid move someone made, and the horn stuck. I whapped it and it stopped, but just now this evening it started to blow again, for no reason. I went out and whapped it again. Hope it doesn’t need to do that in the middle of the night. There is an electrical box up under the hood with relays in it, so I may have to take out the relay for the horn if this is going to be a habit. I know it’s just a mechanical problem. Probably corrosion or dirt somewhere, but it is so loud and peremptory that it makes me think the truck is angry at me for something, or has a whole knot of seething emotions that just burst out suddenly. Darth is 12 years old, so I guess a little truck dementia is inevitable.

Monday morning, another night in the 20’s. I’m beginning to think I should just get on the interstate and go south instead of wandering down the Natchez Trace. It’s going to be cold and rainy the whole way, not the fantasy of exploring lovely country and boon docking that I was carrying in my head at all.

I will rethink after a family visit at Fort Campbell KY, where Don’s Army Medic grandson is stationed. Right now I’m above Knoxville waiting for it to get above freezing.

I had a great visit with the grandson, stuffed him and his girlfriend with pancakes, while it poured buckets. After they left, I shed some more tears, leaky again, it was at this campground that Don had the first of his strokes, and I won’t see the grandson again for a year.

I’m just interstating my way to Texas, it is just too cold, I would rather drive the Natchez Trace when it’s warm and I can explore.

Gray Trees and November Rain

The leaves are down, leaving only the smoky gray of the trunks and branches. As I chased the last of the few bright leaves south from Boston back to Virginia, I was determined to just escape the mess of Don’s estate and let the banks fight over the remains. I wanted to be on the road, heading for warmth and the wide open spaces, far away from these piney woods filled with sad memories, and finished with lawyers and banks and forms and requirements.

But I am still here. Some of the problems just disappeared in their own, others I am not going to fight about anymore, and it seems I will get a little from the sale of his stuff after all.

On Friday, I hitched up Don’s trailer and drove it to an RV dealer down in Portsmouth, VA where it is on consignment, today there is already a buyer for the truck. The dealer doesn’t think that keeping the truck and trailer together is important. It was hard all along to have his trailer sitting here, and his beloved truck, and after I left it I cried a little, one more bit of him gone. Each thing of his that goes feels painful at first, but afterwards I feel lighter and freer. He was way more than the sum of his stuff, but it’s all I can see and hold.

It is deer season here, but not the warfare that happens in the woods of Massachusetts. Since this is a Forestry Center, it is not open to all, but only a select few, last weekend was the disabled hunt. They have blinds for people in wheel chairs. It is not pleasant to see the bodies, but I know from my walks that there are way too many deer here for the forage available, and so the big predators with the guns must try to get a better balance. I have been only walking around the buildings while this goes on. The hunters are finding few deer ! I suspect they are all in a casino somewhere waiting for the season to end.

The remains of hurricane Ida blew through here and made a date with another front producing heavy surf, and torrents of rain and wind. We lost power here, not a problem for me in my survival capsule, although I didn’t fill the water tank up. We got power back the next evening, and escaped the mess closer to the shore. The Chickahominy River which runs on the southern edge of the forestry center, moved out of its banks, flowing through the trees, and every low place in the woods is now full of water. The water is black and patent leather shiny, it catches my eye often, and when I scare some deer they explode through this water, ripping and splashing like an alligator attack.

Except for cleaning the offices, there isn’t much for me to do here, the grass has stopped growing, the flower beds are all cut back, and the conference center and its motel rooms are now being done by a cleaning service. The folks here don’t seem to mind that I’m slacking, as there isn’t much to do. So I spend my days going through everything in the Airstream, every drawer, cubby hole and closet, shedding more of my skin.

Stuff. Stuff of Don’s that I’m having a hard time letting go of, although that is getting easier. So I have that wave of extra stuff, and then, while I was living in his trailer, I cleaned out most of the stuff stored in my daughter’s basement and just parked it in here too. A lot of that is clothes that I know I will never wear again, but I loved them when I bought them, some were expensive, and they served me well. I guess I sort of miss being the person who dressed up, either to go out, or just fun clothes to wear at dinner time. I think I am having a hard time giving up a tiny dream of needing fancy clothes. Maybe it is difficult to realize I will never do the season at Cannes, or the opening of a Broadway show. Not that I am pining for that, it’s just seeing that the possibilities of my future are not the endless vistas of my youth.

For both Don and I, having tools is our proof of being handy and competent. We both delighted in having just the right tool, and knowing how to use it to swoop in and solve a problem. So we had a huge collection between us, really more than RVers have any business toting around. His big power tools are gone, and everything that was a duplicate of mine, no need for 6 hammers, for example. I had a hard time with his sockets and wrenches, but the truth is I don’t know enough about mechanical stuff, and they are so heavy. If I need those tools then I also need someone who knows what they’re doing, so off they went. I spent a hard day going through all of my own tools, weeding out the ones that were sentimental, not used. Actually, the tools were harder than the clothes.

Food. We left the North Rim with half of our summer’s food uneaten. I’ve given a lot away, just no room in the Airstream, and the rest I’m determined to eat before I hit the road, especially the canned stuff. I’ve always horded food, which is ridiculous as I have never gone hungry. There are stores everywhere, and I don’t think anyone sensible thinks we need to fear a lack of food. Maybe if I was in a hurricane, or a big earthquake, but even then. And some of the food is ingredients for food Don loved, and I won’t cook just for me, so out they go. No need for three cans of enchilada sauce.

So now, I just tinker with things in the Airstream, installing a new water pump, chasing leaks, doing a little redecorating in a western theme, and wait until the papers that are wandering around in the mails get through their appointed rounds. Then, I can move on.

For Thanksgiving, Don’s daughter (the good one!) and her husband are coming to the Airstream for the turkey and fixin’s. I had a thought that I would just be by myself, and eat what I wanted (lobster, oysters, cake) and be thankful not to be cooking for a mob. But this will be better and cosy!

Wherever you are, whatever you eat, whoever is at the table with you, blessings on the folks and the food. Let us all look for ways to make the lives of others better, and that will be sustenance beyond buying, beyond cooking, yeah, even beyond pie ! Happy Thanksgiving !