RV ENTROPY

More chaos than usual

Some RVs are spic and span, and I suppose their owners’ permanent homes are just as neat and clean. Everything is arranged so well that the spices are probably in alphabetical order, and the towels stacked according to color. Disgusting!

Such perfection seems to violate the law of entropy. Like that in any system, the order in an RV should gradually devolve into chaos. In our Winnebago View, the breakdown tends to happen rather quickly. We may begin the day with everything in its place, but by nightfall the table is littered with pens and pencils, the laptop computer, flash drives, dirty dishes, sketching materials, and perhaps our latest leaf collection. Almost the only thing that moves us to restore order is the prospect of driving, which of course must be done with nothing that can become a flying projectile. 

I would love to have a perfectly clean, organized RV, but it will probably never happen. Even when we have restored order on the surface, and locked the doors on the cluttered cabinets, it is only a temporary fix that can’t last long. What relieves me of guilt is the memory of my favorite book about housework, Nobody Said You Have to Eat off the Floor, by Carol G. Eisen. The author, a psychiatrist’s wife, emphasizes that some tasks are necessary for safety and health, some are important for making it possible to find things and for being considerate of other people, but many can be done minimally or occasionally. Housework can be done according to priorities.

Applying Eisen’s principles  to the RV, we are careful to follow instructions in the owner’s manual about oil changes, tires, and other maintenance; this is a no-brainer, as neglecting the View’s mechanical condition could endanger our lives.  For the same reason, we do make sure that everything is put away in the cabinets and drawers for travel mode. We have a special bag for our prescriptions and other medical supplies, and keep it near the door where it can be picked up in any emergency. 

As we prize being able to take pictures and to keep daily records of our travels, we are usually careful about keeping the camera close at hand; the camper’s log is always replaced where it belongs, next to the entertainment center, when not in use. Being environmentalists, we make sure to leave any campsite at least as clean as we found it. 

To minimize most motorhomework, we start each trip with a clean interior that doesn’t require much work on the road. I am very fond of Murphy’s oil soap, which has an appealing odor. Anything that has been cleaned with it seems to repel dirt.  I use Murphy’s on all surfaces, including the floor. If necessary, a little ammonia can be added for extra cleaning. 

One of the many features of our View that we appreciate is the cabover bed. In the morning we simply spread the Travasak cover to air the inside, then lift the bed to the ceiling. We hardly ever have to actually make the bed. The picture above shows unusual chaos; we don’t ordinarily use the sofa bed!

WINTER SOLSTICE

Today is December 21. The shortest days of the year are past, and from now on they will gradually grow longer. It will be good to see  the sun early in the morning again, instead of this dismal dark sky.

I’m pretty much a morning person. In summer I love getting up early, seeing the new day dawning before most people are awake. It’s harder in winter, though. When the windows are dead black, a wind is blowing, and the house is cold, staying in bed is too tempting.

When I was going to school or working full time, I sometimes sat down at my desk before the sun rose. I could think clearly then, uninterrupted by whatever dark events and thoughts clouded my mind later. One spring, for a class in animal behavior I even went to a nearby swamp at sunrise every day to make a study of redwings’ courtship behavior. It was a magical time of day, with pale golden light filtering through the trees, and only the birds for company.

A few years later, I found myself crossing San Francisco Bay in a ferry boat before dawn a few times a week. The moon and stars shone in an inky sky above the bay. By the time I reached The City, the sun had risen, illuminating the Transamerica Pyramid and Coit Tower.  I had drunk some coffee and read the morning Chronicle, ready for whatever the day would bring.

Today is all too short, and I am much older. The sun rose at 7:20, and will set at 4:48. Less than ten hours of light! I woke early in the darkness, and turned on some holiday lights while breakfasting. Tonight I will light  a candle on the dinner table. I will delay the night.

FED UP!

I’m tired of all the grousing about Obamacare, all the insistence on gun owners’ rights under the Second Amendment, all the right-wing nastiness in general. What has happened in this country to common sense and compassion?

Those who object to contributing to health care that doesn’t immediately benefit them are simply deluding themselves. Do they not realize that at any moment they may be diagnosed with a serious disease, or be in a traffic accident requiring major surgery? If that happens, they will need a great deal of  money—far more than most people have available—to pay the medical bills. That is what insurance is for.

For many years, I paid for health insurance that included obstetrical benefits, though I was unable to have children. Was that fair? Of course it was; when I have occasionally required medical care for other reasons, the health insurance that others pay into has helped me pay for that care. Similarly, for a long period when my late husband was young and very healthy, he paid into the system. When he later had the heart disease and diabetes that required a sextuple bypass and the amputation of his leg, the bills were partly paid by insurance.

This sharing of responsibility extends to other social obligations, such as everyone’s paying for schools and police protection.  Such sharing is part of the social contract that makes a civilized society possible.

Unfortunately, it sometimes seems doubtful that our society is civilized. A year after the massacre of small children in Newtown, there is little progress in limiting the availability of guns and ammunition. Instead, many states have actually weakened restrictions on them.

Even John Boehner has spoken out about how the far right has hampered normal government operations.  Perhaps if Boehner and other Republicans can rein in the Tea Party-backed representatives, there is a chance that Congress will recover its sanity. I am not very hopeful, but it’s possible.

THE COMMA, AND ROBERT FROST

The Robert Frost Stone House museum

When we traveled through Vermont this fall, I was eager to see the stone house where Robert Frost—one of my favorite poets--lived in the 1920s. The house is now a small museum, with family pictures and enlargements of selections from Frost’s books and letters  covering the walls. Though not as spectacular as some writers’ homes, the museum is a feast for any Frost enthusiast.

One piece of correspondence especially fascinated me. It was Frost’s caustic letter to his editor regarding “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” that poem beloved by thousands of us. The editor had added commas to Frost’s original line, “The woods are lovely dark and deep,”  resulting in the familiar “lovely, dark, and deep” we have all seen in the published poem. Frost was obviously infuriated by the change. As a rather comma-happy editor myself, I could imagine myself automatically adding commas in the same places, and felt some sympathy for the editor. But Frost was right, of course—both the rhythm of the poem and the connotation of the line were changed by the added commas.

Coincidentally, the issue of Harper’s that came out while I visited Frost’s home contained a short story by Joyce Carol Oates, “Lovely, Dark, and Deep.” (It did not mention the commas.) Though clearly fiction, it was a slightly veiled sharp attack on Frost’s character. Using various sources, Oates quoted Frost’s children and associates about how he had mistreated those around him.  It is impossible to tell how much of Oates’s material is true, and how much is fictional. Whether Frost is as awful as he seems in this short story (which may well be true, from what I have read in other places) or not cannot be known with certainty. Because I find much meaning in his poetry, I hope he was a finer person than Oates pictured him.                                       

This lack of clarity troubles me, not just in regard to this story, but about combining fiction and history in general. What might be libelous in a nonfiction article is not in a short story, where the author is protected from accountability.

RECORDING NATURE

So many RVers, especially full-timers, have creative hobbies that they continue on the road. Some people knit, do woodworking, or absorb themselves in other crafts.  Some devise elaborate recipes for RV-friendly dishes that can be taken to potlucks at rallies. I envy them; such skills have always escaped me (my head is usually buried in a book). While we are traveling I do continue blogging and other writing, but that is rather abstract until it results in actual publication. I’d like to do something tangible.

Being a member of the California Native Plant Society, I recently read their curriculum guide Opening the World through Nature Journaling, which helps teachers integrate science, art, and literature. One section in particular appealed to me:  instructions for sketching and writing in a nature journal. This could be what I’m seeking as a craft for myself. 

Before photography became possible, naturalists like Darwin and Linnaeus drew accurate and appealing sketches in their field notes. Even today, biologists often find sketches indispensable for making complete notes in the field. 

As a college student, I enjoyed both a basic art class and the botany and zoology classes where I drew hundreds of cat muscles, chick embryos, flower parts, and so on. Though I never became an artist, I learned to use sketching as an essential tool for observing plants and animals closely. During my years as a biology textbook writer and editor, I made many rough sketches for professional artists to use in illustrating everything from starfishes to redwoods.

It is one thing to draw and paint in an editorial office having lots of space and tools; it is quite another to do so in a compact RV. Luckily, the curriculum guide emphasized using colored pencils and small pads of paper. All my journaling materials fit in a plastic pouch no larger than an iPad, and I can easily slip the pouch into a daypack with my binoculars and water bottle.

Living on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, I never lack for living things to sketch near home. We have oaks, pines, and deer; even the rare bear may show up (though in that case I probably would abandon my sketching). On the road, the possibilities are even more inviting. We often see living things we want to identify, and take photos of them, but a detailed annotated sketch can provide much more helpful info. When I have a chance later to check a reference book, I can look at my journal to find out whether a plant’s leaves are opposite or alternate, or how many stripes are on an insect’s abdomen—information that may not be obvious in a photo, no matter how attractive the photo is.

It has been many years since my college art class, and I doubt that my colored-pencil sketches will ever be considered works of art. They will be useful for careful observation, though, and the journal will be a concrete result of my new craft. 

THE FULL-TIMERS

Coming home after a few months on the road seems very luxurious. I can relax in a bubble bath, putter with flowers that the deer haven’t eaten in my absence, lie in a bed without climbing a ladder to reach it. I can sign up for a class, attend book club meetings, catch up on local politics. For a while, I want to stay home forever.

Soon, though, life seems boring. I long to see something new outside my window every morning, visit a park or museum I’ve never seen before, meet some new people having kindred interests. I want to get in the RV and go back on the road.

Lately we have cautiously been toying with the possibility of becoming full-timers. According to some Web sites, there are about a million people in the U.S. who are on the road nearly all the time, traveling from one campsite to another every few weeks or oftener. Could we manage it?

We met one retired couple who have been full-timing for the past ten years. After selling their large home, they bought a fairly large motorhome and added a small car as a “toad.” They established a permanent address in a state where there is no income tax, and where their daughter lives. They can visit—and leave—easily. A mail forwarding service takes care of sending mail to them when needed.

Like us, this couple cares deeply about state and national parks. They spend most of the year doing volunteer work in various parks, a few weeks at a time. (There is always a limit in the amount of time a volunteer can stay in one place; the campsite cannot become a permanent residence.)  This gives them free camping privileges and a very small allowance (necessary because food in the parks tends to be quite expensive). During periods when they are not volunteering, they stay in a variety of RV campgrounds and resorts. They seem very contented with their way of life.

The chance to do volunteer work of our choosing is one of the most appealing aspects of full-timing. As retired educators, we are in a position to be of some help with teaching or writing, but local opportunities are not always available or a good fit for us. If we were able to move around more, we could fairly easily find something we really want to do.

Gardening at home can be enjoyable, especially with native plants, but in a national park it could be even better; we could work with others to maintain a natural landscape for everyone’s enjoyment. I once saw a woman working at a Kentucky state park wearing a stylish gardening hat, lineny pants, and so on; she was the picture of a wealthy suburban matron gardening for pleasure. But there she was, happily digging in the dirt and helping contribute to the park’s garden rather than her own. As full-timers, we could do that also.

Long-term learning is important to both of us; we spend a great deal of time in the local library, and depend on it for books and magazines as well as occasional lectures and movies. That might be a problem if we were full-timing; perhaps we could get temporary library cards or invest in a mobile device for downloading books. Even in a large RV, though, we could not have the personal library we inevitably accumulate.

Speaking of books, perhaps the greatest sacrifice I would have to make is giving up my home office. For many years, I have been able to surround myself with the books and tools I need as a writer and editor. In finishing the final draft of a reference book a few years ago while we were traveling across the country, I found it extremely difficult to meet my deadlines. Even now, though I avoid making commitments to publishers, and do more blogging than any other writing, I can scarcely imagine not having a permanent office somewhere.

Some full-timers miss having wall space for displaying art and photos. We have already disposed of the large paintings that could be a problem, and we can look at our thousands of digital photos on a laptop computer. A small bulletin board holds some 3 x 5 photos and sketches.

Financially, the decision seems fairly easy. Even if we traded in our beloved View on a larger RV, which would probably be essential, we would spend no more as full-timers than we do now in a permanent home where we must pay property taxes, state income taxes, and many other expenses. If we remained in the West, we could find plenty of desirable campgrounds within a few hundred miles, and that would hold down the cost of gasoline. On longer trips, we could simply drive fewer miles each day.

Even emotionally—the greatest danger, perhaps—it seems like a good choice for us. We are not so involved in our local town that leaving it would be difficult, and we could always return to visit friends. We could become part of a larger “community beyond these walls,” as one church puts it. The park rangers, fellow RVers, and others we meet would make up much of our new community. There is also an extremely supportive community of RVers. The View-Navion site on Yahoo has helped us for the past few years with using our View, and we have met some of the members in person at rallies and on the road. If we have to get a larger rig, I will greatly miss that site! Many blogs about full-timing look appealing; one I have found good is http://wheelingit.wordpress.com. Joe and Vicky Kieva, who wrote a monthly column for the Good Sam magazine until they retired in 2012, are already well known to most RVers. Their blog is at http://rvknowhow.blogspot.com/. They must have taken retirement seriously, as they have not updated their posts, but the archived posts are still available.

I do have some qualms about the long-term outcome of full-timing, especially since neither of us has children to help us. If one of us becomes ill, will it be impossible to find medical care? What about assisted living when we can no longer drive? Until we learn more and feel more comfortable with the decision, it seems more sensible to maintain a home as a permanent residence. That can become very expensive, but if eventually we decide not to full-time, we will be grateful to have kept a home of bricks and mortar rather than one of fiberglass and metal.

THAT YOUNGER GENERATION

Recent magazine articles have shown some interesting statistics about the millenials. Compared with their parents, young people are driving less and postponing having children for a longer time. Perhaps surprisingly, a smaller percentage of them see themselves as doing anything positive for the environment.

I beg to differ with their self-assessment. While they may be unconscious of their contribution, the constraints imposed by population growth and pollution controls have forced them to have a lifestyle differing from their parents’. By default, they are helping the environment in some ways.

As recently as 20 years ago, getting a driver’s license was an important rite of passage for every teenager. Being able to drive meant freedom! Having a driver’s license and a car, you could get away from home some of the time, go out with your friends, and explore the world without continual adult supervision.  Today, much exploration occurs online, and friends are in near-permanent communication on their cell phones and computers. Driving is much less necessary. Young people even seem to prefer public transportation if it is reasonably priced and convenient. The environmental benefits are obvious: Fewer resources are used for building and fueling cars, and fewer pollutants are being produced. The millenials can be very proud of this change, even if they see it as a personal choice or a necessary evil.

The millenials are staying single longer, too, and living with roommates or their parents for a longer time than we did. By postponing parenthood, which usually leads to having smaller families, they are helping control the population growth that is a major factor in environmental decline. By living in smaller apartments or homes, they are taking up less space on our crowded planet.

Unfortunately, the choices that many of us older people made years ago have resulted in the pollution and crowding that have led to the millenials’ need to be more conserving. We started driving cars as soon as possible, married young, had children in our early twenties, bought homes at the first opportunity and filled them with expensive appliances and furniture. We wasted resources and used fossil fuels with abandon. During the dot-com years, some of us built disgusting McMansions (in fact, some of us are still doing so). We literally ate “high on the hog,” consuming large quantities of the meat that has helped lead to heart disease, diabetes, and obesity; and that required huge investments in agriculture. Many young people today have chosen to become vegetarians rather than imitate us. In that respect as well as others, they are contributing far more to the environment than most of us did.

I do have some concerns about young people. For instance, their dependence on technology in place of direct contact with other people and places seems bad for their emotional health, even if it may benefit the planet. They seem narcissistic, though perhaps young people always seem that way to their elders. On balance, the millenials seem capable of managing Earth better than we did. I wish them well.

FEAR OF KAYAKING

I enjoy being on the water--in ferry boats and similar stable vehicles, that is. Even rowboats and canoes are enjoyable providing the water is smooth. But I am really spooked by kayaks.

When did it start? Probably back in the eighties, when I was persuaded to go whitewater rafting in Colorado. The raft trip itself through rocks and cascades was terrifying enough, but the sight of a kayak turning upside down in the rapids, and the man in it desperately trying to right himself with an eskimo roll, panicked me.

A couple of years ago my partner cajoled me into getting an inflatable two-person kayak that we could take with us in the RV. It travels under the dinette table quite well, almost leaving room for our feet. In theory it is the perfect boat for RVers, being light and portable. In practice it is my bête noire. I have always found an excuse to stay out of it, encouraging Thane to paddle about alone. (He has greatly enjoyed it.)

This couldn’t last forever. Recently we were staying at a lovely streamside campground in Maine, with a small boat dock right next to our camp site. The weather was fine, we had nothing else to do, and I could think of no excuse. So, we inflated the kayak and climbed in. Or, I should say Thane climbed in, and I started to. The kayak put out to sea while I clung to a post on the dock until my grip loosened and I fell into the water. Luckily, the water was shallow, but it was muddy and cold. Never again!

 

THE TWO FACES OF MAINE

Let me say this first: I love Maine. Until our current trip to the east coast, I had spent virtually no time in the state. My hazy picture of it was based on textbook descriptions of the “spruce–moose biome,” Sierra Club photos, L.L. Bean catalogs, and Sarah Orne Jewett’s Country of the Pointed Firs. I knew that George Bush the Elder and his family spent their summers in Kennebunkport, along with other wealthy families who had summered there since the nineteenth century. Perhaps the most widespread image of Maine is that of fall color, of scarlet maples mixed with deep green pines and silver birches.

We have wanted for years to travel to Maine in the fall, and this year we finally managed to do so. Being an AstroVIP with the National Park Service, Thane planned to help a little with setting up telescopes for Acadia National Park’s annual Night Sky Festival, and I would accompany him to do anything I could. The program takes place during the last few days of September, peak time for fall color.

Our visit to Acadia—unfortunately cut short by the Republicans’ taking it hostage during the current government crisis—confirmed that picture. We spent several days touring Acadia and taking part in the Night Sky Festival, then drove south. The entire rocky coast is as beautiful as I could have imagined, with hundreds of inlets from the Atlantic leading to boreal forests. Much of the inland countryside, too, resembled the rural scenes in Andrew Wyeth’s paintings. Even many of the dilapidated barns looked beautiful.

There is another Maine, though, one not shown in the tourist brochures or in any novels I’ve read. When we drove through the north–central part of the state, we saw a poor area rivaling many urban slums. I had expected some picturesque poverty, based on news reports—neglected homes, unpainted barns, and so on, and those were certainly present. But, much of the countryside seems deserted, with old homes and barns collapsing and subsiding into the earth. Where did everyone go? What really appalled me was the trash surrounding so many places that had apparently been simply abandoned. How can anyone treat their environment  that way? Have they lost all self-respect?

Life in Maine has never been easy; farmers had to work hard to make a living from the rocky soil in bad weather. But, they managed to do so in the past. Has the soil been exhausted by poor farming practices? Has the logging that once helped support farming ceased? I suspect that many farmers blame a government that they feel is too liberal, and environmentalists like us, for somehow taking away their right to use the land as they see fit. (Certainly we heard complaints about limits on hunting, and about gun control in general.) That doesn’t explain the sad, neglectful picture we saw. 

WE’LL ALWAYS HAVE WALMART

 

It was nearly midnight on Saturday, but firecrackers were still exploding near us. We had made the mistake of staying overnight too near a college, and some boozy fraternity boys were celebrating something or other. Another time, a noisy football game was starting up in the parking lot in the middle of the night.

As this shows, staying overnight at Walmart—sometimes called “blacktop boondocking”—can be annoying or even hazardous.  There are many other reasons as well to stay elsewhere: traffic on nearby streets is often noisy, there are no campground showers, and even the toilets may not be available before 8:00 AM. As an environmentalist, I have been extremely unhappy with the expansion of big-box stores, too. Why should I take advantage of the parking spaces they provide?

However, it is nearly impossible to resist the many plusses of parking overnight at Walmart. First, it is free! Camping for more than a few nights, even in low-cost campgrounds, can become expensive. The ubiquitous Walmart stores are often easy to find, and the parking lots tend to be more level than those in campgrounds. (We grow very tired of leveling our rig with leveling blocks.) The bright lights and security at Walmarts protect us as well as the stores. Shopping for common items there is easy; I have sometimes found RV supplies that are identical to those at Camping World at a lower price.

So, we often find ourselves at Camp Walmart. Usually the landscape leaves something to be desired, but occasionally it is attractive. The store in Scranton is on a bluff overlooking a valley; I remember watching the moon rise as lights were coming on in the houses below us. Some other stores are near wooded areas, and by careful positioning we can sit at the dinette and look out  at that view.

Perhaps our worst experience was in a store near our home in California. We had had some repair work done late in the day, and to avoid driving home at night we stopped at Walmart. We checked for signs forbidding overnight parking, found none, and fell asleep. In the middle of the night we heard a commotion just outside, and some loud talking in Spanish. Peeking out showed us a crane with some workers high up on it painting a lamppost and hanging one of those “No Overnight Parking” signs on it.  We played possum and hoped they would not drip paint on our rig. Luckily, they did not, and in the morning we made our escape.

Though many of the Walmarts seem to welcome RVers, some do forbid staying overnight. Municipal ordinances, rather than Walmart, may be responsible. The store that seemed most adamant about this issue is the one near Gettysburg, where huge signs warned of dire consequences that included being towed away. We paid attention and stayed at an expensive campground instead.

The infrequent antipathy toward RVers may have something to do with the boorish behavior of some of us. We have watched, incredulous, as people have spread huge Class A motorhomes across six or seven parking spaces. Others have unrolled their awnings, unfolded their lawn chairs, and barbecued in the parking lot. People like that may cause so much irritation that all of us are banned, which would be a shame.

We try instead to be as unobtrusive as possible, even after checking with the management to make sure we are welcome. That means staying in travel mode—not putting out the slide or raising the TV antenna, and looking like shoppers rather than like campers. We always buy some groceries or other items, and may have breakfast in the store if a McDonald’s is in it. Our small motorhome easily fits in two spaces.

Yes, we would prefer staying in national forests and parks, with intermittent stops at places having hookups for electricity when necessary. Walmart helps fill in the gaps between more desirable places, though. It’s a bit like McDonald’s—not too helpful for the environment and a possible contributor to the obesity epidemic, but a cheap source of clean toilets and orange juice.

 

 

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

The bag of recyclables was in the middle of the aisle again, and I kicked it in frustration. After being on the road for a month in the RV, I was tired of the inevitable clutter and lack of enough storage space. At home, we have a cabinet that is dedicated to various recyclables, and another that holds trash.

Much as I enjoy RV travel, I must admit there are times when I long to get off the road for a while, to return to a better-ordered life. Though I am far from a perfect housekeeper, at home I do have more space for storing things, and more time for housework. The laundry doesn’t pile up (and certainly doesn’t sit in a duffel bag in the shower until it gets moldy, as can happen when we are traveling!). I do the dishes every morning, rather than leaving them in the sink to conserve water. I’d like more opportunities for personal care, too. I’d like to shampoo my hair on the same day when I need to, and take a shower whenever I get dirty.

Another thing I miss is the El Dorado County Library, where I belong to an enjoyable book club and hang out often to read magazines and newspapers as well as to check out books and videos. Not having yet invested in an e-book reader, I sometimes run out of reading material when we travel—and for me, that is a major problem. There simply isn’t space in our RV for more than a few paperbacks.

Keeping up with world events on the road is difficult, too. (I’d be lost without NPR.) Unless I have wi-fi on a Tuesday, I am liable to miss The New York Times’ weekly Science Times. Finding the print version would be even better, but that often isn’t possible. At home, I would simply walk down the hill to the local newsstand to buy it.

I miss the sociability of life at home, too. I’m far from being a party animal, but do enjoy talking with neighbors, salespersons, and so on. It’s nice to chat with people I meet often in everyday life. Because of our travels, I see too little of friends and family in California.

On the other hand, one advantage of RV life is the opportunity to visit old friends in other parts of the country. Many people of our age seem to travel very little, and so the RV can take me to them. I can visit my old college campus, go back to cities where I once lived. In spite of the irritating aspects of living for months in an RV, at this time of my life it seems preferable to staying at home. And so, I hope to go on roving about for as long as possible, until old age or illness prevents it. There will likely be time enough for staying home in a tidy house and remembering with nostalgia what it was like to travel in an RV.

REMEMBERING JANE

In 1971 I returned to Chicago after a couple of years in New York. Rand McNally was much the same as when I had worked there in the sixties, but they had just acquired the Lyons & Carnahan company, and brought in their editors.

One of their editors, Jane Robinson, was ten years younger than I, and at that tumultuous time we should have been on opposite sides of the generation gap. Surprisingly, Jane and I hit it off immediately. We were both feminists, political liberals, and voracious readers. (We also tended to have a critical view of the world, and to broadcast our opinions.) Jane was a bright, hardworking editor whose talent was probably wasted on the social studies textbooks she worked on.

Jane was a perfectionist, which made her an excellent writer and editor. It affected other aspects of her life as well. I used to tease her about what I thought was her obsessive approach to shopping—then saw her furnish and decorate a series of beautiful homes. More importantly, Jane was a warm, humorous woman who made many friends easily.

Soon after we met, both Jane and I married. I had come back from New York to marry Harold, and she had met Larry McGoldrick, a brilliant young professor at the University of Chicago. Harold and Larry were very different men, but they shared a wry sense of humor. All of us got along well, and we saw each other often.

About 1980 we all left Chicago. We did so with some regrets, because we loved the city. But, Larry had accepted a job with NASA in Washington; Harold, with a young engineering firm in San Francisco. Larry and Jane had also just become the parents of Daniel, who would keep them very busy in the coming years. In spite of living on opposite coasts, Jane and I managed to see each other every so often, and we kept in touch by mail. Jane became an editor at National Geographic’s World magazine, I went back to grad school and set up an editorial service.

When Jane was about fifty, she made the major decision to return to grad school in order to become a Jungian psychologist. That would have been a tremendous effort even for a younger woman, and must have been extremely difficult for her. With her typical determination, she spent several years achieving her dream. As Dr. McGoldrick, she became a psychologist for the Air Force, then established a private practice in New Mexico. (Larry and Jane had fallen in love with the Southwest, and finally managed to relocate there just a few years ago.)

Jane and I exchanged some gifts over the years, and I treasure those concrete reminders of her. But, her greatest gift was a visit to us a few years before Harold died. Realizing she might never see him again, she flew to California to spend a couple of weeks with us. We had a wonderful time showing Jane the Monterey Peninsula, North Beach restaurants and the City Lights book store in San Francisco, and many other places. It gave Harold and me a much-needed respite from his surgeries and hospitalizations, as he managed to stay well during her entire visit.

In the spring of 2012 Jane called to tell me she had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, but intended to do everything possible to survive. Knowing her perseverance, I thought that she would succeed. For more than a year afterward she was subjected to chemotherapy, radiation, and alternative treatments, traveling from her home in New Mexico to southern California and New York. In spite of everything, the cancer metastasized, and this August she succumbed to it.

I think Jane believed, as I do, that our death on this earth is not the end; that in some way we rejoin the Spirit. That belief should comfort me, and in time it will. Now, though, I want to rage as Macbeth did, “She should have died hereafter; there would have been a time for such a word. . . ” September 3 would have been her sixty-fifth birthday. Jane should have lived for many more years, giving of her love and intelligence to all of us who remain.

 

 

 

ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD

We are settled for the night at a Walmart in New York state, having started out too late to find a good campground. Not far outside our dinette window, a young man has set up a mobile detailing business, complete with pressure washer and hoses. We’re incredulous—in California, storm sewer openings are labeled with a sign warning that the drain leads to a waterway, and water used for washing cars is supposed to be recycled.  The young man tells us that in New York, what he is doing is perfectly legal.

He had returned home after a couple of years away for reasons he left unspecified. He traded a dozen bottles of beer for a 350-gallon water tank, got some free or low-cost hardware, and invested some money in the pressure washer only. Then he went into business in some public spaces, including some Walmart parking lots, apparently without any objections from Walmart, charging customers a low price for a quick detailing job. We had to admire his entrepreneurial spirit.

That reminded us of some other people we have met in our travels. When we stopped at Morro Rock in Kings Canyon, another young man was sleeping in his car, obviously avoiding campground fees. As any food might be seen as an invitation by the local bears, he stored his containers of food in the toilet building.

One hot summer when we were visiting Yellowstone, we went to the parking lot at  Old Faithful extremely early, fearful that we wouldn’t find a shady parking spot later on. A tiny car was parked near us. As we were eating breakfast, the car doors opened. A young couple (still wearing pajamas) and their huge dog emerged, apparently having spent the night there.

Sometimes the people we meet are a pure joy. When we were blundering our way through Ontario, we stopped at a Mennonite coffee shop and warily asked the way to our destination. The waitresses not only gave us accurate and clear directions, but drew a map that was easy to follow. Unfortunately, even knowing which way is north seems beyond most people, so we were extremely grateful to these women.

Others come up with just the right information by coincidence. When Thane was on his way east this year in the hope of helping with Acadia National Park’s Night Sky festival, he stopped at Dinosaur Monument in Utah. He asked an NPS ranger to change a $20 bill so he could pay for a campground site. She couldn’t do that, but casually mentioned a star party to be held that night at Dinosaur. He was able to participate in an excellent program.

Some encounters are downright scary. At the Bridge campground in northern California, we saw what looked like a monster rising out of the creek. It turned out to be a large man wearing black wetsuit headgear; he was a good guy removing trash from the water.

One night at the Columbia River gorge, we drove to an overlook for a spectacular view of the gorge. No “no overnight parking” signs were in evidence, and we were tired, so we stopped for the night. A young man driving a pickup that held an apartment’s worth of furniture was parked near by, and it turned out that he was staying overnight, too. He told us he was moving to Oregon from Texas, but he appeared to be living at the overlook full time, and sleeping on the cab seat.

We have met a few European travelers, who all seem fascinated by North America. Some have gone to extraordinary lengths to travel by RV here, shipping their own rigs over the Atlantic at enormous expense. We hope they can stay in North America long enough to justify the cost.

Winnebago View and Navion RVs are rare enough to inspire some loyalty and fraternal feeling among owners. When we went to the Quartzsite rally last January, we met a man who had organized a special View/Navion gathering. For a few days, we were surrounded by our tribe, a great bunch of people. The same man who was responsible for this gathering has been a savior to many owners who frantically post their problems on a Yahoo! Site while en route—he answers with advice that has probably saved thousands of dollars and some marriages. 

A woman pounded on our door in the middle of the night in Winnipeg, saying her rig was out of gas and she wanted money to buy some. We turned her down.

And so it goes—wherever we travel, sightseeing sometimes is overshadowed by the people we meet or avoid meeting. It’s another fascinating facet of the RV life.

 

 

THE TIME TRAVELER'S TRAIN

 

 

Even today, when there are no steam whistles to bring about that “Blues in the Night” feeling, trains are a romantic way to travel. We shun airplanes when possible, and take long vacations in our RV, but manage an occasional train ride.

Recently I took Amtrak’s Blue Water line from Chicago to Kalamazoo, both for an enjoyable and inexpensive ride and for reliving much of my life. The journey began at Chicago’s famous Union Station,

where I changed trains a few times in 1959 as I returned from grad school at the University of Wisconsin to my home in southwest Michigan. I recall gazing out the train window at snowy landscapes—Wisconsin always seemed wintry then—dotted with only a few leafless trees.

Last week the train moved slowly through Chicago‘s south side toward Indiana. For about 20 years I lived in various parts of Chicago and its suburbs, first as a young bride, then as a divorcée, and finally as a happily remarried woman. During those years I found  my vocation as a science editor, and edited many textbooks for Rand McNally. Chicago was and is a magnificent city. Only the unrelenting ice and snow drove us to move to San Francisco in 1980.

We rolled through Indiana quickly, with Lake Michigan near but unseen to the north. As soon as we crossed the border into Michigan, I felt at home. Cottonwoods and maples were still August-green, but would begin to turn gold and scarlet in a few weeks. My grandparents had a farm near Bridgman, and these same railroad tracks ran through it.  As a child in the forties I often visited Grandma and Grandpa, where I balanced precariously on the rails and put crossed pins on them to be fused into miniature scissors by passing trains. At night I could hear the trains passing though. That was still the era of steam trains with the lonely sounding whistles that promised adventure far away in miles and years.

The train of today continued on through the many small towns of Berrien and Van Buren counties. I was born in Watervliet, a little paper-mill town that has nearly vanished (the mill closed years ago, and the Pere Marquette trains no longer go there). Though I still treasure my friends from childhood and high school, I was glad to leave the oppressive life there. In the fifties my English teacher, Roy Davis, made the mistake of introducing me to Sinclair Lewis’s Main Street, which helped me recognize the worst side of midwestern rural life. Roy is fonder of small-town life than I am, and still lives in the next town, Hartford, in a lovely century-old home. (On this nostalgic trip I had the chance to visit him and his wife, Marion.)

The train was delayed,  as most trains tend to be, but finally reached Kalamazoo. As it entered town I looked up past the huge campus of Western Michigan University and saw the dome of Stetson Chapel at Kalamazoo College. Four of the happiest years of my life were spent at “K” College, where I was exposed to the wide world of literature, the sciences, music, and art. Three of my college roommates loved the city so much that they have gone on living there for more than 50 years, and a cousin who taught at Western has remained there also. Going back to see them and walk around the campus is a treat that I indulge in every few years. Old roommate Diane Worden met me at the station, and we drove off to a Middle Eastern dinner. (Kalamazoo is more cosmopolitan than it was in the fifties, when pizza seemed esoteric.)

I have spent longer in airplanes waiting for takeoff than the train ride lasted, but in that short trip I had relived much of my life. After a happy week I rejoined my partner, who had driven the RV from California, and we began driving toward Maine. Though this would be a wonderful vacation, I was grateful to have spent some time alone aboard that train to yesterday.

HEALTHY AGING IN AN RV

There is a stereotypical RVer, and too often the stereotype is accurate: an aging man or woman wearing Bermuda shorts topped with a beer belly, sprawling on a folding chaise longue, eating barbecued meat, drinking beer, watching TV outdoors with the aid of a noisy generator. These people are just pathetic, and many are actually ill as a result. Fortunately, the RV life—and those of us who live it—can be much better. My partner and I have found that it actually can help us stay healthy if we avoid some rather obvious mistakes.

Spending too much time driving is one mistake that interferes with health. Driving an RV can lead to a mad dash across hundreds of miles a day, with few breaks. While one family member is driving, a passenger is making sandwiches that are eaten during the drive. Instead of driving for a long time, we stop often and walk for a while. This is less stressful and provides a little needed exercise. In addition, we see much more of our surroundings on foot than from the RV.

Many of us elderly Rvers are on a lot of medicines (I take about 20 pills a day, including vitamins as well as prescription meds). These need to be easily accessible at all times, especially in case of an emergency. We keep all of ours in a bag behind the passenger seat. It’s easy to reach at any time, and if we ever need to escape quickly, we can grab the bag on our way out. Once a week, we dole out a seven-day supply of pills in one of those handy divided containers. (I keep my daily pills in my backpack or purse to help me remember to take them. It’s important to maintain that daily routine.)

Too often it is tempting to stop at a restaurant as a longer break from driving, but this is likely to end in taking in too many calories and eating the wrong kinds of foods, as well as spending a lot of money. Nearly always, we prepare meals in the RV and eat them at a roadside picnic table or at our own dinette.  Farmers’ markets are a wonderful source of healthful food that is also an enjoyable part of experiencing a local area.  Rather than carrying a heavy cookbook, I loaded my own book, Cooking without Sugar, onto my  laptop computer, where I can easily use the search function to locate recipes or ingredients. If I learn about an appealing recipe en route from another camper or from a newspaper, I add it to the collection.  Being addicted to coffee, I may get an occasional “restaurant fix” and get to know some locals by spending time in a coffee shop.

Cooking in an RV must be rather basic to save pantry space (unless you have one of those humongous RVs, in which case I have little to say to you), so I don’t bother with any recipe having more than five ingredients. We eat little meat even at home, which helps in keeping things simple.

Drinking a lot of alcohol seems to be a major activity for many Rvers, as it goes along with campground sociability. Though a couple of drinks a day can be part of a healthy lifestyle, you need to be careful not to overdo it. Alcohol can be fattening and has little nutritional value. Besides, it can make you relax so much that you eat too many snacks along with it! If you are trying to lose weight, or taking certain medications, it is better to skip the booze altogether. (I know.  . . I used to drink my share of wine, but have gradually given it up, and no longer miss it.) There’s always iced tea, cocoa, or some other substitute.

Getting enough sleep is essential, even when you are trying to rise early and do as much as possible in your travels. Be sure your RV bed is comfortable; you may need to add a mattress pad, for instance. The Travasak was a wonderful sheet-and-comforter combination that could be turned over for comfort summer and winter. It is no longer manufactured, but turns up for sale at Tuesday Morning and similar shops, as well as on eBay, occasionally. Especially in hot summer weather, you may want to get up early, then take a nap in your moveable bed after lunch.

Mental health can suffer in an RV; you may be cut off from the classes or other educational opportunites you have at home. Unless you can find something really worth watching, turn off  the TV in the evening. Have a few good paperbacks with you to read. (I confess that I read a lot of mysteries, but try to alternate them with something more serious.) My partner and I are fond of playing Scrabble on a small travel set, finding that the game helps us stay aware of spelling and word usage.  On Sunday mornings we try to find an NPR station wherever we are, so we can listen to Will Shortz’s Sunday Puzzle and try to solve it. (We have solved it many times and submitted our entries, but have never been called.) Luckily, we both love museums and libraries, so visiting them during our travels is another mental boost.

Loneliness can be especially hard on us older RVers. Our old friends are dying, and we may feel cut off from friends and family while traveling. Most of  us try to stay in touch with people by using e-mail and phone calls often. Also, we can chat with our neighbors in campgrounds.

Some of these suggestions may not appeal to you, but if you apply the general principles of eating healthfully, getting some mental and physical exercise, and resting, you can avoid being the kind of Rver seen in cartoons. You will return home healthier than when you left.

DEATH IN THE SUNSHINE STATE

In the seventies, my parents retired and moved to Florida. Wanting a peaceful, nonstressful environment, they picked the small town of Sanford. Sanford seemed rather dull to me, but I could understand their wish to be away from the faster-paced life in Orlando or Miami, and they seemed content with life there. So, when Sanford was suddenly in the headlines for all the wrong reasons, I was horrified to realize it was not so different from Chicago or Oakland. There is no escape from "urban" problems.

George Zimmerman was acquitted by a jury of six women—five Caucasians and one Hispanic—an outcome that didn’t surprise me. I had noticed plenty of prejudice against African Americans when I spent time in Florida, and would have been amazed if Zimmerman had been found guilty. Whether he actually was guilty of murder, or even of manslaughter, is another question, one that I cannot answer. Certainly the prosecutors failed to prove their charge against him.

Trayvon Martin

What is certain is that a black teenager, Trayvon Martin, was shot and killed because he walked through a white gated community and appeared to Zimmerman as if he might be up to something. Zimmerman, a self-styled neighborhood watch volunteer, followed Martin and confronted him. The details and sequence of events following that are unclear. Zimmerman claimed that Martin pounded his head into the sidewalk, and that he shot Martin to death in self-defense. Which of them was the attacker, and which was the victim?

Having been an officially sanctioned Neighborhood Watch block captain for several years myself, I feel strongly that Zimmerman should have called the police to report his suspicions, then stayed in his car instead of following the boy. Neighborhood Watch members are not supposed to be vigilantes, but to be extra eyes for the police force.

If only he had simply waited for the police. If only he had not followed Trayvon. If only he had not been armed! For that is the final link in this tragedy. Too many people like Zimmerman are carrying weapons and are too eager to use them. We need tough laws that restrict access to guns to those who must have them, and who will use them responsibly. Without such laws, more Trayvon Martins will die, and more Sandy Hook children will be murdered. More moviegoers like those in Aurora, Colorado, will be victims. During the twenty days of the Zimmerman trial, three teenagers and a five-year-old boy were shot to death in Chicago alone. There will always be murders and violence, but we can at least lower the number of shootings.

DISAPPOINTED WITH NPR

Years ago, while living in Chicago, I discovered the “Midnight Special” radio program. WFMT, which ordinarily broadcasts classical music and brief news items, every Saturday night substituted their  “weekly aberration of folk music and farce, show tunes and satire, odds and ends, madness and escape.” Hosts Ray Nordstrand and Norm Pellegrini had come up with that inimitable program in 1953. When NPR was formed in 1970, WFMT became an NPR station, and the Special continued. I listened to it nearly every Saturday, along with other NPR programs.

In all the years since I have listened to NPR, even during pledge breaks, and have been a member at whatever level I could afford. Sometimes today, though, I question my allegiance to it. Recently NPR cancelled “Talk of the Nation,” a long-running show moderated by Neal Conan. For years, Conan took calls from listeners around the country about various issues, handling them with tact and intelligence. The program has been replaced, for no apparent reason, with an inferior one.

It would be bad enough if this were NPR’s only grievous error. Unfortunately, this is only the latest one. Terry Gross, for example, is an excellent interviewer, and in the past I greatly enjoyed her conversations with interesting subjects ranging from academics to entertainers. More and more, though, her program has been invaded by fading rock musicians and hack writers pushing their latest books. As she is the co-producer of her “Fresh Air” program, I find this hard to understand. Surely she knows better.

On the morning of 9/11, I turned on my kitchen radio in California to learn from “Morning Edition” host Bob Edwards that planes had just hit the World Trade Center. As I struggled to deal emotionally with that tragedy, the only thing that kept me from breaking down completely was Edwards’ voice. Somehow he managed in spite of obviously being shaken himself to sound sane and reassuring. His listeners got a feeling of “this, too, shall pass.” I will never forget it. Surely millions of people were as fond of Bob Edwards as I was, and were just as disgusted when NPR let him go.

I could go on and on.  For instance, Capital Public Radio, my local NPR station, recently replaced some of their excellent classical music and jazz programs with hard rock—I guess that‘s what you would call it—that is simply unbearable.

What is NPR thinking? Are they firing middle-aged broadcasters, and changing the content of programs, in the hope of attracting a younger “demographic”? (I hate that word.) I wish that they would base their choices instead on whether their programs appealed to their listeners’ intelligence.

In spite of this criticism I still listen to NPR in preference to any other radio program, and to most television. Michael Krasny’s “Forum” on KQED in San Francisco is a fine source of information, with a brilliant host. I play Will Shortz’s Puzzle every Sunday morning, but am yet to be the winning player. “StarDate” and Ira Flatow’s “Science Friday” are usually good programs about the sciences. Back in Chicago, the “Midnight Special” is still running! Sadly, Nordstrand and Pellegrini are both dead now, but Rich Warren does a good job of continuing their work. So, NPR, you still know how to do it right. Just do it!

CELL PHONE MADNESS

 

Before my partner began the long RV journey, we bought an extra cell phone and made sure that we could call each other easily. ICE numbers and contacts were added to the phones. We each had copies of the phones’ manuals. We were confident that we would stay in touch daily. What could go wrong?

It worked well as he drove from California through Nevada and Utah. Then he didn’t call for four days, and I panicked when he didn’t respond to my voice-mail messages. Had he had an accident? Was he ill? Had someone hijacked the RV? The temperature in Utah was over 100 degrees—had he been overcome by heat while boondocking? My imagination is better than my common sense when it comes to disasters.

At last he called, blissfully oblivious to my worry. He had been camped near Dinosaur National Monument, out of cell phone range, and in a small campground where the pay phone didn’t work. He had simply assumed I would realize he was traveling through an area with numerous dead zones and  might not be able to call often.

There is a problem here, aside from the obvious Men from Mars/Women from Venus difference. Before cell phones became ubiquitous, no one expected to stay in contact with others under all circumstances. Occasional long-distance calls and postcards were enough. Now we demand instant access to our friends and business associates. One woman I know says her pet peeve is people who turn on their cell phones only to make calls! I can hardly blame them for wanting to be untethered. Must we always be available for anyone who wants to reach us and doen’t even want to bother with voice mail?

When other RVers heard my story, they sympathized, but with some I also detected an attitude of annoyance that we didn’t have some higher-tech communication system. They seemed to feel that GPS, satellite devices, and God only knows what else are essential for the good life in an RV. I disagree. Though my anxiety would have been allayed, my partner would have spent too much time fiddling with electronics instead of studying the dinosaur fossils that were very important to him. He might just as well have watched television at home.

Fifty years ago the English actor Dirk Bogarde starred in The Servant, a powerful psychological film about how the roles of master and servant were reversed. It was primarily a comment about the English class system, but I also interpreted it another way: When we depend too much on a servant like technology, it may become dominant over us. I had depended too much on our cell phones in this instance, and was betrayed by the many dead zones. Others go off too far into the wilderness carrying gadgets that can broadcast their latitude and longitude, and risk injury or death; or they depend on a ghostly voice in the RV to tell them which way to turn, and it gives them bad advice.

There is also some research indicating that using too much technology is harmful to the creativity and thinking skills of both adults and children. We need to retain our abilities to memorize, to imagine, and to make simple calculations without relying on computers.

I am no Luddite, and have no desire to return to life without my laptop computer and cell phone. On the other hand, I need to keep them in their place as tools to be used with discretion. I can live with some uncertainty in return for not being burdened with too much technology.

RV TRAVEL ON 5 DOLLARS A DAY

Long, long ago I saw a copy of Arthur Frommer’s Europe on Five Dollars a Day, and was enchanted by the idea of such inexpensive travel. I had studied  French in college, and fervently desired to see Europe, but had little money. (At the time I was a young editor living on a salary of less than $5000 a year.) Could Frommer somehow tell me how to visit Europe anyway?

He could. The book told of many restaurants offering full meals for a dollar or less, hotels where the bathroom was nonexistent or down the hall, cheap forms of transportation, and low-cost museums. The book also contained much advice from seasoned travelers who wanted to share their low-budget finds. My favorite advice was that from a woman who traveled for months with no luggage except a large purse; if I recall rightly, she wore one outfit everywhere, varying it slightly with scarves and a sweater.  If she could manage that well, perhaps I could also.

Though all that detailed information would prove to be extremely helpful, the main thing I gained from reading Frommer was his outlook. He advised scrimping mightily on unimportant items in order to save money for the truly memorable ones, such as the British Museum, the Louvre, and the Alhambra, with perhaps one luxurious splurge.

As it turned out, it took several years and a divorce for me to visit Europe for the first time. In 1971 I saw an ad for a special American Express tour from New York to Spain, Portugal, and Morocco that cost only $250, and realized I could combine it with Frommer’s approach in order to see some of Europe at last. The tour lasted only ten days, but I had a wonderful time, felt very cosmopolitan, and carried one of Frommer’s books everywhere. (By that time travel was a bit more than five dollars a day, but most of his advice was still good.)

It has been more than forty years since that first adventure, during which I have traveled as much as possible. Even when it has been possible to spend more, I have continued to use Frommer’s “biggest bang for the buck” principle. Today, traveling in an RV having a small closet, I think appreciatively of that woman traveler with her one outfit, who helped point the way. A few good tee shirts and pants can go nearly everywhere!

Amazingly, on some days we do spend only five dollars or less on RV travel. If we are boondocking in a Forest Service or BLM campground, we may pay nothing at all for the privilege. Until we move on, gasoline costs us nothing. The fridge is already filled with supermarket foods. Hiking a nearby trail is free.

Of course, my remarks are made with tongue firmly in cheek. The RV cost nearly as much as some small houses, gasoline is very costly when we are driving all day, and if we stay at an RV resort in order to have campground power for a night, the costs can add up quickly. However, the principle is still true: RV travel helps makes it possible to cut costs for unimportant items like hotels and restaurants, and to save up for the worthwhile things like taking a tour of the Biltmore estate or the Hearst Castle, spending a day at Chicago museums, steaming across Lake Michigan on the Badger ferry, and buying Canadian gasoline. Thank you, Arthur Frommer!

WASTED RESOURCES

The Target stores have become known for good design at low prices, and I have happily bought quite a few things there for the RV and our homes. So, when I needed some clothing recently, I headed for the nearest Target.

The bras I chose were on small plastic and metal hangers rather than in packages. As I handed them to the cashier, I said, “I don’t need the hangers—you can keep them for reuse.” She refused to do so, saying that larger plastic hangers can be recycled, but these smaller ones cannot. I indignantly pointed out that this was a waste of plastic and metal. The clerk rolled her eyes—I was obviously being one of those obnoxious customers clerks dread—and told me to just throw them out if I didn’t want them. Muttering “That’s not the point!” I took the hangers with me and left the store. I certainly don’t hang bras in a closet, and doubt that any other woman does. (Well, maybe an elaborate bustier deserves its own hanger.) So, these hangers will end up in my own trash bin.

There must have been several hundred bras in that store, each one on one of those hangers that will be thrown in the trash. How many stores are doing the same thing? What a waste! And how much pollution they will cause! It’s not as if the hangers are necessary—a bra can be packaged in a bag that uses very little paper or plastic. Better yet, hangers can be used for displaying merchandise, but the store can keep them for reuse.

My ire in this case was directed at one Target, but that particular store is only one of many across the country, and Target is only one of the big-box stores with similar wasteful practices. Walmart, K-Mart, and others all do it. Sears, Macy’s, and Penney’s put clothing and other purchased items in huge plastic bags. Supermarkets such as Safeway and Food4Less almost seem to make a point of putting only one or two items in each plastic bag; I have seen some customers leave with what looked like hundreds of plastic bags in their shopping carts.

We customers are at fault almost as much as the stores are. Only a few of us carry reusable bags, though it is easy to do. Like me, some customers allow themselves to be coerced into accepting hangers or other wasteful packaging rather than vociferously objecting to it. Clerks sometimes add to the problem, too. Many of them seem annoyed if they must interrupt their robot-like filling of plastic bags to use our reusable bags instead.

Recently a bill banning plastic bags was introduced in the California legislature, but it failed to pass. As a result, the problem will continue in this beautiful state that thrives on tourism and prides itself on environmental awareness. Except for stores in the few cities that have wisely banned plastic bags, supermarkets and other stores in California will continue this wasteful, polluting practice. A few of the bags will be usefully reused in homes; some may be returned to stores for recycling; most will end up in landfills or waterways. Birds and mammals may choke on them or be asphyxiated by them. Roadsides and picnic areas will be made ugly.

Being an RVer, I see some of this wastefulness in campgrounds, but think having to live in a small space actually encourages conservation. We campers are less likely to load our grocery carts with unneeded items, and to accept extra packaging, than those having lots of storage space at home. In some campgrounds we even have to “pack it in, pack it out,” which truly discourages schlepping a lot of extra items around with us. Most of us care deeply about preserving the natural environment, because we have made an effort to spend time in the national parks or other areas for aesthetic and spiritual reasons. With any luck our concern will have some impact, and our attitudes will prove contagious.

RV GRIPES

Who designs motorhomes, anyway? Though we like the simple interior of our Winnebago View, we cringe at the exterior. The basic white surface, which has the advantage of reflecting sunlight and reducing heat, has a couple of swirling decals on the sides that might have been painted by a chimpanzee on steroids. And our little View is rather tame by comparison with most of the new RVs on the road today, in garish colors and cheesy designs. Readers of RV magazines are starting to write annoyed letters to the editor about the swirls and swoops, but the manufacturers are so far ignoring them.

Part of the problem may be the “if you’ve got it, flaunt it” mentality of some customers. The motorhomes that cost a million dollars or more ought to be beautiful, tasteful homes on wheels; instead, some of them have lighted mirrors everywhere, Christmassy lights in the bathroom sink (!), and far too many TV sets. In a review of a new coach in a current magazine, Bob Livingston writes, “The HDMI Matrix central video selection system is a nice touch and being satellite ready and having the Blu-ray home theater components is great, but getting everything to work in harmony is complicated. There are three TVs in this coach, counting the one in the outside compartment, and connecting them to the system requires on-screen programming and poring through multiple instruction manuals. . . we never did figure out how to connect a satellite receiver without an HDMI input.” This is insanity!

Of course, there may be customers who will buy this garbage. I’m reminded of one RVer who pulled into his campsite, hoisted his TV aerial, and stayed indoors for days. One would hope that he at least looked out the window at the rocky cascades below.

And that reminds me of other despicable RVers: The ones who allow their children and dogs to run through our campsite. Those who run their noisy generators for hours. The overcautious drivers who allow traffic to pile up behind them instead of pulling off the road for a minute.  (Then there are their opposites, the speeders who feel they belong in the fast lane, whatever they are driving.) The owners of 40-foot rigs, towing boats and cars, who try to fit into 24-foot spaces. The drunks. The woman who shouted at me at midnight, “If you want to sleep, go to a motel!” The teenage boys who lurked around the entrance of the women’s showers. The people who leave huge bags of recyclable materials in the Dumpsters rather than recycling them. Those who decorate their campsites with lighted pink flamingos.

One of the most appealing motorhomes I have seen, designed in the 1930s, is a Pierce Arrow on display at the Nethercutt Museum in Sylmar, near Los Angeles. The interior was wood-paneled, and had cleverly planned built-in compartments somewhat like those in an Arts and Crafts home. Appliances were basic and simple. There was nothing ostentatious about the coach, even though it was the high-end line of its day, but everything was functional and attractive. I’d be willing to bet that the wealthy owner would be appalled at some of the rigs—and their owners—of today.