Friday, November 8, 2013
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.
Labels:
environment,
generation Y,
Millenials,
pollution,
population growth,
transportation,
use of autos,
younger generation
Thursday, October 31, 2013
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 bĂȘte 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!
Saturday, October 26, 2013
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.
Labels:
Acadia,
AstroVIP,
government shutdown,
Maine,
Maine economy,
Maine poverty,
NPS,
rich and poor
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
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.
Labels:
frugal RV travel,
no parking,
RV TRAVEL,
Walmart
Friday, October 11, 2013
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.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
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.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
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.
Labels:
Navion,
Quartzsite,
RV people,
travel and meeting people,
Winnebago View
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, August 2, 2013
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.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
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.
Friday, July 19, 2013
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!
Labels:
Bob Edwards,
Midnight Special,
Neil Conan,
Nordstrand,
NPR,
Pellegrini,
WFMT
Thursday, July 11, 2013
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.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
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!
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
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.
Labels:
big-box stores,
buying bras,
K-Mart,
natural resources,
plastic,
pollution,
recycling,
Target,
Walmart,
waste
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
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.
Labels:
bad RVers,
campground etiquette,
RV COMPLAINTS,
RV etiquette,
RV GRIPES,
RV swirls,
swoops
Monday, June 3, 2013
WHO WAS AT THE WINDOW?
When camping in
national parks and forests, of course we’re cautious about predators. We store
food in bear boxes or the RV fridge, watch for mountain lions when we hike, look
behind rocks for rattlesnakes before sitting down, eye scraggly-looking strangers
with initial suspicion. Just as we don’t
display jewelry or electronic gear when walking through city streets, we don’t
invite trouble in the boondocks.
At home we feel
safe in general. Our home bordering the El
Dorado National Forest is hidden from the road and seems immune even from the
occasional El Dorado County crime. So,
when we saw a paw print in the pollen on a bedroom window, we were startled.
What could have made a print that large, more than four feet above the ground? It
was definitely nothing human.
Our first thought
was the neighbor’s large dog, which tends to wander through our yard and leave
his paw prints on everything, but we compared the print with the original dog
paws, and realized this animal was much larger.
Could it have
been a black bear? Bears do wander into the surrounding area once in a while,
and the paw looked like the right size. Bears are notorious for tearing apart
anything that might contain food, and that might give us a clue. In a nearby area not long ago, a bear broke
into a cabin where the owner had left a liquor supply. After smashing a bottle
of rum, the bear promptly lapped up the rum, got very drunk, and tore apart
everything in the cabin. So we looked around for any disturbance, found our
compost pile looked untouched, remembered that we have no liquor, and concluded
that our visitor was not a bear.
That left us with
the frightening main possibility that a mountain lion had been there. The print
seems to match those I found online, but I am no expert on identifying animal
tracks. (Or scat, aside from deer and dog poop.) We plan to have the county
trapper look at a photo of the print soon. In the meantime, we will be a little
more cautious walking in the woods—or even walking out the front door.
Labels:
bears,
California wildlife,
El Dorado County,
Mountain lion,
Placerville
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