Forget Paris!

In 2007, my husband’s employer asked him to attend a conference in Paris.  Most of his business trips did not appeal to me, but this was one I was not going to miss.

Since childhood, visiting Paris seemed like a dream trip. According to all my best sources (i.e. mostly romance novels, old movies and Saturday morning cartoons), aspiring artists traveled to Paris to become notable.  With a béret properly adorned on his head, an artist in the movies typically set up  an easel along the banks of the Seine and then began to create. It wasn’t long before a wealthy widow, strolling by, took notice.

“I must have it!” She would say as she does a double-take on the artist’s unique rendition of the Eiffel tower, detailed in newly stroked paint on the canvas. She begs him to sell it for 10,000 francs, while insisting the starving artist stay in her guest suite where she’ll plan a special showing of his work to her millionaire friends. The evidence seemed clear. All artists must find a way to make a trip to Paris to be inspired and get noticed.

In addition to being artistic, I’ve had a yearning to go to France because I am of French descent, making me curious about family roots.  I was raised by French speaking parents, though except for a few words and expressions, I was never conversant.  Still, listening to the French language is warm and comforting, reminding me of the years spent  with my parents and grandparents.

On another note, for the sake of this story, I feel the need to mention I am, at times, easily confused and bewildered. I wish I could claim this is merely a senior-itis issue, but it is not. I have had this problem for as long as I can remember. With complete confidence, I can attribute this trait to the hazard of possessing an artsy brain. I am easily distracted by inspiring sights. A colorful mother bird feeding her young, an exceptional sunset just beyond the hills, or an empty porch swing as the clouds roll in for rain, are the sorts of visions which stop me in my tracks. My brain enters into creative overdrive. My mind wanders to the possibilities of permanently capturing the magnificent scene in fabric, paint, beads, threads, or most often, a story. In this mode, I have been known to miss the exit, forget where I parked, or blank out as to whose number I was dialing.

As with most tribulations of life, there’s an upside. Besides the art I have created from those inspiring events, my little blank-out episodes have offered some comic relief for my family. Church, where I am most inspired (see my other Blog: Sew Write to Pray), is a place where I have been very entertaining when trying to remember which pew we were sitting in after receiving communion.  Usually, my past bewilderment episodes are a source for humorous conversation following holiday meals.   Who needs Seinfeld when you can tell “Mom” stories!

When our daughters heard we would be going to Paris, and that their father would be in meetings all day while I was left on my own to make my way through the streets of a foreign city, they had concerns. However, despite how it sounds, I am not senile nor do I suffer from dementia. Temporarily scatterbrained is a more accurate diagnosis, and ninety-five percent of the time, I find my way back to what I was doing or where I was going.  To a logical-thinking engineer who most often is focused and clear minded, dealing with a scatterbrain wife requires remarkable patience.  Since I didn’t want Ted to spend any time worrying about me while he was working and while I was out seeking inspiration, I recommended a phrase for him to commit to memory in case  help was required from locals — Je ne sais pas où est ma femme! (I don’t know where my wife is).

Unfortunately, while working on a home project, Ted injured his back just days before we were to leave on our trip. We had to cancel.  We were disappointed, but it was just one of those things that happens in life. Blessedly, the injury was reparable with surgery and Ted recovered just fine. For various reasons, we have not gotten around to planning another trip to Paris.

We bought our RV at the end of last summer, just two months shy of our youngest

Robin & John – Oct. 29, 2017

daughter’s wedding. I was preoccupied with all the plans that you would expect the mother of the bride to be immersed in. We originally had in mind to  purchase our RV after the wedding, but when the Winnebago View (enhanced with our desired bells and whistles) became available, we jumped on it.  It was purchased with the understanding there would be no long trips until after the wedding.

Our first trip was just an overnight excursion. I had a family meeting at the senior home where my aunt lives, and it turns out there was a highly rated park nearby.  This seemed like a good opportunity to test our abilities for our first time out.  Though the park was nice and the owners helpful, this park was probably not the best place for first-timers.

Mind you, our home is in a very rural area. We cannot see our neighbors because of the acres of trees between us. The RV park we pulled into on our maiden voyage was quite crowded.  It was the end of August when families were likely trying to get in one last vacation before schools opened.  In every direction there were children.  We had to be extra careful about getting around due to the number of kids on bikes, playing games, and running around.

We enjoy children but because this was our first experience setting up our Delta Flyer, we were a little unnerved by all the activity.  I felt somewhat conspicuous as I tried to portray the look of a seasoned camper, while I set out my silverware and wine glasses on the linen-covered picnic table.

The RV’s on either side of us were just feet away. The family on our starboard side

Class “A” RV

seemed quiet and subdued, much like us. The family on our port side were apparently “the regulars.” They had a Class A decorated with Chinese lanterns. There were two tables with chairs, several comfortable looking outdoor seats, a few children’s bikes, multiple toys, a dog pen, and a rocking chair, all set up under the very long awning.

In the rocking chair sat an elderly man who seemed to be staring into our dinette window. At first I thought I just happened to make eye contact with him when he glanced our way, but then he didn’t move his head. He just kept staring. I went about my tasks, setting up for the night and making dinner. Every time I looked out the window, he was staring back in. It was a little creepy, so I pulled the shade and tried not to think anymore about him. The next morning, I made myself a cup of coffee, sat down to enjoy it, and opened the shade. There he was! That guy was still sitting in the rocking chair staring!

“Do you think he’s been there all night?” I asked Ted. “Maybe he died!”

“No, he might be blind, though,” Ted responded.  I pulled down the shade.  He was still there when I left to attend my aunt’s meeting.  We weren’t at the park long enough to get to know our neighbors or their quirky habits.

A few weeks later, when school was in session, we parked at a quiet camp in New Hampshire.  Though we could see other campers, it was much more woodsy and peaceful.  Best of all, our spot was right on the bank of a small river.  After several tries to park just so with our door and awning facing the river, we were finally ready to set up and settle in for a two-day respite.  The weather was ideal and friends were on their way.  I was beginning to understand the appeal of the “rustic” life.  I happily went inside our little camper home to start preparing dinner.

Halfway through chopping vegetables, I was shaken from my complacency due to a very loud “KA-POW.”  Something hit the RV!  Within seconds, there was another!  The Delta Flyer was under attack!

When we were shopping for RVs, Ted and I debated whether it was best to have a couch or a dinette.  We could not have both in this model.  I really loved the dinette, perhaps for nostalgic reasons.  It was the feature I was most drawn to, and the idea of it helped me to get onboard with Ted’s desire to own an RV.

I became especially grateful for the decision of that dinette as I dove under it seeking cover from whoever was firing at us at that otherwise peaceful campsite.  I called out to Ted, who was immediately reassuring.  He courageously sought out our attacker — an overactive squirrel hurling nuts.  We dared to park under this bushy-tailed rodent’s oak tree.  What might normally sound like a slight “kerplunk” on a sidewalk, reverberated into a loud “KA-PLOW” in the confines of  a mostly metallic dwelling.  Luckily, the bombardment eased off at night.  Every time we have camped, we acquire helpful information and this time we learned to never again park under an oak tree.

Thus far, trekking in the Delta Flyer has afforded us new contacts with seasoned glampers, free-spirited youths, and narcissistic tree dwellers.  In the short time since embarking on this journey we have seen stunning sunrises, beautiful sunsets, and magnificent starlit skies.  We have spent evenings listening to the music of nature while having long conversations about our surroundings and our future plans.

Whether I was distracted by a playful child, a motionless neighbor, or a nut-hurling squirrel, each time I thought, “now there’s a story,” or “I can’t wait to tell my friends,” or “I have to write this down!”  Then it occurred to me, “I have to Blog about this.”

The Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe can wait.  Who needs Paris?  Inspiration is wherever you are willing to be distracted.