I’m confused, but I don’t know why.

 

“Normal people believe if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  Engineers believe, if it ain’t broke, it doesn’t have enough features yet.” (author unknown)

The Preserve Company Garden

Though I was a young bride in 1977, I had matured enough to expect Ted and I were different in our likes, dislikes, desires, and approaches to most tasks.  I figured he could be dressed and ready for a party in about ten minutes, while I required at least an hour.  I knew he would always be excited about a new car while I would reserve my elation for a new sofa.

Ted is not one to count calories, relish in small talk, knit a shawl, or bake a cake.  None of this ever came as a surprise to me.  Most men do not care for those things.  However, a husband who is an engineer brings additional idiosyncrasies into a marriage.  I knew basically Ted did not think or act as I did.  After all, opposites attract; however, I was not prepared for the alphabetized spice cabinet, the Dymo-labeled outlet plates, or the computerized light control panel.

In my pre-wedding day dreams about our future, I never envisioned the countless

Spectacular PEI views!

electronic devices invading every corner of our home which flash and beep continuously.  I never read in any “Secrets to a Happy Marriage” book how for every otherwise simple task for which most human beings just merely tend to, my engineer husband has a different approach due to a special wire, an adapter, a button, a zinger or a whatchamacallit!

 

I needed a book titled, “How to Stay Happily Married to an Engineer” to help prepare me for a marriage in which every decision — whether it be about buying a home or proper diaper folding — would involve logic, calculations, and graphs.  Perhaps the engineer’s wife’s handguide would have helped me avoid some confusing and disconcerting times, as I muddled my way through co-habitation on Planet Vulcan.

Downtown Charlottetown

One of my concerns about RVing is that some of the stress born out of Ted’s and my different ways might be exasperated in the confinement of our small dwelling.  It’s one thing to become impatient with his obsession with codes and details when we are in our large home.  I can always go to another room while he works through his frustrations with the ways of average humans.  In the RV, I have few places to escape.

Our Winnebago, a.k.a. The Delta Flyer, is equipped with every modern gadget one could possibly need.  It has sensors and panels which light and chime to alert us of any impending danger.  While on the move, we are warned when our vehicle is teetering toward the center line or driving too close to the car ahead of us.  There are digitized displays to inform about tank levels, pump efficiencies, and air temperatures.

We have running water, air conditioning, a microwave oven, two televisions, DVD & Blu-ray players, satellite radio, and a built-in Global

The Delta Flyer parked at New Glasgow RV Campground

Positioning System (GPS).  There are, what seems to be, thousands of buttons and switches everywhere you look.  Ted understands each and every one of them, while I am still struggling to comprehend the toilet flush options.

We just returned from a week on Prince Edward Island (PEI).  It is no wonder Anne of Green Gables’ author, L.M. Montgomery, found so much inspiration there for her books.  The island’s residents are as kind and gentle as the rolling hills are green.  Every bend in the road brings forth another stunning view of rich pastures, red earth, and sandy beaches.  The ocean views are breath taking.  It truly must be the blueprint for Heaven’s design.

Along the PEI National Park Bike Trail

 

This was the first time we brought the Flyer to a foreign country.  It was not without it’s challenges.  We managed an early start from the Walmart in Bangor, Maine, where we had parked the night before.  We reserved a car to rent on PEI.  The rental place was scheduled to close at 5:00 p.m., and it would remain closed for the weekend.  As this was a Friday, we had to get there before 5:00.

We made decent time getting to and through customs, but signs posted at the border patrol’s booth reminded us we were entering the Atlantic time zone.  We just lost an hour!  Still, we thought we had enough time to spare.

When we finally found a place for lunch, it had to be quick, but even at the McDonald’s we were beginning to experience the laid-back pace of the island.  After placing our order, we waited about twenty minutes for our food.  Back on the road, we made our way through busy traffic and construction zones as the minutes passed more fleeting than the miles.

At 3:30, the GPS was telling us we were at our destination but there was no car rental

Lobster salad on a gluten-free bun!

place to be found.  After driving up and down the road a few times, requiring aggravating backups and turns to accommodate a 25-foot vehicle, it occurred to me to get out my phone to get Google’s opinion.  We were about seven miles away from the car rental business.  The RV’s GPS got it wrong.

A quirky guy!

One of my husband’s other quirks, as if his engineering gene doesn’t offer enough fodder for my writing, is his attention to finances.  I hesitate to complain too much about this because his talent in this area has kept the bills paid and our lives comfortable.  However, there are times when spending a little more can alleviate unnecessary stress.  As it turns out, there was an additional $10 fee on our phones for each day we spent in Canada.  For this reason, Ted decided we only needed one phone  — mine.

With the stress of picking up the car behind us, I got behind the wheel to follow Ted to our next destination — New Glasgow RV Campground.  Driving a strange car in a foreign country was way out of my comfort zone.  In fact, I had never done it before.  It’s sometimes a challenge for me to drive my own car outside of the small community where we live.  Nevertheless, in order to fully appreciate our time on PEI, we required a car.  Therefore, I needed to rise to the occasion.

Although I was following Ted, I programed my phone’s GPS, just in case we became

Burning off the calories from the lobster salad.

separated.  Right from the start, Ted was not doing what my Google lady was saying.  She’d say, “turn right” and he would turn left.  Then she would say, “Okay, recalculating.” The trip was supposed to take thirty minutes, but after more than that amount of time and a half dozen times of my lady saying “left” while Ted kept going straight, I was becoming concerned.  I could have sworn at one point that the Google lady was making deep sigh sounds because she was just that frustrated with me not following directions.

Prince Edward Island Coastline

Here I was following a big RV (which blocked my view of anything up ahead), driving an unfamiliar car in a foreign land (remember, I have no natural instincts for direction), while trying to do math in my head (one kilometer is how many miles?), and listening to a computer-generated peeved voice.  Of course, there was no way to call Ted to ask him what he’s doing, because he didn’t have a PHONE!  I thought about pulling over to get his attention, but there was a good chance he would be miles away before noticing I was no longer behind him.  So, I just kept following him and hoped he knew where he was going.

Ted finally pulled off on a very rural road next to a farmer’s field when the RV’s GPS

Green Gables Heritage Place

said, “you have arrived at your destination.”  He walked over to me, I rolled down my window and handed him my phone.  As it turned out, the RV park was just down the road.  We had gone in a round-about way to get there.  Ted diligently followed Google Lady’s advice, and we managed to get there without too much more stress.

The rest of the week was delightful.  Our campsite was beautiful and close to many fun and historical sites. We enjoyed riding bikes, taking long walks, shopping for souveniers, and eating delicious meals.  We, of course, made time for the one thing that cannot be missed — the Anne of Green Gables’ Heritage Place.

Thinking back on all of it now, it almost seems like a dream.  It’s such a relaxing and peaceful place, well worth the drive to get there, even with a GPS that apparently has too many features!

St. Augustine in Rustico — Oldest settlement

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.