I. Am. H.O.M.E.
In MY bed. With fresh sheets. Snuggled into the alcove.
After 50 days of living in hotels (and with friends and relatives) while my RV was repaired, I am finally home.
Reunited and it Feels so Good
Picked up the camper at 4:30. It took MASSIVE control not to hug everyone encountered at the shop.
On the road at 5:00 and drove for three hours:
- to get some road behind me
- to get back in the saddle (I freaked out the day before about whether I could drive this thing; it had been two months and I had two accidents prior to that. A friend used the adage “it’s just like riding a bike.” Except that I can’t ride a bike!)
- to move forward
I Want this Floor to Shine like the Top of the Chrysler Building
I am tidy and organized, but I don’t clean. I support the economy by hiring people to do it for me. Think of me what you will.
But now that my home is the size of your entry hall, it seems reasonable that I can clean on my own. Right? Right. And this place needs to be cleaned. Stale from 50 days of baking in the sun–while at a mechanics shop. And dusty from a parade of workmen coming through–while that may be my standard Saturday night, I at least make them bathe before entering, like all the brothels did. (Dad and members of the Rabbinate: sorry; the joke was just waiting there and had to be taken.)
I arrived at the campground at 2:00. By 3:00 I was in town doing seven loads of laundry. Clothes, and then every towel and sheet, plus my pillows and comforter. Putting quarters in the laundromat is far better than in a slot machine.
The shower puff/loofah thing was left behind and didn’t make it to the laundry. So it got its own bath. Totally serious. I am exorcising dirt and demons–demons of contending with all of the delays.
Armed with a roll of paper towels and natural cleanser, I scrubbed every surface but the floor. The floor will be cleaned (with my Bissell) after I finish unpacking. I even scrubbed the ceiling of greasy fingerprints (not mine), fridge interior, and the stove grate.
I Said I Wanted to Socialize
One of the woes of hotel life was being solitary. Back at a campground, people come a knockin’! Like my neighbor who’s a 62yo retired marine and full time work camper. He plied me with two drinks and when I started getting sleepy said I’m not a professional. Yet.
Socialize or organize? I went with socializing.
What’ll you Have?
I cooked dinner! Just tortellini because the fridge isn’t cold yet (it takes a day-ish) so I only bought for tonight. But I cooked. Me. Not someone paid to do it.
I saw the moon and stars.
Brought my trash in because of raccoons.
Have the door and windows open. (But that didn’t last long; evidently it’s already Fall: low of 44 last night)
What creates a sense of home for you?