I’ve been unsuccessful in my attempts to find a job. At first I hoped to find something where I get to sit down (after my last assignment where I stood and walked between 8,000 and 18,000 steps a day). Now I’m just hoping for a job, period. Applying for pretty much anything. I have so much experience in finance and budget, spreadsheets, databases, analysis, etc. I’ve owned my own company. I’ve been a manager, a supervisor, the boss, and also the lowest ranking. Yet I don’t have what it takes to get a real-life job. I don’t know Quickbooks or any of the new systems. I’m seventy years old, living in a place where I know only a couple of people. Family is far away. I chose this place because it’s warm in winter. I have a history of accidents, when driving on snow and ice and would be afraid to leave the house, which would be so awful.
What do I do well? Hands down, I do art. Art has given my life meaning even when there was nothing else. It has given me purpose. For the past year, I’ve lost that meaning and that purpose. I’ve made decisions that seemed absolutely right and then had horrible consequences. I’ve come to doubt myself. In everything.
It makes me so sad, this place I’ve come to be, in my life. At seventy I sure never would have believed this would be what it’s like. Of course, I’m working at accepting that and stepping away from the conversations I’ve had with myself about where I wish I were, where I was, and who I lost.
What hurts the most is that I have so much to give. So much to offer. I’m compassionate and kind. I give away smiles as often as I can, because they’re free and they make such a difference. I believe in God and am so thankful that he gave his son, such a huge sacrifice, for one such as me. Me, the mistake maker.
My life is no longer about forever homes and close family, but is about finding a way to be alone, but independent, and to let go of everything I knew. I have to forget about what was, because if I don’t it takes me down, down, down, into a pit that gets harder and harder to climb out of.
Art, something that has been with me nearly my entire life, is where I find rest and solitude. Spending time with art makes me feel like maybe God is really right here. After all, he is the great creator. He speaks “create”. When I create, it feels like I’m speaking it, too. Like God and I are sharing it. Speaking the same language.
Wow! I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. I am the same me as I’ve always been. I do have more aches and pains as time passes, but I’m essentially the same on the inside. I can see myself at seven years old sitting on a pile of gravel, my knobby knees and long skinny legs on either side of a cement block – my grinding table. With a tiny cardboard box that might have held a necklace or bracelet long ago, and a flat stone for grinding, I spent the summer turning small granular, sparkly stones into “gold dust”. I was going to grind enough little stones to fill my sandbox. I didn’t get enough dust to fill the little box, much less a sandbox. That didn’t really matter. It didn’t upset me or make me give up. It was the doing of the thing that made me feel so great. So focused. My family life was a disaster, but while I sat on that pile of stones, nothing else existed.
I turned sixty a month after my mom passed away. I was an orphan. It was something that hit me on the head. I don’t know if a realization hitting one on the head can do brain damage, but I’ve never been the same since. I’m not damaged, but most assuredly I’m different. It was as if I woke from a deep sleep. Maybe you’ve heard the expression “I’ve had a day”. For me it was “I’ve had a decade”. I saw some things I didn’t want to see and had to face some things I didn’t want to face. And here I am. Seventy.
For the past three or four years I’ve thought I couldn’t do art anymore. Not that I didn’t want to. I just felt like whatever ability I’d had was absolutely, positively gone. Wrung out of me like dish water out of a rag. Art was my purpose. Losing my ability to do art meant I’d lost my purpose. According to Victor Frankl, in his book Man’s Search For Meaning, those who have no purpose, no meaning, die. And so I was prepared to die.
But Then!
Tonight I watched a couple of videos on YouTube about not being able to paint and on not being able to finish a painting/creation. It was quite a wake-up call for me. One person spoke of the inability to paint as being part of a story – the story of your life. She called her viewers/followers to think about what the plot for their life might be. Hm. I had to think about that. In fact, I’m still thinking about it. I want to figure it out, because the fact that she described it all so very well made me want to understand and benefit from her words. She spoke of how we are the heroine and perhaps the protagonist at the same time. She talked about the parts of all stories. There must be a conflict phase. Perhaps when an artist thinks they can no longer paint it’s just the conflict part of their story. She went on to say that characters do the most growing during the conflict. I felt a spark of hope at that.
I realize that I’m mixing tenses in my story here. This tiny little bit of story. I don’t care. It’s mine to tell and I’m renting this bit of internet space to tell it. Leave a comment if it bothers you more than necessary.
Okay. I’m in the conflict phase of my life. I’ve been divorced four years and its been four years of relief, total abandon (in a good way), going into debt (not a good thing), making good decisions and bad decisions, all of which may well be necessary in the larger picture. As my very good friend, Terri, just told me, if all the recent bad stuff hadn’t happened, we never would have met. More about that later.
The second video
Talked of giving up on art/writing/etc. Many famous people gave up on projects. DaVinci, for example. Mozart. The Greats! Not all things get finished. Selling one’s work validates the creative. What, of ourselves, we put into our work is what people spend their hard earned money to purchase. That feels good. Something you say with paint or words or music and the way you say it strikes a chord with the purchaser. They’ll hang that story on their wall for a long time, hopefully. When our work doesn’t sell, it fills us with doubt. For me, it was the act of deciding to return to traveling about in a camper, wanting to live a simpler and less expensive life. There would be no room for all of my unsold, but much loved works of art and I wasn’t going to rent a storage unit and have them bake to death in there. So I unframed them all, stuffed them into a leather portfolio, and threw the frames into the dumpster. From then on, I would confine my work to small projects that could endure in a camper and probably never be seen by anyone but me.
The man in the video said the first part of our life is outward, when we’re focusing on jobs, growing our lives and having families. The second part is the inward part, when we focus on ourselves.
Reflections of Life
In the newest video in the “Reflections of Life” series, on YouTube, the man being interviewed said that when you’re alone, doing things alone, your critical voice is louder. So true! “AMEN!” I wanted to shout. In the last couple of centuries, civilization has taken upon itself, change at a ludicrous speed. We went from the pony express to mail sent by jet. Perhaps soon, it’ll be mail sent by spacecraft or teleporter. Civilization is hurtling towards a precipice with no slowing down. Maybe all that change is bad, but maybe it’s good. We won’t know until we fling ourselves over the edge.
The past three years have given me pause. Time to reflect, to be mindful of the moments instead of the days. I’ve had lots of time to do so. My life in a small camper was nothing like life in a 6,000 square foot log home. I could clean my entire dwelling in minutes. I had everything I owned with me in that little space. If I bought something new, something else had to go. No alarm clock was needed. Dinner could be eaten at any hour. My path was like the path of an ant on fine dirt. All criss-crossing and seeming destination-less. Folks came and went in my life – sometimes for a day, sometimes for a season. It was a season and a day made up of moments. Moments lived and experienced slowly and deliciously. It was like getting to eat fine French pastries for every meal.
And then the bad thing happened!
That something happened in late October 2024 and nothing has been the same since. That’s a story for another day. The only thing that matters is where I am now. I’m seventy and I’m still me, but my feet are on a path I didn’t foresee. We shall see.
It’s been a great summer! As a member of the Workamper program, I’m currently assigned at a campground in Northern California. Having previously traveled with my RV up the west coast, I’m familiar with the summer weather, which runs in the low 50’s at night and mid 60’s during the day.
Campground DockEvening ViewWalkway in the TreesThe Local Beach around the Bend
My feet are upon a path that leads me along as though it were cleared just for me.
Periodically I ask myself “What will I take with me?” Another question is “What will I leave behind?”
Next month my time here comes to an end. These last days here I’ve got to look through my pantry, art supplies, junk drawers, and the bed of my truck for items I no longer need. It seems easier to ignore surplus items than to make a decision to throw them away. Living in a camper forces me to do that process before moving on. My truck and camper can only hold so much weight and its up to me to uphold that so my travels are safe.
My assignment for the upcoming months is in Arizona. I’m so pleased to have found the position, because winter Workamper assignments in warm locations get grabbed up pretty quickly.
I feel so blessed to have the upcoming position. It’s a rare one, because it’ll be full time. I’ll be provided with a campsite, free of charge, and I’ll also have hourly pay. Better yet, if I’m a good fit for the job, it will be a long term position. A job of my very own. Well, let’s see how it goes. Not only do I have to like the job, but it has to like me.
Sophia and Home
Every day my side-kick, Sophia, reminds me that no matter where we live, when we’re together, we’re home. She manages to turn a little camper into a cozy home.
I have made major changes to my website! Please take some time to look it over.
In the past three years my life has gotten smaller and more compact. I’ve given away, sold, thrown away, and donated nearly everything I own. Yet I’ve never been happier. While my life is small, its also bigger than the wide world because of the people I’ve met, the scenes that take my breath away, the confidence I’ve gained in overcoming obstacles, kindnesses that have been shown to me, and in the friends I’ve made.
As I move into this nomad life, my priorities are changing as I find my purpose and meaning. I’m wanting to accomplish different things. Most important is my desire to share what I’ve learned with others. With you! Its no longer enough to keep it to myself. I don’t just want you to learn how to draw or paint, but more importantly, I want you to learn to do creative things that are just right for you and that let you live in the moment.
You can be in the midst of a crowd and yet still be alone.
I’ve struggled with the writing of this post. Perhaps I’m over thinking it. But maybe its very important to me, so I’m searching for the right words to relay the story. Or maybe I’m just more visual and words elude me. Don’t know.
My travel trailer travels. Its meant to go places and its like a gigantic suitcase. Everything I need is inside. In fact, everything I own is in my RV and my truck. This is my way of being a homeowner. A very tiny home owner. Not me…tiny. The home.
There can be hundreds of campsites and cabins at a campground. Some places are for people who leave their RV there all the time. Camp whenever. Some are people who have a temporary job in the area and this is home for the duration of the job. Others are here for a vacation or weekend getaway. Then there are a those who are just passing through.
One moment the place can be nearly empty (well, not completely – I’m here).
EmptyFull
Okay. What I’m trying to get at is the fact that I, like all the others here, am in an RV of some sort. Mine is a travel trailer. I pull it with a medium large truck. The color of my truck doesn’t match my RV. I’m not on vacation, but sometimes I do vacation-like things. The RVs that come and park beside me for a night or two are usually occupied by at least two people and are just passing through, on their way somewhere else. They’re like a small collective. In the evening they sit outside their “rig” in camp chairs, chatting quietly, thinking, or taking in the view. They spend a lot of time away from the campground sight-seeing, shopping, or visiting friends in the area. Sometimes I do those things, too. Often I make the mistake of thinking that I can do the sightseeing next time I’m in the area. That’s something I want to work on.
My Library
My Office
My Kitchen
My RV life is all the time and mostly its an ordinary life, but in a smaller space. I still have a few books, art supplies, favorite cups and mugs, a summer wardrobe, a winter wardrobe, and a variety of cat toys. There is only one compartment that can be accessed from outside. Its pretty full, but well organized. I have a few tools, a bin of sewer hoses, a couple of water hoses, and some power adapter for converting power from 30 to 15 or 50 to 30. Right now the heated hose, for winter, is stowed in there. I’m using the summer hose and the small ten foot extension hose. I parked six feet too far from the water outlet for my main hose to reach.
Another thing I need to work on is the fact that most of my time is spent inside. I don’t usually go swimming or participate in activities like bingo or hayrides. When I get cabin fever, I jump in my truck and go to town. When I’m in my RV, I watch shows on TV (streaming), play a game on my computer (Minecraft or Guildwars 2), cook or bake, read, write in my journal, write a post for my blog, work on an art project, and sleep. My favorite meal of the day is breakfast. I might only be eating a bowl of cereal and drinking a cup of coffee, but I can make that last until lunch time. I might have to warm up my cup of coffee five times before I finished my cereal. I just enjoy the leisure of that time. No rush. The smell of the coffee brewing is a bit nice, too.
When I’m in a campground, I’m sort of one of the crowd, but I don’t think being alone in a crowd has to be a bad thing. For a long time I wanted to fit in, but that wasn’t the answer either. I march to the beat of my own drum.
In the years that I have full time RV’d, I’ve been following many who do the same. I learn from their “lessons learned” and “tips” videos and I rejoice in reading about their wonderful adventures. However, I’ve never seen one where they talk about what I’m about to talk about.
Things happen. Things break. Sometimes its a small thing. A piece of trim might come lose due to a bump in the highway. The exterior trim on the outside of my slide-out started to come off. I used long command strips to hold it on until I could get it to a service location. One day as I was walking my dog around the front of the RV and something fell to the pavement with a crash. The latch mechanism on the hood to the engine compartment had come off. At first I thought it was part of the engine and I panicked. What to do! What to do!
I’ve had people tell me that they could never RV at all, much less full time, because of things breaking. I ask you. What things go perfectly all the time? Can you live in a house and never have something break? Little things and big things. How about your car? Life is just like that. Things happen. Are you of the mind that you’d rather never have a pet, because it might get sick? Might die someday? So you deny yourself the unbelievably huge joy and companionship of a pet?
Full time RVing has been the greatest part of my life. I’ve lived a life of blessings, miracles, adventures, and have experienced a great deal of kindness from others. Not just while RVing, but sprinkled all through my life. However, RVing had a few extra bonuses. Vistas along the drive that absolutely took my breath away.
Crater Lake, Oregon
Unexpected new friends in places I’d never have looked twice at previously. Moments of quiet. Not only quiet from the world, but from the anxiety and worry within me. My friend Tracy would probably call them front porch moments. Many days brought me time to relax and do whatever I wanted. Time seemed to be as it was in my childhood when days were endless.
Imagine seeing a vista like Crater Lake and turning to your traveling companion to say, “Would you look at that? WOW!” I travel alone, but am able to share those amazing experiences with people like yourself.
I wouldn’t trade my experiences for any amount of money. I enjoyed it so much, I’m back at it again. Living in a travel trailer. Is it worth it? Absolutely! How else would I have gotten to experience the world’s largest box of chocolates?
When I moved to York, Pennsylvania, I did it on a whim. Arriving with what fit in a 4×6 U-Haul trailer, over the past year and a half I’ve moved to a second apartment, acquired possessions, and made a life for myself. Most of what I own came from a second hand shop on Carlisle. A few things were in boxes and required serious assembling. Each time I purchased something I had to ask myself if the accumulation of yet another possession would make it necessary for me to remain in one place. Having little, as before, made it easy to travel and move about. I loved that part of my life and miss it more than I have words to describe.
I often have little arguments with myself concerning my tomorrows and my nexts. I’ll probably have more tomorrows, but what will they look like? Unplanned bills keep cropping up. Dental work. Cataract surgery. Can I be more thrifty? Continue working at minimum wage jobs? What do I WANT to do when my current lease runs out? Stay? Have I settled in too much, making a move more difficult? I convince myself I’d probably better stay put. Then a couple days later I’m drooling at the sight of a travel trailer or the thought of getting to visit friends and family again, taking my cat and my own bed. My turtle shell. Its nice getting to visit people. I love it. Yet I love having my own little turtle shell to rest and recharge in. So my little arguments never get resolved, because both sides of it are good.
My life is like my refrigerator
My fridge contains Greek yogurt, organic milk, homemade apple butter, organic eggs, a casserole, Mission BBQ leftovers (salmon and half a chicken), a variety of teas, spinach, brussels sprouts (did you know its spelled like that – I didn’t), and Pepsi. I suppose it represents my desire to eat healthy, sensibly, to succeed quite often, yet fail all in the same day. So my life goes. Trying to do the right things. Exercise. Lose weight. Get plenty of sleep. Earn a little money to save a bit or spend on surprise bills.
I have two rooms. I’m kind of sandwiched between apartments above, below, and on two sides. I like that. The windows are very drafty, so the more walls that don’t face the outside the better. My floor looks like a big patchwork quilt. The lease states that tenants must cover the majority of the floor and it helps insulate.
The cat’s room
My half of the room (yeah, right)
The other end of the room is my computer room and art room, kind of. I separate the two spaces with a tri-fold partition. In just the short time I’ve been here, I’ve rearranged things several times. Most of the time its because of the cat (Sophia). She demonstrates how clever she is. Curtains have been pulled down half a dozen times. Anything on any flat surface (no matter how high) is fair game. In her eyes all things are toys or places to explore. I’m teaching her that the art table is my domain. I know she gets it. She just choses not to remember. I invited her to nap on the top shelf of my art cart and she likes that.
Sophia aspires to be an artist, too. While studying pens and colored pencils at this time, she hasn’t decided how she’ll fit paper clips into her projects. Perhaps after a nap, it’ll come to her.
The other room (you can see the closed door) is the bedroom. Its very small and gets very cold, so I keep the door closed on winter evenings.
The kitchen is in the main room and its the most beautiful kitchen I’ve ever had, even though its quite small. The cupboards don’t go all the way to the ceiling, so I put my prints up there and light them up with strings of white lights. The view warms my heart and cheers me. I don’t have room to store the prints, so displaying them up above works very well. No one will ever see them anyways. I have no way to sell them and no one comes to my apartment. So it works good to have them where they are. I enjoy them.
I recall those, when as a child, no matter how much or how little was under the tree, it was wondrous. I often knew that my gifts were second hand things that had perhaps belonged to a neighbor child. I didn’t care. It was a fine gift. Even though we had a coal furnace, like many others in our small town, it didn’t bother me at all. The snow being on the ground the entire winter, only marked by thin layers of black soot between the different snowfalls was just a fact of life in Marlboro. Winter was cold. Everyone knew that who lived there. We had snow. We wore gloves and boots and we built an occasional snowman. We visited friends on Christmas day and they visited us. We enjoyed seeing the coloring books and crayons, dolls, games, tea sets or dump trucks that everyone had displayed under the tree. They remained there until New Year’s Day, when at last they were incorporated into each person’s collection. It was fun to lay on the floor by the tree when the presents were still unopened; to imagine what each colorful package concealed. Once they were open, it was fun to lay and look and at our treasures, picking out which one to play with next.
There was one Christmas where we had our first artificial tree. It was given to us by a co-worker of my mom. It was white and sat on a turn-table. As the tree slowly turned, a multicolored film rotated over a light bulb, casting various colors on the white of the tree, making it look magical. There were no presents under the tree that year and by New Year’s day my family had been evicted and we were homeless. It was a hard time. I don’t know how my parents felt, but I cried quite a bit. I didn’t know what was going to become of us.
Other Christmases brought very good memories and much promise of a bright year to follow. On Christmas mornings, I knew that my own children were each in their bed, tearing into the little wrapped presents in their stockings, which appeared at the foot of their beds sometime in the wee hours of the morning. It gave them something to do until it was time to go out and see the tree. To this day I don’t know if my children ever snuck out to see the tree before morning. That’s okay. I loved watching my children open their presents. It was among the very best of all memories in my life, recalling their faces and their glowing cheeks. I tucked every moment in my heart.
Other Christmas mornings have been spent with grandchildren, who glow with delight, just as much as their parents did as children.
This Christmas is different yet again. Its just around the corner. Over the past two years I’ve made some small ornaments to hang on a very small tree. Last Christmas they hung on the tree at my friend Reen’s house when I was there to house sit for the winter The year before they were on a very tiny little tree in my Winnebago motorhome.
I think these are my favorite ornaments. When I was a child we had the beautiful glass ornaments. Each year when we put up the tree, I got to hang my favorite ornament, which was the smallest one of them all. It was mostly a gentle blue and matte gold. I think it had tiny flecks of glitter on parts of it. The ornaments that I made over the past two winters have been fun to make and I’ve left at least one with each person I visited. I hope to make at least one this year. I’m trying to finish up some portraits. There are nine people in the three portraits and I’ve been working on them since October. I need to finish two of them before Christmas and it has been time-consuming. I’m a perfectionist about portraits. At this final stage of each I’m restless. I know I need to give my eyes a break and it helps to step away for a while. When I do that, I return and always see some small thing that needs changing. I don’t see it if I stare and stare. Anyways, I’m determined to finish them both in the next two days, so I’ve not been working on anything else. Once I’m finished, I can make some ornaments.
This year I’m going through a divorce or rather I’m being divorced. Everyone in my life has their own “people” and I haven’t met anyone here in York…my new hometown. I’m in my first apartment and I can’t explain how wonderful that is. I’m grateful for the people who have given me a place to stay over the past year, but its really nice to have my own place now. I don’t have a television, but I did watch “White Christmas” with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye last night. I saw that it has been playing at the Apella Center a couple blocks from here. I think it was playing three evenings a week and the cost was $10. I got kind of excited about the chance to see it on the big screen. I took a picture of the poster with my cell phone when I was out for a walk. I wanted to look it up online and see if there were any showings that weren’t sold out. When I’d walked by on that particular day, there was a sign on the ticket booth window saying that evening’s show was sold out. When I looked it up online, there was a message stating that due to the increased COVID-19 cases of late, all remaining shows were cancelled by order of the governor of Pennsylvania. It made me sad…that COVID would take even that away. I do understand though. So I made some popcorn and watched it on my laptop.
I haven’t decided if I’m going to have a Christmas tree this year. One reason is because I’m not sure where I’ll be for future Christmases. It might be here, but it might be in an apartment somewhere else. It also might be in a travel trailer. If its a travel trailer, then I’ve already got too many belongings. I had it down to a couple of suitcases and about six small boxes of belongings. I won’t need a Christmas tree that’s more than about eighteen inches high in a travel trailer…if that’s the route I take. Also, because of COVID no one can come to visit, so no one would even see it but me. No one will be able to share a meal with me. Restaurants will be closed. No one will sing carols with me and I’m not bold enough to walk the halls of my apartment building singing “Silent Night, Holy Night”. I’ve gotten bolder, but I’m not that bold…yet. I’m not going to make a Christmas dinner. I made a Thanksgiving dinner, though an abbreviated version, and had leftovers for far too long. I’m going to try and come up with something else to do; make new traditions for my new life. Maybe I’ll make fudge instead of turkey or ham. After all I have my candy thermometer now. I might even have the ingredients for it. I have the stuff to make Toll House cookies, too. I’d like to go for a walk on Christmas day. I’m one block from the historic district. Everything will be closed, but it would still be nice.
One new tradition is the concert that I heard earlier today. At noon, for thirty minutes, the train whistle outside my apartment (see there’s good about living right next to a train track!) played Christmas carols. I can only imagine how difficult that was to do. Here is “The First Noel” performed at noon today, outside my window, set to some of my favorite pictures.
I took the pictures at the top of the post with my cell phone and an app that imitates an old photo booth. Some days, I’m so giddy about having a place of my own and freedoms that I’ve never had before that I am just fine with making funny faces. I am bold enough for that.
Merry Christmas to you all. May these last days of 2020 be the very last days of the fear it brought us…and the precursor of a year of great joy as we reach out to shake hands with someone…anyone.
