Derek had a big plan of where he wanted it but it was going to require quite a bit of work. The temporary plan sounded iffy to me, and mainly because we lived down a dead end narrow street and we would have to turn the caravan around to back it into place. I panicked just thinking about it. With all those neighbours out milling around, laughing at us . . . what would I feed them?
I tried to think of romantic names that conveyed this phase of our life where we were going to just follow the wind but they were all so cliché. “Hearts Song,” Wind Dreamer,” blah, blah, I didn’t want some play on words or some stupid slogan that would end up on a t-shirt or the side of the van.
And then it came to me.
As we picked up speed, the caravan felt so heavy behind us, and even though we had all the best in stabilizers etc loaded on our unit, it felt like the caravan was swinging every which way. I could feel my fingers clawing through the leather on the door, to the metal. I am pretty sure I was not breathing because I passed out at one point. I think Derek was relieved . . . that I passed out. When I am tense, I can be as quiet as can be and still spread and share that tenseness all over the universe. I emote well.
I liked even less that people were trying to help me and calling me “dear.” When did all the “patting” start? And, isn’t there some kind of a law that prevents random strangers from deciding you need to be patted and cooed at and talked to in that annoying voice that is all patienty and baby sounding? It sounds oddly like a preschool teacher talking to her kindergarten class only without hand puppets.
Who knew waiting for the caravan would end up being such an adventure. We had to take our one night out of the resort and find a hotel. Ballarat was fully booked… Continue reading
But I had so many questions and I was so confused. The wait was killing me, all that time to worry. We were going to be Grey Nomads, part of a group, our own senile gang of peeps, united by the fact we would be the most hated people on the road. What is a Nomad anyway? Is it just a mistake that “Mad” is part of the word?
When we talked about doing something fun next week, his first suggestion was always the caravan show at … (insert the name of any god forsaken little town in Australia you want here) and that is where we went. I had a whole section of my closet set aside for caravan viewing outfits.