Back To Colorado

Oct 6th, 2012
 So nice to wake up in our own bed, and have everything done needs to be done before we go out. We had a leisure morning with our coffee, me blogging.
  9 am we needed to eat something. (I didn’t wanna mess up my clean kitchen) and we needed a few things from Wally world. Now do we visit the in-laws on the way to Wally World or do we do shopping first. I voted for shopping, put off going into the lion’s den as long as possible.
  I had my list nearly completed, Van went to wait for me up front while I ran to grab milk. I got the milk, looked at veggies and my phone rang... it was the dispatcher.
  I inadvertently put MY cell phone number on van’s application.. So they call my phone. We have tried to tell them but... yano how busy ya get and to edit a number on the cell phone, it’s easier for now to just call the number on it... right?
I am running with my loaded cart to the front of Wal-mart holding out my cell phone hoping Van see’s me and meets me half way... NOPE.
  We loaded the car and back on the road again within minutes:)
Where to this time.... same run.. Nooooo but it’s okay I”m sure we’ll see other parts of the country soon enough

Our Truck

So we made it home, rest and relaxation... WRONG!

I grabbed ground beef out of the freezer to defrost in the microwave, threw laundry in the washer and started it. Dragged out my sewing machine to reinforce the Qualcom holder. Oh yeah forgot to mention that...

 Van said I wish I had a holder a type of pocket...

 ooooo I grinned (this was before we got all the junk taken out of the truck after we sorted thru it 3 times.) I whipped out my little bedside organizer. (I told ya I brought everything BUT the kitchen sink! Never know what ya might need.)

 I slipped it over the door of the glove box and slammed it shut... wow it works perfect! The big pocket holds the Qualcom, it has a kleenex department (yup we loaded our kleenex in it) another pocket for a book, scissors, maps etc.

(you can see not much room between the seats.)

Our entire Kitchen, (food in the red and white bag, popcorn popper, on a shelf on top of the microwave. This is hanging over our bed.)

All the storage we have in the sleeper behind my seat. Top shelf: food 2nd shelf plates,plastic flatware, cups, coffee, 3rd shelf: coffee pot, crock pot. fridge is below the third shelf.

opposite storage, is our shower/bathroom storage below that is our only closet.
and our bed

Mother in Law

(singing that old song) mother in law.. mother in law...

Mother-in-law calls:

 When did you take Dad to his last appointment?

Me: It's on your calendar, sometime in Sept.

Her: I ripped that page off already. When did you take him?

Me Sept 14. (I can't remember and I don't have my calender with me on the truck.)

Her: Well Dr. H wants to see him again, I don't know why he needs to see him after just two weeks.

Me: Dr. H is his skin doctor, the one we went to was his surgeon, he NEEDS to go see Dr. H after all the surgeries.

 Her: Okay I guess he can keep this appointment.

(I was trying not to laugh)

This morning before 8 am Van's phone rings
"Did you know Geannii put SOAP in Dad's aloe vera?"
"What?"
 "Dad brought home the Aloe Vera that was on your dryer, you're not going to use it."
"I don't know what to tell ya, but... remember when Jeanne asked you to save Dad's empty Aloe Vera jugs so she could put soap in them for the truck?"
"Oh yeah, why didn't she mark it?
"It is marked on the OTHER side of the jug"
"Oh so it is."
(I'm still laughing, Why get upset at things I can't stop, like going into my house and taking stuff they gave to me.)

Home Country — My Foot

We finally crossed into HOME country. You know that feeling — you relax a little, breathe easier, think, Ahhh, my people. My kindred. My tribe.

DO NOT FEEL THAT WAY.

Dollar General was across from Love’s, and you KNOW you have to shop when the opportunity presents itself. Truck stops only carry so much, and none of it is what you actually need.

I made it safely across a busy four‑lane highway, bags in hand, headed back to the truck. Six empty fuel islands. Twenty‑five empty parking spaces. I crossed the island straight across from our truck — the ONLY truck on that side of the lot.

That’s when I saw him.

A truck barreling toward me like we were in some kind of NASCAR event I didn’t sign up for. I didn’t even know we were racing.

He came straight at MY island. Straight at ME.

I side‑stepped out of his way like a startled deer. He could’ve parked ANYWHERE — the lot was empty. He could SEE Van sitting in the driver’s seat of the ONLY truck around. Logic says I’m going to get in on the passenger side, right?

Apparently not.

He whipped around and came roaring back toward me AGAIN as I walked toward our truck.

I ran to Van’s door, and he let me in like we were escaping a crime scene.

“What is his problem?” I said, breathless.

“You saw that?” Van asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I think he was having such a great day he wanted to give me LOTS of insurance… and I was just too quick for him.”

Getting Potatoes

he APU was officially dead. Not sputtering, not coughing — dead. And because we had an energy‑efficient truck with a strict no‑idle rule, that meant no heat. It was seven degrees outside. Seven.

We were freezing.

Van finally started the truck and drove in circles around the yard at 2:30 in the morning just to keep us warm. The truck would only stay running if it was moving. If it stopped, it shut down in five minutes.

So there we were, doing laps in the dark like two lunatics in a diesel‑powered merry‑go‑round. But the cab warmed up, and Van crawled back into bed. What a beginning to our grand adventure.

In the morning, Van started the truck so I could make coffee. Just as the last gurgle of hot water went through the filter… the truck died. Right on schedule.

We got permission to take the truck in for an APU filter change. One hour and $300 later (their money, not ours), we were back on the road.

This time we were headed to San Luis, Colorado to pick up bulk potatoes. Bulk. In a box trailer. We had no idea how that was going to work, but apparently we were about to find out.

The guy gave us directions — and fair warning:

“Get a biiiiig piece of paper.”

He wasn’t kidding.

The directions, exactly as given:

• Take 285 to Romeo, Colorado

• Turn right on 142

• Go 22 miles to San Acacio

• Turn left on County Road 12N

• Left on County Road X (No markings. None. Not even a suggestion of a sign.)

Ten miles later we were passing roads AA, BB, CC, DD… So we stopped and called again.

“Remember the house with the blue roof?” he said. “You mean ten miles back?” “Yup, that’s the one.”

Sure. We’ll just make a U‑turn on a two‑lane dirt road with a 53‑foot trailer. No problem.

Van backed into a dirt lane to turn around. He said, “Don’t mention the mailbox.” We didn’t knock it down — just scraped it. It was still standing. Mostly.

Take two:

• Right on CR X (at the blue‑roof house)

• Right on CR 10

• Left on CR Z

• Go 2½ miles

And there it was — the potato operation.

A truck came in from the field, and a conveyor belt pulled the potatoes off. They shook the dirt off, rolled them onto another belt, shook them again, and sent the dirt onto a different truck. Then a giant tube gently dropped the potatoes into our trailer, which was lined with plastic like a giant potato bathtub.

We had to wash our hands before touching the product. As if we were going to touch anything. Sure, okay.

One man motioned for Van to pull forward four different times as they loaded. They only filled it about five feet deep — potatoes are heavy. We weighed in at 79,100 pounds. Legal limit is 80,000. Perfect.

They shut the doors, slapped a seal on it, and sent us on our way.

But the real question was: How do you unload a trailer full of loose potatoes?

Simple.

You back into a steep pit, they flood the trailer with water, and the potatoes float right out the back like tiny, bobbing escape artist

Day 2 of our Adventure

I woke up staring at a bright little star twinkling through the overhead bunk window. Not a satellite — this one actually twinkled. The things you miss living in a house.

We started the morning with someone pecking on the truck door to wake us up. Too late — we were already dressed with our first cup of coffee in hand.

Jim and Leann Allen live in Tucumcari. We’ve known them for over twenty years. Van showed Leann a light on the dash and asked if she knew what it meant. She used to drive with her husband Jim, so she’s practically a walking truck manual.

She squinted at it and said, “Looks like a camera. Why would they put a camera on your truck?”

I said, “For when thieves shove the security lights toward the sky to steal all your tires.” Yes — that actually happened to us in Denver. We backed up to our trailer, hooked on, got ready to pull out, Van went to kick the tires… and there were no tires. All the security cameras were pointed straight up like they were watching for UFOs.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve become one of those old ladies who tells her husband what he can and can’t eat. Van looks at the menu and says, “Okay… what can I have?” If he phrased it like, “What should I eat?” I wouldn’t get the “Oh, you’re one of THOSE controlling wives” look. So I ordered for him. Hey — he doesn’t hurt now.

We had two extra hours after our friends went to work, so we walked to K‑Mart. Van bought a notebook for all the paperwork we have to fill out. I bought licorice. I can’t go long without it. They say it’s good for your stomach, and we all know whatever “they” say is gospel.

Driving through Albuquerque, we were mesmerized by the stone artwork along the highway — six‑foot geckos, roadrunners, blackbirds, rabbits, turkeys. Not wild turkeys, either. These were pilgrim turkeys a child had colored with bright crayons. Every bridge was painted — turquoise, pottery pink, pearl white. Not a speck of boring grey anywhere. Miles and miles of it. We couldn’t believe the money they spent.

Then came the Albertsons saga.

We had to go to four different Albertsons stores. No big deal… until we discovered one of them was on a road where trucks weren’t allowed. We missed our turn and ended up sitting at a red light ON the forbidden road.

Our choices were: Left — forbidden. Right — forbidden. Or a U‑turn with a 53‑foot trailer that’s 13 feet tall.

Yeah right.

But Van did it. A perfect U‑turn like he was driving a Honda Civic. I, on the other hand, would’ve turned left and said, “Kiss my 53‑foot trailer!”

For supper, I decided we’d better eat the bierox I made at home.

We’d been told, “Use any electrical appliance you want — you have an APU. The engine won’t idle more than five minutes, but the APU will keep everything running.”

So I turned on the APU, plugged in the microwave, put in two little bierox, hit start… and everything shut off. The APU sputtered and died. Tried again. Sputtered and died. Again. Dead.

Van called dispatch. They said, “Reset it.” He did. Still dead. And by then, dispatch had gone home.

So there we sat with cold bierox and a useless APU.

Van said, “Well… I can start the engine. Will it take longer than five minutes?”

I started laughing because I could already see it — us restarting the truck every five minutes just to cook dinner.

And that’s exactly what we did.

Day One on Our Adventure

October 2, 2012 — Day One of the New Adventure

Our first day on the road, and we were already off to a classic start.

We picked up the trailer, and Van did exactly what he was told: start the reefer before leaving the yard. Except the moment he hit the switch, oil poured out like the trailer was bleeding out in the parking lot.

The shop guy came running. “Oh yeah,” he said, “we left the cap off the oil.” He grinned and offered to wash it off like that made everything fine.

Then he looked at Van and said, “Man, I wish I could grow hair like you.”

Van said, “You can.”

The kid shook his head. “Nooo, I can’t,” and pulled off his hat to show his shiny bald head.

Van pulled off his own hat. The kid’s eyes lit up. “Can I borrow that?”

Next thing we knew, he disappeared into the shop wearing Van’s hair hat. We could hear the laughter from inside. Van’s hair was having its own adventure.

After the shop kid ran off wearing Van’s hair hat like he’d just won the lottery, we figured that was the end of the day’s entertainment.

We were wrong.

In Fort Garland, we stopped at Del’s Diner. The waitress came straight over with menus, but she wasn’t looking at the menus. She was staring at Van.

“I have to know,” she said, leaning in. “Is that your hat?”

“Yes,” Van said. “It’s actually a visor.”

She shook her head. “No… is that your hair? The other girl and I disagree. I say it’s a hat. She says it’s your hair.”

Van didn’t say a word. He just reached up, grabbed the brim, and lifted the whole thing off.

Her eyes got huge. Then she burst out laughing.

“I knew it!” she said. “I bet you get a lot of attention with that hat.”

Van put it back on and said, perfectly calm, “I bet you’re right.”

And just like that, Van’s hair hat had fans in two states.

I set the Garmin to “Westbound and Down,” because that’s exactly what we were — loaded up and trucking with Christmas lights, wrapping paper, and toys. We didn’t know where we were going, but we were definitely going to have fun getting there.

By 9:30, I had reached my fun limit. I couldn’t find my pajamas, so I crawled into Van’s and climbed into the bunk.

You know those old vibrating motel beds you put a quarter in? Well, I had my own free version. I have no idea why anyone would want a vibrating bed. My face was itching from bouncing on the sheet. I stole Van’s feather pillow — it didn’t bounce nearly as bad.

And honestly? Compared to our first truck, this sleeper was luxury.

That old 1979 Mack with the coffin sleeper… Lord help me. They took out the back window, stuck a boot between the cab and the sleeper, and you had to crawl through and drop onto the bed like you were entering a crypt.

Van and his dad had stuffed half‑inflated river innertubes under the sleeper to keep it from bouncing so hard you’d physically leave the bed on every bump.

It still bounced me so much I was sore the next day.

So compared to THAT? This new sleeper floated like a butterfly.

Late Night Thoughts

Late‑Night Thoughts From a Woman With Hives

Outside my window… It’s dark. Too dark. And I’m not putting on shoes to go look. What if there’s a cougar out there? Or worse — a tarantula the size of a dinner plate? Yeah… no. Whatever’s out there can stay out there. I’m not emotionally prepared for wildlife tonight.

I am thinking… Why am I up this late? Oh right — hives. Took a bath. Didn’t help. Took a breath. Didn’t help. Took a moment to reflect on my life choices. Also didn’t help. Maybe sleepy‑time tea will calm me down. Why hives? It’s not like I’m stressed or anything. Stop laughing. There’s just… a lot going on.

I am thankful… For what I have and not what I deserve. Because if this week is any indication, I deserve a timeout and a helmet.

In the kitchen… My dishes are done. Because I hit the emergency threshold: the last coffee mug. We can run out of forks, spoons, plates, bowls, but NOT coffee mugs. If I had a real kitchen, maybe I’d wash dishes daily. But I have to carry hot water from the bathroom like a pioneer woman with Wi‑Fi, so no — they don’t get done every day.

I am wearing… Let’s not. I have hives. I’m covered in Van’s white T‑shirt and the rest is between me and Jesus.

I am creating… Creating?? Was that on my to‑do list? Does the giant mess in the corner of my living room count as “creating”? Because if so, I am an artist.

I am going… To bed as soon as I finish this. I can’t stop now — I’m on a roll, or a spiral, or something circular.

I am wondering… What gives me hives? Why I’m awake now that the itching stopped? Why my brain thinks 1 a.m. is the perfect time to evaluate my entire life?

I am reading… Harlan Coben’s Tell No One because Hannah refuses to return Specials, the next book in the series she got me hooked on. I’m not saying she’s holding it hostage, but I’m also not not saying that.

I am hoping… For many things. Dreams, wishes, and a few miracles sprinkled in for flavor.

I am looking forward to… Financial freedom. Living near my grandsons. A clutter‑free home. (One of these is more realistic than the others.)

I am learning… Dave Ramsey. Enough said. He has ruined my life. There are days I tell him to SHUT UP all day long. Especially when I NEED to go shopping and he whispers, “No.” SHUT UP, DR.

Around the house… Grass. And ants. Ants I tried to kill and failed. They are now super‑ants with a vendetta.

I am pondering… Pondering? Am I supposed to be pondering something? Let me Google what pondering even means. Hold on.

A favorite quote for today… Life goes on. (Usually without my permission.)

One of my favorite things… Pictures of my grandsons in Las Vegas this weekend. They had the time of their lives —with their parents, obviously— they’re only 1 and 5. But still. Cutest gamblers in the state.

A few plans for the rest of the week: CLEAN. CLEAN. CLEAN. Did I mention CLEAN? Everything. Top to bottom. If it doesn’t move, it’s getting scrubbed. If it does move, it’s getting scrubbed twice.

A peek into my day… Up for church. Late to church. Someone procrastinates and it ain’t me. Autumn — my best friend Susan’s 3‑year‑old granddaughter — saw us coming around the corner and launched herself at me like a heat‑seeking missile. She glued herself to my lap until she got mad, folded her little arms, glared, and marched to the END of the bench to cool off. She is a whole personality. A tiny tornado in sparkly shoes. A mess —

Day in the Life with Grandsons

  We Get the Boys For the Night

Also Known As: Why Grandparents Have Gray Hair)

We have the boys for the night — what a joy.

And by “joy,” I mean chaos wrapped in giggles, dipped in dirt, and sprinkled with Gold Bond powder.

This morning I was already outside, hosing off the tarp to the kiddie pool like a woman preparing for battle. I refilled the rinse pan with clean water because little feet collect grass, dirt, and whatever mysterious substances Oklahoma grows in the yard. They rinse their feet before diving in. That’s the rule. I enforce it like TSA.

Act I: Yesterday, the moment the pool filled, both boys stripped naked and dove in like two feral otters returning to the wild.

We dragged the little Jungle Gym over so they could slide straight into the pool.

My grandsons are not spoiled — they require things.

I wanted pictures without tiny bare butts, so I finally convinced them to put on little undershorts. Papaw kept refilling the pool as they splashed out half the water.

Teamwork.

Act II: This morning as I finally sat down with my cold coffee (because hot coffee is for people without toddlers) and tried to check my email.

The internet wouldn’t connect.

Oh no.

I went to troubleshoot the router… except the router was missing.

I followed the wires like a crime scene investigator and found it under the sofa, unplugged, disconnected, and looking traumatized.

How did it get under there?

Hmm.

Two little monkeys on the loose… mystery solved.

During the search, I also found the long lost binky stuck to the back of the couch like a fossil.

Lovely.

Then Van walked in.

“Where’s my deodorant? I left it by my chair.”

Yes. Because that’s where deodorant belongs. Not in the bathroom cabinet like civilized humans.

We searched until we found it — inside his boot.

Apparently it grew legs and walked there.

Act III: I put the boys down for a nap, Van went to gas up the four wheeler, and I started cleaning the house.

Little did I know…

They woke up early, found Papaw’s giant bottle of Gold Bond powder, and made it snow in the living room.

A blizzard.

A whiteout.

A full scale powderpocalypse.

Every inch of the living room was dusted — Van’s boots, his recliner, the floor, the boys themselves. Their hair, faces, and clothes looked like they’d been caught in a cocaine raid on Cops.

I tossed them in the bathtub, scrubbed them down, then sent them outside to Papaw and the pool while I shoveled the living room.

Act IV: Van took Captain Chaos somewhere, so it was just Sir WhatTheHeck and me.

We rode the four wheeler, and when we got off, Sir WhatTheHeck pointed to the exhaust pipe and said,

“That’s really hot, Mimom.”

I said, “Oh goodness, yes it is. DO NOT TOUCH IT.”

So naturally…

He touched it.

Fifteen popsicles later (probably more), he felt better.

It kept his finger cool and his mind off the burn.

Yes, it blistered right up.

Poor little Sir WhatTheHeck

By bedtime, the boys were clean, fed, powdered down (again), and finally calm.

I wasn’t.

I sat there with my cold coffee, my living room smelling like menthol snowdrifts, my router traumatized under the sofa, Van’s deodorant still suspiciously warm from its time in the boot, and Sir WhatTheHeck eating his sixteenth popsicle like it was doctor prescribed.

And I thought:

Grandparents don’t need vacations.

We need medals.

Big shiny ones.

With hazard pay.

But then Sir WhatTheHeck crawled into my lap, wrapped his little blistered hand around my arm, and whispered,

“I love you, Mimom.”

And just like that…

I’d do the whole circus again tomorrow.

Five Days Until Christmas

Five days until Christmas, when all through the house I searched for my laptop — where is that danged mouse? The stockings were hung from the old deer rack, But I couldn’t find scotch tape, not even a gift sack.

The married kids were nestled all snug in their beds, And I did not need visions of that in my head. I sipped on a hot toddy, ate a cookie or two, Looked around in wide wonder — I had so much to do.

I stumbled to bed, thinking, Tomorrow’s the day. I’ve still got some time… there must be a way. The shopping, the planning, the cooking to do — Just thinking of it all was turning me blue.

When suddenly next door there arose such a clatter, I leapt from my bed to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes should appear But my neighbor with a gun, acting all queer.

Shouting and screaming as he waved it around, “Those danged squirrels — I’ll hunt them all down!” I leaned out my window and let out a scream, “How dare you! You’re mean — mean, mean, mean!”

He pointed his gun with a wild little glare, “Stay out of this… or it’ll be warfare!” But then down the street came a cruiser so bright, Black‑and‑white flashing, sirens alight.

He dropped his gun fast, looking frantic and sick, Threw up his hands and surrendered real quick. More rapid than eagles those officers came — He stomped and he swore, the squirrels he did blame.

They cuffed him and stuffed him and hauled him away, And I heard him still crying, “This is so not my day!” I leaned out my window and couldn’t help but shout, “You better not cry, you better not pout…

’Cause Santa Claus is coming… to town — And that’ll teach you to hunt my poor squirrels down!”

Embarrassing my Kids (or myself)

12-22-04

  My kids are here for the holidays! yay!

 Oklahoma City here we come... last minute shopping we live for it.

"Hey BASS PRO SHOP! Can we stop?" Rob called from the back seat.

why not I thought.

 Blinker on.. we zipped through four lanes of traffic... only to realize the exit is to the left.. we zipped back across traffic.

" MOOOOOOOM  WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

"No we're not.. I used my blinker!"

 "Are those ducks?" Rob was like a kid in a bass pro shop without a gun. oh yeah that's where we were.

 "They are decoys" I said as I make sure he isn't actually going after the ducks.

  We pull open the big heavy doors, walk across the lobby, go through the turnstiles.

 "Hey I know you!" The greeter says to me.

  My kids are staring at me like what did you do Mom? Ya said you were only there once over a year ago.. what did you do to this poor man that he would remember you?!

 I smiled and shook my head like mistaken identity.

'No it's really YOU!" He says as he comes over like my long lost cousin.

 Brandy poked me, "Come on Mom tell!"

 I mumbled something about I'm sure he's mistaken.

 "I will never forget you two." He just wont let it go.

 "Okay you're right. It's me, Last time we were here, we saw the turnstiles, all the beautiful displays, we wondered how much  we had to pay to get in. He motioned for us to get our butts in. He asked what was going on, I asked how much to get in. he laughed and said he'd heard everything, Pay to get in Bass Pro Shop. he Wanted to know where we were from.

 Hicksville Oklahoma???

Losing Bob at VA

Life's an Adventure when you take old people to the Doctor they get out at the door, she waited for me, he didn't. 


 The one with the appointment disappeared how do you find them in a 7 story hospital?? his cell phone is at home. he has the appointment cards in his pocket.


 We didn't know who he was seeing or why and without a social security number.. they wouldn't give me any information.


She refused to budge from the corner in a back office she thought he would come there eventually to get his travel pay. ( In reality, its a huge battle to drag him to that office to wait in line to get the 65.00 they pay him to travel to see the Dr. I knew he wouldn't find the place on his own, or volunteer to stand there for the money.)


 My dad taught me.. go back to where you last seen them and wait... by the parking lot.


 Meanwhile she got tired of waiting and went outside to look for me..  out the front doors of the hospital, the parking is in the back.   She had a cell phone and called to find out when I was going to pick her up. (As soon as I find him, she needs to go back inside where it's cool)
Four hours later Bob showed up where I dropped him off.

 I tell ya its like herding chickens!!