I am just so exhausted. The past three weeks have been a whirlwind for me and I’ve spent most of the weekends alone. I’m missing my Robin severely. You see, she and Larry are the only cafe caretakers in the park. The other cooks have gone South, East, and West. So they work on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. They seem to like it but when they return home, I find them too tired to take me out to play. Sure I get my walk in, but I want to lift my leg on everything in the park and they just don’t seem into it. At the beginning of the week I attach myself to Robin as I know we’re headed for Jersey. I’m not crazy about this trip and especially Sadie, but I have to be near Robin. Larry has started calling me by a pseudonym…….”Velcro”. I don’t like that name. And get this. Mom bought a park model. It’s nice, much more room, but I don’t know where I live anymore. Larry vaccilates between the motorcoach and this new “lakehouse”. I’ll have to get a photo for you. You can’t believe the trips in the golf cart I have to take back and forth from the coach to the new house, bringing in my beds, my toys, my food, not to mention all the chotchkies that mom brings in for decorations. Give me a blanket and a set of outstretched legs to lay on and I’m in doggie heaven. So we babysit here in NJ the first part of the week. I have to admit that little Xavier is a succulent face. He smiles and laughs a lot and all I want to do is lick that little shit. However, he’s garnering all of mom’s attention while we’re there. I think she enjoys playing with him far more than me. And how does she get that energy when she’s around the new baby…..she doesn’t have it for me anymore. On the few off days they have, I get all excited thinking we’re going cruising the countryside. But noooo, all we do is run errands, get to shop for items for the cafe and rest. Mom left the back door open by mistake the other day. When they went off to work, I went out the back door, down the steps and headed back to the motorhome in search of them. Just as I was trotting by the mini-golf, a camper picked me up and deterred my journey. They carried me to the cafe and asked if anyone knew of this lost dog. Hell, I wasn’t lost. I was on a mission, heading back to my old home. Larry came to the door, thanked the campers and Robin took me back to the new home. This doesn’t end. We headed back to Pittsburgh at the beggining of the week. I’m snuck into a hotel room in a bag, only to have to sit at my aunts house while these two give me some kind of bullshit story about going for checkups. I get checkups and hate them, so I know they have to be lying. No one would intentionally go for a checkup. The next day we go to their friends to stay. I don’t know where I live anymore, everyday a different venue. And not much attention I’m getting. I can tell you that. So we make the trip back to Lake In Wood earlier than expected, not staying in western PA very long. A phone call to mom has us packing up and heading back rather quickly. I hear a sadness in their tone as we mesmerize down the turnpike. We get back, and Larry spends his first night in the new lakehouse. It’s a somber place. They’re both shedding tears and I don’t understand the dilemma. A softness has dampened the campground. Something is wrong. I can’t put my paw on it. I’ll soon find out.
Brutus’ Bantering
9/11 In a Different Light
09/11/01 is stamped indelibly in our minds. We remember the morning, where we were, and the aftermath of that infamous date. Not to diminish those events, I commemorate that day in my own personal way. 9/11 was the date I chose for my cancer surgery and this marks my fourth anniversary sans the dreaded “Big C”. I celebrated with my son at the Bertil Roos Driving School by careening around the Pocono Raceway at speeds of 130 mph. Her purchased this day as a gift for my most recent birthday, sheduling it on this infamous of days. We drove the three hours to the Poconos on Saturday night, staying in a nearby hotel in order to be on time for Sunday morning. We arrived at the school by 8 a.m., registered, got fitted with our racing suits, helmets and sat in on the first of four lessons. Then it was off to the track, speeding first around the track in Malibu’s to garner a sense of the layout. Into the trailer for more instructions on handling, flags, and how to forget almost everything you were taught in regular traffic driving. Fitting into a Formula racer was the first feat for this mesomorph. The first run we were only allowed to do 85 mph until we gained a feel for the track. We, (there were five others along with Ryan and I) motored the track for 20 minute sessions, taking hairpin turns, passing on the inside along the wall, and doing our best not to spin out. That doesn’t seem like much but believe me , at high speeds that twenty minute session took it’s toll physically. After each session it was back into the classroom to be critiqued by four instructors that monitored our progress on the track. With each 20 minute session we got better and faster. I didn’t spin out until my third session. That was due to the fact that I was feeling a bit cocky, able to get my speed up well over 120, and allowed the Formula roadster to get a little out of control. It didn’t flip, but I did a complete 360, four times in about 3 seconds without peeing my pants. By the final of four outings on the track, I was as confident as I could ever imagine rolling down the wall at 132 mph, as we were clocked. I was hooked. I was possessed at taking the turns as narrow as possible, and burning the rubber in pursuit of whomever was in front of me on the track. The experience was the most exhiliarating, yet exhausting one I can remember. Holding onto that 9 inch wheel at those speeds tested not only the triceps but today it feels as if every sinewy nerve and muscle was taxed. I will be back. I’d like to say this was one more item on the bucket list, but that term is too finite and mortal. I have a long way to go and much to experience before I begin my bucket list. Until then, I’ll continue to be on the lookout for the ecstactic experience, what excites me or moves me to tears, that which makes the blood rush to my head, my heart skip a beat, my knees shaky and my soul sigh. Thank you, Ryan, for another day with my son, my friend, the thrill-seeker.
Week of Weather Whirlwinds
We’ve run the gamut as far as weather conditions and climate alterations in the past few weeks. Initially, it was the earthquake, pale in comparison to those along the San Andreas fault. But in Pennsylvania, those almost never appear so it was a big deal. I’m sure they would scoff at us on the Left Coast but it gave us something to talk about for a week.
Klaas and Judy, owners here at LIW, hosted a fillet and lobster dinner for all the workampers in the Gnome Cafe. Approximately 70 people showed for the event.
Mike Walling, known in these parts as the Porkmeister, presided as the main chef, grilling the steaks and handling the lobster. I assisted and was charged with the baked potatoes and salad for the masses.
Everyone seemed pleased with the meal and Mike was a great help to me in teaching me some great tricks when serving a large populace.
Not to be outdone by the earthquake, along came remnant of Hurricane Irene. She may have pummeled the east coast but the backlash of winds from her “eye” made a mess of things around here for a short time.
Power went down for a day and a half but we kept open the cafe in order for any wayfarer camper to have a safe haven from the winds. As quick as it came, it went. Jerome and his entourage of groundskeepers painstakingly policed the resort. A day after its exit, you wouldn’t have known we were a part of the aftermath. Two days later, I joined Ken and Pete for a round at The Hawk. Ken and Pat will be leaving tomorrow, so this would have been our last links encounter for the year. The competition brought out the best in me. They spurned me to turn in my best round of the season so far. Thank you, gentlemen.
Cheryl and Jerry invited us mid-week to a cuisine that was foreign to these taste buds. Apparently, low country boil is a revered entree in the Carolinas. They had talked about it for some time and promised to intoduce us to the Palmetto State’s finest. Skeptical at first, this quickly turned to a pleasant surprise. Keilbasa led the way into the boiling pot, stuff with Bay seasoning, add the potatoes some seven minutes later, followed by the ears of corn, boil a little more, and then add the shrimp as the coup de grace. Finish off the boil and its’ usually dumped onto newspaper. However, short of that, Cherly found a fine platter for us all to partake in the feast.
And just as soon as we were riding a high, along came the tropical storms. I’ve never seen such incessant rain for so long in my life. Apparently, from the studios in Harrisburg, reporters confided this flood had even surpassed the last great disaster of 1972. Confined to the RV, a lot of good downsizing was able to take place. Some reading, some computer time, some thinking, gave time for reflection. Although I didn’t realize it, I needed that. I was in a funk. The words of encouragement from some of you out there turned the tide a bit. Thank you for the challenge. Following the pelting, we couldn’t keep from surveying the damage. Like rubbernecks on a turnpike, we cruised the county. Isn’t it warped how we seek the unusual, the disastrous, the fearful, to see in plain view. Oxymorons are we.
GypsyLarry
