January 27 – The Fork in the Road

by Pat Bean

“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”–Neale Donald Walsch

It was a sunny day in 2004, just three weeks before I would retire from a 37-year career as a journalist, when I drove a brand new RV off an Ogden, Utah, sales lot. It felt like the butterflies in my stomach had developed thorns on their fragile wings.

Everything that had been a part of my past life was about to change. I had just blocked off all chances of remaining rooted in my small, but cozy home that sat in the shadows of the Wasatch Mountains I loved. There simply was not enough money in my future to both fulfill my lifelong dream of living and traveling on the road while maintaining fixed roots within a circle of friends that had taken over 20 years to acquire.

This day I had not only chosen the unknown road that lay ahead, but had wrapped my choice in cement. I had even traded in my Honda Odyssey as part payment for the undersized, 22-foot RV that was now my only form of transportation, and soon would be my only home.

By the time all the paper work giving me title to the 2004 Volkswagen Vista/Winnebago had been scrutinized, signed and finalized, it was early evening. I was too unsettled to take my purchase for a check-out spin. So, feeling tall and strange sitting behind the wheel with my new living, dining, sleeping, cooking and bathroom facilities behind me, I drove home. Emotional turmoil, good or bad, always sapped my energy.

On carefully pulling into my driveway, testing the wideness needed to turn my new RV, I heard frenzied barking from inside the house. It was how my dog, Maggie, reacted to the sound of strange vehicles invading her territory. She never barked when I returned home, nor did she at any of my frequent visitors. But she did not recognize this new vehicle.

When I opened the door, Maggie gave me a quizzical look of surprise. Then, realizing in a split second that something new was parked in the driveway, she dashed between my legs and ran out to explore.

I opened the RV’s side door and she eagerly hopped in. She slowly sniffed every surface she could get at, then finally hopped up onto the couch and gave me a look that I easily interpreted as: So where are we going? To explore America, the beautiful, I reply. I always answer my dog’s inquiring looks. .

And that’s how my my travels with Maggie began. It’s been a journey that’s now heading into its eighth year. And I still have nary a regret.

Pat Bean is a wandering/wondering old broad who is beginning her eighth year of full-time RV-ing with her canine traveling companion, Maggie. She is passionate about writing, nature, books and birds and writes a daily blog.

September 30 – When Caroline Met Harry

by Carol Ziel

Harry had been rattling around the neighborhood for a couple of months. He was a slightly feral cat with a whole lot of personality. One steamy autumn afternoon I heard a knock on my door. There he was. He had a real heavy paw for a young cat. He meowed engagingly, clearly having some kind of agenda. I shooed him away but within a couple of minutes there was another knock. It was Harry. I shooed him again. Within a few minutes there was a knock on my back door. It was him. I explained that I was not in the market for any kind of relationship. My daughter had moved home with a 3-year-old boy and two old lady cats. I already had a blind dog.

He looked up at me soulfully. I’d seen that look on any number of guy friends over the years, and recognized it for what it was–he wanted something that I had. I thought I had the situation well under control but I was wrong. I told him that if he was on my front porch when I came home from work at 1:00a.m., I would consider taking our relationship to the next level. He was only a cat. What were the chances, really?

It was close to 1:00 a.m. when I pulled up to the curb in my cronemobile . As I opened the storm door, I heard that meow. There he was perched on a porch cushion like he was the king of everything. Shameless opportunist that he was, he swished his tail, flicked his ears and walked in while I stood there in shocked silence. He is still with me, urgently engaged in establishing himself at the top of the pecking order.

I have to say that this is one of my more successful relationships. He comes and goes as he chooses, curls up for a cuddle on occasion, and communicates his wants and needs vigorously. I never have to wonder what is going on in that furry little mind, and as the Grand Dame of the household, I still hold the trump card.

Caroline Ziel is a 62-year-old grandmother, gardener, and social worker, hailing from the heart of MIssouri. She have been a member of SCN for about two years and has grown exponentially with the support of her writing circle and the SCN community.