Okay. Here's the jest of my absence from the blogesphere. Remember my post about the craft show we attended at a place called The Villages? Well, at that craft show I purchased a gorgeous patio plant for our picnic table. I carried the plant, which was wrapped in plastic, at arm's length and with my right hand, my right arm taking the blunt of the work. Although I kept schmucking people with the plant over and over and kept apologizing for schmucking them over and over I really had no choice but to carry the plant as I was. What I had forgotten was that just a month ago I had been treated for a pulled muscle in my right arm. When a person feels good all pain in the past is forgotten. Stupid mistake....big, gynormous, mistake. The next day I felt as if my right arm took on a life of it's own. The pain was horrible. Although I dealt with the pain for a few weeks I knew I would need to see a doctor. By the time I got to the doctor I felt certain I was suffering some horrible disease, would need surgery and never have use of my right arm again. You know how those things go....Someone has an Aunt Maude who has a friend, whose niece's husband had a brother who died from the same symptoms you have. Oh for the love of God....I have arthritis in my shoulder. Just as everyone who lives long enough gets toe fungus many too, gets arthritis. Unlike my brother, Bill, who suffers extensively from RA my arthritis is "old age" arthritis. Okay. Move on. So, now that I know my arm will not be falling off anytime soon I will charge ahead.
Can't recall if I've already stated this but it deserves repeating; I feel more safe and more at home here at Sandy Oaks than I do in Hunters Ridge in Warsaw, Indiana. There is no way I would walk the dogs, by myself, at night in Hunters Ridge. Here, at Sandy Oaks, from day one I have felt safe and secure at night. No one locks anything; bikes sit out at night unlocked, Jack leaves his golfs clubs sitting out; motorcycle with the keys in the ignition. It seems almost surreal. Now, are there pervs here? Sure. There is no place on earth exempt from pervs. It's just when you reach a certain age (old) you don't have too much to worry about. What you do have to worry about is forgetting where in the hell your camping site is. Oh, sure laugh. But trust me, it isn't funny. Once, ok. I can laugh it off. But twice, it's gets a little worrisome. Picture it....it's freaky dark. No moon. Just you, a flashlight, two dogs, a nightgown and a support bra that after the age of 50, ok, ok, two hairs from 60, is more of an enemy bra than a support bra. All you can think of is walking around aimlessly for hours until you accidentally happen upon your RV.
A journal written about life, retirement and our journey throughout the United States in a 5th wheel, along with our two Shih Tzus, Tanner and Syndey. Written not for notoriety but for our sons, family and friends, so they know where we are at any given time. And particularly for ourselves. Finally, we get to slow down and smell the roses and we don't want to forget any of it. You are welcome to join us as we go 'Down the Road a Piece'.
