Our cat, Charlie, must not like the title as he’s lying here on the breakfast table bopping my laptop. He’s very particular about blog titles, as you can tell.
As I mentioned at the end of our last blog, getting back to AZ through the southwest is a long trek with not a whole lot of places to see, so we’ve had to depart from our usual Sunday to Sunday scheduling in order to be in St. George, UT, in time for the 28th Annual Huntsman Senior Games. We also had to alter our original schedule because of the passing away of my cousin Alex Smith. Instead of staying in Oklahoma City as planned, we’re detouring to the Dallas area to attend her memorial.
After two years on the RV road hitting restaurants all over the country almost every other day, it finally hit me: the American business model has effected a great change in the way their restrooms accommodate us.
What? You’ve noticed it, too?
It’s just that you no longer have to do anything when you get in there. First off, one doesn’t have the option anymore of flushing the toilet. Smart-Commodes (I-Commodes?) decide for themselves when flushing is necessary, then they do it … or they don’t. That option can be quite embarrassing.
Then you try to wash your hands. The soap dispenser with a mind of its own begins spewing soap automatically if you’re anywhere within a 14’-radius of it. Soap milling about on the counter is a continual hazard.
The water faucet then turns on automatically for you after a minute or two of frantic waving. Unfortunately, it also automatically turns off, usually far too soon, so there you are left with a handful of suds.
“Marge,” the automatic paper towel dispenser, is probably smarter than we are; she often shoots out a paper towel before you need it, knowing full well you’ll be visiting her soon enough. Sometimes Marge isn’t there and all you’re left with is one of those air-blower hand dryers. People use to hate those because you’d stand there forever looking like a dolt as a gentle breeze took 45 minutes to dry your hands. But if you luck out (?) and get one of the newer models, well, look out. I’m pretty sure they’ve been built by out-of-work, NASA engineers using spare jet-engine parts. Your hands are dry in less than five seconds, but they take off your nail polish, too. Of course, I’m not wearing nail polish this week, but you get my drift. I think the last jet blast leveled my fingerprints.
All of this just to improve the bathroom process. Now, if we could get them to do your business for you, well, then we’d really have something. Back to work, geniuses (genii ?).
Oh, at dinner that night, I somehow remembered that probably the only person I know from Oklahoma is Steve Pittman from Muskogee. Steve and I were in Army basic training and Advanced Individual Training (AIT) together at Ft. Polk, Louisiana, back in the summer of 1972. We had been pretty good buds, even kept in touch for awhile afterwards, but that being just a year or 20 before the interweb, we soon lost touch. When I mentioned Steve to Diedre, she went into her usual Sherlock Holmes mode, and within three minutes, had found Steve in Tulsa, OK. There was even a picture that, although 42 years older, let me know she had indeed found the right Steve Pittman. I e-mailed him that night and then waited for a response. I figure it’ll probably be another 42 years before I hear from him.
On Thursday, September 25, we rumbled into our RV park in the Dallas suburb of Lewisville, TX. It was a very nice campground, situated in a giant city park on Lewisville Lake complete with baseball, softball, soccer, and football fields, a disc golf course, boat launches, and a swimming beach.
The next morning at breakfast while checking e-mails, I discovered a response from Army buddy Steve Pittman. He was amazed to hear from me and had thought about finding me over the years. Turns out he had taken a similar education path to Diedre’s, starting out as a teacher and working his way up to principal. He had really gotten into SCUBA diving while in the Mid east and had taught diving for a long time. He’s only a year away from retirement, then he and his wife plan on doing a bit of traveling. I quickly dispatched another e-mail inviting him to visit us at Terravita and stay in our casita. I’ll keep you informed.
That evening we went to my cousin Sydney’s house for a light dinner, get-together for all the relatives in town for her sister and my cousin Alex’s memorial the next day. Syd, Syd’s brother Duncan, Alex, and I all share a great-grandfather, McIndoe Alexander. Diedre and I were the only ones there from the Alexander side of the family since Syd’s mom was an only child, but there were a ton of Smith cousins there whom I had never met. It was a very comfortable evening with a lot of very nice, new people to meet.
On Saturday morning, I was up early to get in some softball swings at the park’s nearby batting cage. I would be playing two softball tournaments starting in less than a week, and since I hadn’t swung a bat in our seven months on the road, I figured I’d better hit a few so as not to totally embarrass myself.
Alex’s memorial was a buffet at her and husband Gord’s country club. There was a wonderful slide-show of her life with many pictures I had never seen. My brother and I used to visit Syd and Alex in Owatonna, MN, when we were kids. There was just three years separating the four of us.
Any passing is sad, but Alex’s was really so since she was only 64. It was liver failure that came upon her so suddenly. You may remember from last year’s Dallas blog that she was in fine shape, even accompanying us to the Texas Rangers’ baseball game. And now she’s gone. We feel so badly for Gord as it was really a shock for him to lose someone he figured to have at least another 20 years with. I’ll always love the picture Diedre took last year of Alex (Alexandra), her nephew and another cousin of mine, Alexander, and me. I like to call it: ALEX-CUBED.Rest in peace, dear cousin.
On Sunday, we broke camp and made our way north to Amarillo, TX, where they had an excellent RV park. Of the 34 camps we’ve stayed in so far this summer, it was only the 4th one to which I gave a “5” (Excellent) rating. Since Amarillo is a portal to anywhere east for us, I’m sure we’ll be staying there again.
On Monday, we landed in Albuquerque. That made it time for yet another old-home-week. Tom Schroeder had graduated St. Louis Park High School (MN) with me in 1968. I played basketball against him when we were younger, and we were both part of the same sports-crowd in high school. His dad had even been my junior high school principal. So of course, I lost touch with him after graduation and had not seen him in 46 years. Through a fellow graduate friend of both of ours known only as “The Shrub” (long story), we made contact and Tom found our RV park. Except for a mustache and a little gray, he looked the same as he had 46 years ago at the senior All-Night Party. It was great catching up. Tom and his wife have some acreage where they keep horses and a miniature burro (miniature? I thought all burros were miniature). Just like Amarillo, we go through Albuquerque often, so Tom is now on our “to-be-annoyed list” whenever we pass through town. (DK here - I did take a photo of the boys but my camera ate it in the download. For sure we will reconnect when we go to Alburquerque again so I can get a photo!)
Speaking of our Albuquerque RV park, a strange thing happened the next morning. A mysterious fog rolled in and when it cleared, to the tune of “The Twilight Zone” theme song, somehow it was 1950 again, the year this RV park first opened. Diedre and I couldn’t believe it.
Interstate 40 was gone with the old Route 66 in its place. I got gas (ethyl, of course) at the ancient gas pump, although three service-men rushed out to pump my gas, check my oil, and charge me only 11-cents a gallon. The modern RV’s were gone. In their places were cars and trailers from the 50’s. 
I did our laundry using an old-fashioned wringer to dry the clothes. I then sat down to watch first-run episodes of “The Honeymooners” on an old console TV while Diedre furiously battled to get the top score on a new-fangled video game called “Asteroids.” It was only when I began maniacally playing the pump organ like Lurch from “The Addams Family” that the fog returned, and miraculously, it was 2014 again.
Go figure.
On Tuesday, September 30, we drove up to Santa Fe to see Diedre’s faux brother, Tom Costello, who was holding our mail. Tom’s dad, Red Costello, was Diedre’s god-father. A nicer man than Red never lived. Tom is a chip off the old man's block.
You may remember back in April in Houston, TX, we had visited our long-time theatre friends, Fudd and Bugs (Laura and Chris Hawkes). Fudd had been instrumental in Diedre getting to meet and have her picture taken there with Broadway legend, Tommy Tune. Well, that was at the University of Houston. In the meantime, Fudd was recruited by the Santa Fe University of Art and Design to chair their performing arts department. They also wanted Bugs to be their technical director. Their department offices are in The Greer Garson Theatre.These were big moves for the both of them. It was so very exciting to see Fudd, the young, just-out-of-college girl who we first met when she got a small supporting role for the Minnesota Shakespeare Company when Diedre was its managing director in the mid-90’s, now being put in charge of an entire college’s theatre program . We’re such proud parents.
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| (over 20 years ago) |
We were back on the road the first day of October. But before leaving New Mexico, it was now Diedre’s turn to play “old-home-week,” this time with Western Michigan University chum Tom “Gags” McGaghie. Tom is also in education, working for the Native American Reservation school system in Grant, NM. I had never met Tom, but moments after being introduced, it was like we were old buddies. This “Santa Claus look-alike” is a bear of a man with a great laugh to match. Over coffee, Tom and DK talked over every minute of their time together at Western. Since Grant is on the route to/from Albuquerque, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of Gags in the near future.
NOTE: Is everybody in New Mexico named “Tom”? (Schroeder, Costello, McGaghie).
Late that afternoon we made it to the J&H RV Park in Flagstaff, AZ. This 4.5 acres park was built in 1982 by Joanne and “HaRVey” (That’s how he spells it) Mickelson. They love their park and it shows. It’s won the “National RV Park of the Year Award” three times, i.e. 1994, ’98, & 2003. It’s truly a wonderful park: no smoking, you must be over 55 to stay there, great wifi and cable TV, home to several smaller green spaces with seating/gathering areas, and a lovely pet memorial park with actual marble gravestones. We decided, in fact, that the campsite was so nice that in 10 years when we’re done RV’ing, AB1 probably won’t be worth selling anyway so we’re going to drive it up here and leave it in Flagstaff from May to September. It’ll be our getaway from the heat of a Phoenix summer.
The J&H owners were also a pair of cut-ups. While most camp owners have a list of rules that make the Gestapo seem like Sunday school, Joanne and HaRV let humor make their points. They had signs about controlling your pets and children. There was also one about stowing your garbage. And a lost and found reference was particularly funny.Well done, Joanne and HaRV!
Our only accomplishment in Flagstaff was to secure Diedre’s new driver’s license, then it was off to Mesquite, NV, on Thursday for the Mesquite warm-up-for-The-Huntsman-Games Softball Tournament, of which we were the three-time defending champions. This year would be no different as we won all three games Saturday, then swept the final two on Sunday to take the title.
It was great seeing the guys and their wives again for the first time since playing ball with them last March. That night we met up with the Erickson’s (Jimmy and Carol) and the Kinch’s (Phil aka “Sparky” and Sue) at a local sports bar. Phil told the best story of the night. A Central Michigan University (CMU) alum, Phil related how he was once out with buddies playing golf. They stopped at a bar to have one for the road. A nearby boisterous group just happened to be singing the CMU school song, so Phil stopped over to say “hi.” When he told them where he was from, one guy exclaimed, “REALLY! Do you know Sparky Kinch?!”
Phil waited a beat.
“Know him?” he finally said … “I AM him!”
Other than softball, the weekend had few highlights. After a nice casino buffet on Friday with members of our Rox-Over-60 Senior softball team, Diedre and I once again put a casino darn-near out of business with some savvy video poker/blackjack wagering that left us $5.85 to the good. We slept well that night.Then after Saturday’s three wins in 90-degree afternoon heat, we collapsed at the nearby Peggy Sue’s Sports Bar. Shortstop Robbie Masson had perhaps the largest pot-pie I‘ve ever seen ... probably that anyone has ever seen. Somewhere in Michigan, I think he’s still working on it.
OK, a 5-0 record on Sunday should be good enough to prepare us for the big Huntsman Games Senior Softball Tournament where, out of 50-55 teams annually, we’ve won two silver and one gold medals in the last three years. We’re now racing to St. George to set-up for our standard pre-tourney Margarita Party. We’re looking forward to seeing you all there.
Then … LET THE GAMES BEGIN!
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