Washday blues (pale)
A bundle of grapes, some fresh cheese, a gentle breeze and a washing machine. The life of the longterm camper must, inevitably, fall into the domestic. No laundry, no clean clothes; a life of drive-thru for you. Actually, a quiet day also gives us a chance to do the campground cha-cha-cha, where we move our tents to another site. Reservations are respected, even in a camping reserve. Others have longed for our view, for months, and the promise was that we would move when the time came. Pick up your dome and shuffle.
I found the external hard drive in the back of the van, so I used the hours to move files from one place to another. Music, pictures, books; all must find a new place in the hierarchy. I haven’t had this much “free space” in years, and the computer might actually run a little faster. There’s no need to upgrade my hardware just yet.
Our move is complete. Twenty paces closer to the splash and flush rooms, and neighbours on both sides of us. At least the dastardly windchime players have gone away.
We decided to go and meet the boat for a family moment, and tried to “firm up” the rendevous while enroute. Cell technology is elusive; when I did finally get bars, there was no answer at the other end. I was then left sitting with the phone in my hand for another attempt when I noticed that it had turned mildly musical. I thought phones were supposed to be loud, obtrusive things. Not so ours. If I hadn’t checked the screen, I would never have known that this meant someone was calling me. Training sessions in the future says the fortune cookie. We did finally cross paths at the only donut joint in town, and over a comforting blueberry fritter and a mug of java, the world was put to right. Did anyone else notice?
