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SOLERA DIAMOND VALLEY | NOVEMBER 2018 9 Bingo Winners Billiards Winners Mike Latimer and Don Briggs Lynn Roppe and Gary Kramer Diana Carofano and Gary Kramer Phillip and Lorraine Brealey By Sharon Cates, Resident We had a motor home. Not one of those 44-foot behemoths that cruise the interstate towing a vehicle. Ours was a 30-foot class C, a more manageable length. Or so we thought until hubby backed into a concrete post at a Flying J fuel station. That was our first mishap the year we bought our slightly used 2006 Sunseeker. Flashback, three years ago. Hubby put his computer aside (a rare occurrence) and announced, "Now that we have sold the house, we need to sell the RV." I mulled this over while placing masking tape across the third moving box of bubble wrapped china. I thought of the memories we had made the last 10 years. I wasn't surprised by his statement. He had grown tired of the maintenance, expense and mishaps. I loved the RV vacations and had even thought of living the nomadic life when we retired. I knew he would have numerous reasons to shoot that idea down. Him, "We would have to do some extensive remodeling to live in the RV comfortably. The sofa is too low for me and I've lost count of the number of times I've bumped my head." Reference to his six foot three inches had come up often, guess he never compensated for his height. Me, "There are places I would love to revisit, Yosemite, Oregon, Mesa Verde and Canyon de Chelly, to name a few." Him, "Don't forget, two weeks is about your limit before you're whining to return home. There would be no home to return to, only a storage unit to visit your things. Besides, the small door of the RV fridge has little room for photos." Glancing at our home refrigerator plastered with the smiling magnetic photos of our grandchildren, I agreed he had a point. I disputed the whining remark, however. We made lists before traveling. He had one; I had at least three. His list had checking tires, filling tanks, cleaning windows, etc. My lists were driven by how long we planned to be gone. Food, clothing, the dog's stuff, and wine were essential. Cupboard space was at a premium. There were discussions as to what we could bring. I just nodded when he said all he needed was his computer, swim suit and Credence CDs. He never did thank me for packing his toenail clippers. Before getting on the road, doors were secured. We learned a lesson when we hit a dip that sent a rain of oatmeal confetti throughout the interior. I'll bet the new owner is still finding hidden flakes in the crevices. When the time came for new tires and alignment, hubby drove 30 miles to a recommended shop. On the way, a tire blew and took out the toilet. Bright green liquid cleaner spewed across three lanes. I miss the motor home. He says we can rent one. I'm not holding my breath. Motor Home Musings

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