Tennessee Williams once said, “Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Actually, Tennessee wrote it. A newly platinum-haired Vivien Leigh said it when she played Blanche DuBois in “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Blanche was a former troubled schoolteacher who ran away from small town Mississippi to live with Stella, her equally troubled sister, and her husband in New Orleans. The end result has Marlon Brando, the sister’s husband, Stanley, screaming Stella’s name in the street. That sort of sums up my weekend. I didn’t scream Stella in the street. I screamed Quint, Marjorie, and Cary Moon. It’s been a rough weekend.
We decided to be campers. Stop laughing. If I had half of what I’ve paid in dog boarding fees over the last decade, I could circumnavigate the globe on one of those planes that has a piano bar. In other words, it’s expensive. Then there’s the issue with our small, horse-sized poodle, Finn, who has epilepsy. The whole time you’re gone you’re sweating bullets in hopes that the boarding facility spaced those phenobarbital doses exactly 12 hours apart. Also, we miss them. We are those crazy dog people who replaced all the children with furry babies. But, camping is different. Camping means dogs can come, too! Except, 3 dogs and 2 humans in a tent sounds like an I Love Lucy episode. “I’ve got it,” said my husband. “We’ll get an RV,” said my husband. So, we looked and drove and researched recreation vehicles. After regaining consciousness from sticker shock fainting spells, we settled on a 2011 super small 21 ft travel trailer. We got a great deal, at least until we discovered all the water damage and the soft spot on the roof. Nevertheless, we spent weeks adding things like hydraulic hitch lifts, sway bars, and new stabilizing jacks. Then, last week, I decided the entire interior needed to be a black and white scheme. Every inch was sanded, wiped down, deglossed, primed, and painted: every wall, every cabinet, every inch of the floor. But, friends, we were ready for adventure. Miraculously, we’d secured a reservation for the weekend near Jefferson, TX at gorgeous Lake O’ the Pines. Incidentally, there really are no reservations. They book up 6 months in advance. I’m not joking. They book up. So, we loaded up the newly renovated RV. We loaded up the truck. We loaded up the dogs. We took off. We were singing John Denver songs at full blast. Oh, the best laid plans of people and poodles. Two hours into a 2.5 hour drive, my husband said horrible, awful words to me. He said, “Will you google what does a light that looks like a wrench mean?”
By the time we reached the campsite check in booth, there was smoke coming out of the hood. We had taken a vote. Everyone said 30 minutes to reach camp was better than risking 2 hours retracking through the boonies with no cell service. Finn did not vote. He just ate treats. Somehow, we made it to our slip. It was gorgeous. Even through the panic of possible breakdown status, we were awed by our lake view beyond the towering East Texas pine trees. We sat out our lawn chairs and stared at each other. “What do we do now,” we said simultaneously. It’s one thing to tow a truck. How do you also tow a camper? Who even does that? Kevin looked up local mechanics on his phone and called the first number he saw. An hour later, a man named Quint showed up with a diagnostic machine, wife in tow. “He’s the best mechanic in Texas,” wife Cheryl assured me. “All the dealerships bring their problem cases to us.” She was lovely. By the time Quint was finished with his exam, I had learned that he is also an expert carpenter, currently remodeling his childhood home. His knowledge of human anatomy and musculature was impressive, too. Quint is a massage therapist but practices a form of bodily manipulation that’s more akin to Reiki and chiropractic care. He looked at me and declared that one of my ears was lower than the other. He touched my back and said my hips were atrociously out of line. 5 minutes later, I was laying on a blanket next to the picnic table while Quint the mechanic gave me an amazing hip adjustment and did something with the energy in my sinus cavities that made me other worldly dizzy. He became nauseated until Cheryl grabbed my bare feet to absorb the excess aura. I cannot make this up. He promised that my arms would not fall asleep at night anymore. He has made good on that promise. His truck diagnosis was a bit simpler. “It’s broke.” Quint said our best bet was to try and make it back home in our truck without pulling the camper and staying out of 5th gear. “You’ll either make it, or you won’t.” Gulp. Quint and Cheryl left as we continued to weigh our options. Marjorie, the front desk park manager, let us know that our slip had not been reserved yet for the following Monday. She said we were welcome to leave our camper and she would make sure her husband checked on it often. She also cautioned us about the approaching thunderstorms. Perhaps leaving the next day under threat of drizzle was a better idea than waiting until inclement weather was guaranteed. We made it home on Saturday without need of a tow, never exceeding 4th gear. Cary, my brother-in-law, graciously offered to retrieve our camper the following day. As I fall asleep tonight, I will revel in the kindness of people, some family and some new acquaintances. It’s not often someone walks into your life to work on your car, your hips, and your sinus cavity. God blessed Texas, indeed.
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