Who’s Carson?

We had the privilege of taking care of Carson for five weeks. You might be asking yourself “Who’s Carson?” Did they get another dog? No, Carson is a Siamese fighting fish, also known as a Betta. They are very territorial and are prone to aggression towards other Bettas, so they need to be kept in separate tanks if you have more than one.

Carson was extremely friendly and outgoing for a fish. We’d go up to his tank and say, “Hi Carson” and he would swim over, and his little flippers would vigorously flap up and down, this was his way of saying “Hi.” So adorable!

We would move his tank around, so he had different views to look at. During the day and evenings, we would have him on the table near our living room window. Also, he could watch us as we sat on the couch watching TV. We’d say, “Hi Carson” or wave and he’d swim over to our side of his tank and his little flippers would go up and down like crazy.

At night time, we would move him over to our china cabinet and put a doggie blanket around his tank to keep him warm because the furnace would go on and off during the night.

Feeding him was an event at least for me it was. He’d get two tiny little pellets twice a day. They were hard to get out of the container. Many times, I’d have lots of them lying on the table in my attempt to get two. When dropping the pellets in, it was important to get his attention, or they would sink to the bottom of the tank. When I opened the little door on his tank lid he’d usually swam over to it. If he didn’t come over, then I would gently tap the water where I wanted him to be.

Carson needed his tank cleaned about every two weeks. His owner provided us a turkey baster to siphon out the water. The baster was also used to suck up Carson’s poop at the bottom of his tank. We only needed to remove about half of his water and replace it with fresh. Carson also had his own mason jar for water which sat for a while before being added back to the tank. This all had to be at room temperature and there were special Betta liquid drops that went into the water as well. 

Doing all of this eliminated the need to remove Carson from his tank. This resulted in a healthy and happy fish! This may explain why my previous Bettas didn’t last long in my care. I didn’t clean their tank often enough, plus I removed them from their tank with a net which always seemed to traumatize them when I cleaned out the tank.

I got the call on a Thursday from Carson’s owner saying he was back from Winter Break and would like to make the arrangements to pick Carson up. I knew the call was coming but I was devastated that our guest would be leaving us. How can one fall in love with a fish? Well, I did.

Carson left us on a Saturday morning. Later in the day I went into the living room and was alarmed that his tank wasn’t on the table. I took a moment to breathe and my brain then kicked in and said, “Hey dummy -- he’s gone back to his real owner which you aren’t.” So true, but sad nevertheless.

I have contacted Carson’s owner several times to see how he’s doing. I have mentioned at least twice that we would be more than willing to take care of Carson over Spring Break. Hopefully, his owner will decide to go somewhere and not stay on campus. Only time will tell!

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

A Betta or a Puggle?

Carson the Fish:

When I put my face right up to his tank and called out his name he would swim over and his flippers would flap up and down a lot. If he was resting and I called his name, he would start swimming around.

Fast Eddie the Puggle:

When I call for Eddie or pet him, he just ignores me unless I have dog treats to give to him, and only then does he respond to me. Basically, he ignores me 23 out of 24 hours a day. 

My Mother's Obsession with My Hair

I originally wrote and posted this in August 2008 on my old blog. In my lifetime, I have gone through more hair stylists then I have men or women for that matter! I have  never found the person who could handle the fact that my hair is very thick on one side, that I have cowlicks, and I my bangs hang at a funny angle.

Just the other day, I found my person who understands what my hair is doing and what needs to be done to make it look normal! So this story is for Kari. My new best friend. She can be found at "to dye for." in Easthampton, MA.

                                    *************************************

My mother had many obsessions and one of them was about my hair. It never looked like the Shirley Temple image she had in her mind. It all started out innocently enough when I was 2-years old. We were living on a military base on the island of Okinawa where my father was stationed. It was very windy and, at the time, I had baby-fine curly strawberry blonde hair. It was always getting tangled, so one day my mother couldn’t take my wiggling and crying any longer from the comb getting stuck in the knots in my hair, so she shaved my head. 

Oh yes, she did! There I was - bald. Hair grows back, so what’s the big deal you ask? Well, it grew back very thick, very straight and no longer blonde! God forbid! And that was the beginning of her obsession with my hair.

Starting at around the age of four (remember my hair had to grow back first), I got the first of many perms that I would have over my lifetime. One of my first memories was sitting in a chair in the Beauty Salon on a stack of telephone books, trying not to fall out of the chair. I truly believe this is where my fear of heights came from. It was several feet to the floor and I could have gotten really hurt. If I had fallen it wouldn’t have concerned my mother - as long as my hair came out curly. Also, I distinctly remember the strong smell of the perm and how my eyes always watered during the process.

I was blessed with extremely thick hair and the perms I received didn’t react well and my hair became all frizzy looking. Our hairdresser at the time just didn’t know how to handle cutting it. My mother started taking me to the Barber Shop on the base. One of the first pictures taken of me when we came back to the States was of a little white girl with an Afro! That and my speaking a mix-mash of English and Japanese was not well received back in 1958! Oh, the traumas I went through as a young child!

Now both my parents lived through the Great Depression and were scarred for life because of that. When we came back to the States, they both continued to work and save money so we wouldn’t end up in Debtors’ Prison. My mother was a Civil-Service Nurse (she worked at the clinic on base) and my father was a Chief-Master Sergeant stationed at the Air Base in Lincoln, Nebraska.

One of their money-saving ideas was for my mother to start perming my hair at home. Impending disaster! She left the solution on way too long which resulted in huge clumps of my hair falling out. On top of this, I was growing like a weed and they weren't replacing any of my dresses. During the early 60’s, no decent little girl wore pants to school! There I was looking like Little Orphan Annie, (this must be where my obsession with red hair began) with dresses hitting above my knees, which was not fashionable back then, and with very frizzy hair with clumps of it missing. Oh, what a sight I was!

Fast forward to the late 60’s, when the Beatles (the band, not the bug) and flower children were having their moment in history with their very straight, long hair. Yep, for a brief while, Mother left the perm obsession and went to the straight-hair obsession. Which was fine with me. I learned to blow dry my hair using one of those domed hair dryers designed for home use. It looked like a huge blue helmet! I flipped back the arm that connected the dome to the electrical unit and made my own blow dryer. It wasn’t very small, nor very portable, but it worked!

Now I always tried to be the good little girl and live the way my mother wanted me to, which is how I developed my neuroses and obsessions that I have had to battle with over the years. Ah, think of all the future blog postings you'll get to read!

One of the many rebellions I went through with my mother was when I was a  teenager and it was about my hair. Go figure. In the fall of 1971, I decided I wanted to wear my hair in a Gypsy Shag which was all the rage back then. My mother would not even consider that as an option for me. One day I snuck off to downtown Lincoln. Thank goodness for the bus system! I went to Swanson’s, which at the time was a very swanky clothing store in town with a salon and had my hair done. I remember coming home and yelling for my mother from the first-floor landing that I had a surprise for her. She flipped! Oh my gosh, she had a bird. She was so upset! She never forgave me for going against her wishes. Years later she would always shudder at the mere mention of the Gypsy Shag hair episode.

As the years flew by I found other ways to upset my mother, dating older men, staying out until the wee hours and divorcing at the young age of 25 (marriage #1) and so forth. But it seemed one of our favorite past times over the years was always arguments over my hair. To remove myself from my mother’s interference, I moved from Denver and eventually ended up in Virginia. She hated to travel, so I was safe living in Virginia.

But like the good girl that I tried to be, I went back to Denver every six months and stayed for a week of fun and hell. Now let me tell you, for me to get from Northern Virginia to Denver took hours by plane plus travel time to and from the airports. There I’d be, landing exhausted at Mother’s doorstep around 11:00 p.m. (which would be 1:00 a.m. back East). And the very first words that came out of her mouth after having not seen me for six months was, “Oh Sharon Elaine, your hair looks just horrible!” 

Thanks, Mom. I needed to hear that after traveling so many hours to see you. But unfortunately, I just could never please that woman no matter how much I tried and especially when it came to my hair.

Until the next time…

Labels are for Cans

I grew up in Nebraska during the 70’s. Three things were important: Being a Republican; knowing that the Cornhusker football team was the only University team that existed; and worshiping Johnny Carson. By the way, he grew up in Norfolk, Nebraska, attended the University of Nebraska and ended up on national television for over 30 years.

What else is there?  Not much. I lived in an environment that assumed you would marry the first guy you ever kissed, that you would raise your children in a house with a white picket fence and live happily ever after.

I do live in a house with a white picket fence adorned by the way, with red-metal stars. I am raising kids - they just happen to have four-furry legs. I am living with the first and only woman I’ve ever kissed, and we are living happily ever after. By the way, I am no longer a Republican.

In my various careers, I have worked at two co-educational Universities, The Ohio State University and The University of Virginia. Neither prepared me for Smith College. I have grown and learned so much from the Smithies that I’ve come to know over the years.

I’ve learned that labels are for cans and not people. That women come in many colors (a woman of color) and, “fluidity” has nothing to do with liquid in a glass. I am fascinated by the concept of “fluidity.”

When I first came out at the age of 49, I had a lot of misconceptions about what it meant to be a Lesbian. Obviously, I had spent far too many years hanging out in Nebraska as a Republican. One major misconception of mine was that two women when in a relationship consisted of one being butch and the other being femme. The male/female stereotype strikes again. Hey, give a gal a break. I was new at this.

In my new state of being, having left one world and entered another, I made certain assumptions. One is that once you made the “great leap” that was it. Looking back, that thought is so ridiculous. What was I thinking??? Fluidity is not a label. It is a statement of being…one’s true self.

Until next time…

Jason's Girl

This is the second in a series of short fiction that I've written.

Our family is probably like any other, with its quirks and oddballs. But my cousin Riley was plain baffling.

Riley was known to take a huge amount of time to make any kind of decision. From choosing a new hair style to even picking out what to eat for lunch, consumed hours of deliberation on her part. But saying “yes” to Jason's proposal in a single heartbeat was just mind blowing.

Jason is the guy Riley dated for eight years before he finally popped the question. What does that say about how he truly felt about their relationship? Why did it take him that long to figure out he had an amazing, loving woman in his life? The guy was a loser, and everybody knew it except for Riley.

From the very first, everyone was at a loss in understanding the attraction between the two of them. For starters, Riley is 5’11” to Jason’s 5’6”. She has flaming red curly hair and he has a receding hairline. She has her Ph.D. in Medieval History and he has a bachelors’ degree in Political Science. She has the first dollar she ever earned, and he spent his first dollar the moment he earned it. Just what is the attraction?

Riley never saw herself as someone who would spark interest from anyone. She always felt awkward because of her height and because of her brilliant mind. She felt relieved when Jason came along and showed some interest.

Jason, on the other hand, majored in drinking and credit card debt and was lucky to have received a degree since he rarely attended classes. He scored when he met Riley. They have been living together for the past seven years and in all those years, Jason has never paid rent.

His logic was that Riley made so much more than he did, that it only made sense that she foot the bills. Riley just accepted his stupid logic and smiled lovingly at him. He was, and still is, using her and she just doesn’t see it!

We, as family and friends, felt an intervention was necessary to keep this marriage from happening. The question is how to make someone like Riley see the error of her snap decision?

Her birthday was coming up soon and one of our cousins suggested using a cake and ice cream birthday party as a ruse to get Riley in the same room with everyone. Cousin Marv just wanted free cake, and this was an easy way for him to get some. Riley’s mother, Victoria, thought that holding a make-believe dinner party would be a way to get Riley to come over to the house, just in case she was on a diet and would refuse the cake idea.

The reality of all of this is that Riley wasn’t going to be able to process any suggestions made without it taking several days to think about it. That is just the way she is. The entire family knows this. But it doesn’t fit into what they believe is the appropriate timetable to discuss, much less to make, an earth shattering decision such as dumping Jason. He’s so badly thought of in the family that I’m surprised Cousin Vinny hasn’t been asked to resolve the situation. Personally, I think having him involved solves the Jason issue.

That would give Riley appropriate time to mourn for a deceased finance and relieve us all of any obligation to stop the wedding. Discussion was then held on who was going to pay Cousin Vinny to do the deed. I said, “he’s family, and family doesn’t charge one another when assistance as drastic as this is needed”. Everyone agreed with me and the suggestion was made that I should be the one to contact him.

Though this is an excellent idea for getting rid of Jason, what happens if something goes wrong? I just don’t look good in orange. Everyone agreed that orange does not go well with my complexion, but that didn’t change their minds about who should contact Cousin Vinny  

Cousin Vinny is an interesting character. He loves parties, he’s crazy for kittens and he holds the door open when a date gets in his car. He’s a nice guy. Problem is he never talks about what he does for a living and there is good reason for that. He’s not a baker or used car salesman. He kills people for a living. That’s just what he does. He never talks about his profession and everyone knows better than to ask.

Contacting Cousin Vinny is nerve racking. You have to text him and wait. Once he replies, he gives a location where to meet him. The last time I met him was in a bar and this time it was at a park. One has to wait about 15 minutes at the chosen location so he can case the area to make sure that there are no cops around.

I explained to Cousin Vinny about the situation with Riley and Jason. He remembers Riley from when she was a little girl. He agrees that the situation of Jason using Riley wasn’t good. Cousin Vinny is intimidating due to his size so talking to Jason could scare him off. That would give Jason a chance not to get killed. He said he’d find Jason and have that little talk with him. If that didn’t work out, then there is always the other option.

In the meanwhile, I got an unexpected phone call from Riley. She told me she knows that Jason uses her and that he spends way too much time away from her on weekends hanging out with the guys. But she cares for him and the family needs to know that. She went on to say that she is happy with their arrangement and she can see herself married to him for a lifetime. I was rather stunned that first, she would call me, and second, that she would pour out her heart to me.

So, I now find myself in a predicament. Should I stop Cousin Vinny from his plans (which would make the family unhappy)? Or should I reflect on Riley’s heartfelt feelings regarding Jason?

I’m stumped, I want Riley happy, but I want to keep the peace within the family as well and I just don’t know what to do. It’s a hard call. I do not know what to do about this conundrum.

Update:

I told the family about Riley’s feelings and told them to let it go and see what happens down the line. Ends up that Riley got cold feet about the engagement and called it off. She also kicked Jason out of her apartment. The last we heard about Jason, he was couch surfing among his friends.

Until the next time...

I Miss You Sweet Girl

It has been two weeks since Chloe died and went over the Rainbow Bridge to run with Chancey who went there 3 months before she did. We didn’t want to make that decision, but her health had deteriorated so much, and she could barely walk. This is my letter to her.

My Dearest Chloe,

Today is Halloween, and for the past 13 years we have dressed you up as a pumpkin. This is why I always called you "Pumpkin." Today, we dressed Fast Eddie up in your costume to continue the tradition.

I miss you. You always greeted me at the door with your tail wagging and making your happy little yipping sounds. I miss that. You loved getting your daily lump of cream cheese. Did you know that is where we hid your pills?

I remember one winter you were lying on your hammock in the backyard and it was snowing. I looked out and all I saw was a large lump of snow. And, the reason I knew it was you was your nose was sticking out! You also loved making doggie snow angels. You’d flop down on your back and wiggle like crazy!

Since you were a puppy, we always gave you little pieces of food while we were eating our dinners, (which all the doggie books say not to do). You loved meat and hated vegetables. And, like your mommy, you craved whipped cream! As soon as I started shaking the container, you would appear!

Over the years, you had a few favorite toys that you carried around in your mouth. For many years, it was a toy shaped like a lamb. We purchased many over the years and would quietly replaced them as they got worn. When we ran out of lambs, we found Lambchop and purchased several of those. The last one you played with is on the shelf sitting next to your collar and the box that holds you now.

You, my little diva, had two dog beds. One in the bedroom and one in the living room. The beds are gone now. The living room feels cavernous. I so long for you to be here so I can lean over to pet you and tell you what a gorgeous girl you are. 

One thing I always told you was that you were my girl and you would be my only one. That is a promise I plan to keep. I miss you so much and my heart has a large piece missing. Baby girl, enjoy the freedom to run again. And, enjoy looking for those squirrels!

With all my love,
Mommy Sharon

This is the story about how Chloe came into our lives and I thought you might enjoy knowing more about her.

Chloe is our dog and we are her servants. She is a bit peeved that it has taken so long to get her own blog posting. She is a diva dog. She came into our lives in May of 2004 when she was seven months old. She and her brother had been abandoned in a rural area in Northern Virginia.

Our intent, that Saturday when we went to the Animal Shelter, was just to look at dogs. We were living in an apartment at the time and wanted to wait until we had a house with a fenced yard.

When we finished with the front part of the shelter, Mary went to hunt down the ladies’ room. I have limited patience, so I went ahead into the area where the dogs were kept. I started walking down the line of cages and I made it to the fourth one. And there she was, our dog – who was named Kisses.

Who would name a dog Kisses? Really? Can you see yourself calling out to your dog at the dog park “Here Kisses” or “Kisses stop that right now." Well not I.  I’m getting ahead of myself here. We had not even adopted her, and I already wanted to change her name.

Kisses had her nose right up to the chain link and she looked up at me with an expression on her face of “What took you so long to find me?” I was a goner at that point. When Mary showed up, I informed her I had found our dog.

We took her into a side room where we had the opportunity to meet her. She was very hesitant and tried to hide under one of the chairs but her cute little butt stuck out because she was too big to fit under it.

The staff member told us her story. She and her brother had been sighted many times in a rural farming area. On their first attempt, they were able to capture him but not her. A few days later they got her and at this point she was close to becoming feral.

Poor baby. She was covered in fleas and ticks. She had to be washed and sprayed several times. The flea spray that was used was quite harsh and her skin became quite inflamed. (Once we got her, we learned the wonders of Emu Oil.) She wasn’t made available to be shown to the public for several days. By then, her brother had been adopted.

The way it worked at this shelter was once you made your choice, your dog had to be spayed or neutered before going home. There were local veterinarians that did the procedure at their respective vet clinics. We patiently waited for the call to come pick her up.

She was so scared when we saw her. She was recovering from major surgery and then people she was not familiar with, were calling her “Chloe.”  Before we left the clinic, we were given some information about her that we had not expected. When they shaved her in preparation for the surgery, they found a rope burn encircling her entire hip area. They also found a pocket of skin on her side that contained buck shot that had already healed over. Who in the hell would shoot a puppy? We will never know the circumstances as to why this happened.

Our plans were to keep her in a dog crate in the apartment. That thought lasted about an hour. We had stepped out of the apartment and when we returned, we found that Chloe had bent part of her crate in the process of breaking out. What to do now? Luckily there was a doggie day care center within minutes of our apartment! They were wonderful to her there and she loved spending her days with other dogs.

About six months later, we were planning a move from Virginia to Massachusetts. We wanted Chloe to see her brother one more time, if possible, before we left the area. We contacted the staff at the animal shelter, who were kind enough to send our contact information on to her brother’s new owners. They contacted us and we agreed that a playdate was in order.

We made the arrangements to meet at a baseball park near their home. Until the day I die, I will always have this memory in my mind: her brother was already running around the bases when we showed up. They made eye contact and Chloe ran towards him. They started running side by side around the park. They had such happy expressions on their faces. They remembered each other!

Years have gone by and Chloe will turn 14 in November. She has slowed down quite a bit and running is no longer an option for her. But, I will always remember the day that she ran freely with her brother. What a beautiful memory!

Until next time…

Ex-husband #2 - Happy Birthday

Dear Ex-husband #2,

Happy Birthday. You just turned 58. I met you when you were 22 and I was 28. A lot has happened since then.

I remember when you had your 25^th birthday. I hosted a surprise party for you. I invited all your classmates from your Master’s Program. I purchased food, drinks and party favors and I kept them at David and Karen’s apartment so you wouldn’t find them.  

My big mistake and the reason you never appreciated the party was the birthday cake. When I had ordered our wedding cake earlier that year, I had looked over what was available. I saw this cake shaped like a busty woman and thought it would make a funny birthday cake. I was wrong. You felt I had humiliated you in front of your friends. Remember that?

Some of the reasons you gave for the difficulties within our marriage, was that I was six years older and had more experiences than you had growing up in a small down in Ohio. This was true. I knew how to drive a manual transmission and I married the same guy twice.

You were horrified that your classmates would find out that piece of information. You wanted me to lie to everyone that my marriage to you was my first. Like after our marriage of 11 years, you told others that you had never been married.

Toward the end of our marriage, we saw a therapist who sided with you and made me out to be the bad one in our relationship. You sighted my various faults: my age; the way I conducted myself in front of your colleagues; and that I had dated many men, prior to you. The biggie which I did own up to, was my having an affair with a co-worker toward the end of our marriage.

Starting at year three of our relationship, I started saying that we should consider the idea of not staying married, due to the fact we were not compatible in so many ways. Through the years, whenever I would bring this up, you would always say it was because I was having my period. Really???

For me, it came down to money. We didn’t have a lot but what I earned wouldn’t have gotten me a room in the Washington, D.C. area. I made do with our circumstances and I kept on going for years. We had our good moments, but there were many that did not go well for me.

Such as:

·      Within days of our buying our first home, a duplex at the end of the Metro’s Yellow Line, you made the decision to move to California. There was a well-known architect that you wanted to intern for. Since you would be making a pittance, I was to stay behind and pay all our bills while you took our only car to make the trip. How I talked you out of that endeavor, I will never know.

·       When we were in that park off the Washington Parkway and were walking on a path that was overgrown with bushes. You were in the lead. When you heard barking dogs rushing toward us, you pushed me forward to protect yourself.

·       When I went to find the bathroom in the Burger King near the White House and I came back to find you surrounded by three men demanding money. You left it to me to get us out of that situation.

·       You felt that to represent your profession, you had to dress the part. This required expensive suits, ties and Cole Hann shoes. We managed these purchases because I limited my shopping of anything personal for myself.

·      We were riding the Metro into D.C. one day when you saw a group of your colleagues get on the train. You got up without an explanation and walked over to chat. You all exited together and you walked past where I was seated and I tapped on the window. You never acknowledged my existence.

Of course, these moments I experienced are the ones you chose not to mention to our therapist. But then neither did I. By then, I was too beaten down to defend myself. I should have spoken up and been my own advocate. I felt trapped and didn’t know how to get out of the relationship. I always knew the one thing that would end our relationship was to have an affair, which I did.

One of my biggest fears of being in a marriage, was being abandoned without the ability to financially take care of myself. That was my mother’s reasoning when she thought about leaving my father when I was five and so she didn’t. So early on in my relationship with you, I broached the subject about my fear of your leaving me for someone else. We agreed that if that happened, whoever had an affair would not benefit from the lifestyle we had created. What I never considered when I made that promise, that I would be the one to have the affair. You reminded me of that conversation and told me that I should do the honorable thing.

After 13 years of being in a relationship with you, I ended up leaving everything behind. I left with $100.  As you are aware, my mother financially helped me out or I would have been living in a homeless shelter or worse, on the streets. On second thought, that $100 gave me the freedom to move on with my life.

I know that you have moved on and have remarried just like I did. I hope you have given her all the things that you did not deem necessary for me to have.

Sincerely,

Your ex-wife #1

Are You Ready?

If you were in Puerto Rico right now, would you be able to survive until help came from the U.S.? Well, from seeing the Nightly News, help has been extremely slow in getting to them. Trump mentioned that Puerto Rico was out in a middle of an ocean and is so difficult to get to. Really???

I recently saw a clip of a young woman from Brooklyn who has lived on the island for the past four years. She was beside herself because her family back in the States didn’t know her status. The reporter gave her a satellite phone so she could talk to them. She also mentioned to the reporter that the ATM machines were down and she couldn’t access her funds and she had no money. He reached into his pocket and gave her some cash. She had a shocked look on her face, and then she hugged him with tears flowing down her face.

She wasn’t the only one crying at that point. I was crying in happiness for her and, also in fear for myself. I don’t know what I would do if I were in that situation. I use my ATM card all the time. I rarely have cash on me. We have food on the shelves, but it would require an oven or at least a microwave to cook.

We, as a country, have so many blessings that we take for granted every single day. I sleep in a bed with a roof over my head and running water to cook and shower. I have a car that I am able put gas in without waiting in line for hours. I have access to wi-fi and my iPhone. What would I do if some morning I woke up, and all of that was gone?

I can’t even imagine what that would be like. But it has already happened in Texas, Florida, Puerto Rico and to folks who lost their homes to forest fires out West. But what would it be like if this devastation happened to all the lower 48 states in one day?

Well folks, between North Korea and Mother Nature on a rampage (Climate Change), the possibility is very real. When people lose all their basic necessities that they have grown accustomed to, this kind of disaster can bring out the less than noble selves. One would go to any lengths to find food and shelter to get what is needed to survive.

You may say “I would never stoop to that level” but food and shelter are basics that everyone needs and yes, without these, I would bet you would do whatever you needed to.

What do we do? Build bomb shelters? Move to Iceland? Purchase a Catamaran? Personally, I want a RV that has all the accessories to comfortably live off the grid, meaning solar panels, compost toilet, and a large stash of food and water.

What would you do? Think about all your options. The world we live in and take for granted is getting closer to the edge, every single day that Trump is in office.

Until the next time…