I had plans for today.

In fact, most of my actions of the past two weeks have revolved around my plans for the next few days. Instead of drifting north in Maine, I rushed south, making only quick visits to relatives before hurrying back to Florida. I was scheduled to help my friend Lynda with her table at the Orlando Indie Bookfest. We should be getting pedicures together today and then dressing up for the author dinner. I was even going to wear the only pair of high heels I’ve ever loved, which are currently living in my storage unit. And she had fun stuff planned for the event — feather boas were involved.

Alas, it is not to be. Hurricane Matthew is going to bash the east coast of Florida in less than 24 hours, hopefully not as hard as they’re predicting at the moment, but definitely hard enough that people living in camper vans need to run for safer ground.

I had a brief conversation with my dad on Tuesday about possible places in central Florida that might be safe for the van and if it was just me and Serenity, I might have taken my chances. Maybe. If you can move your home out of the way of a hurricane, it really is probably a good idea to do so. But it’s not just me and Serenity — Z and B need safety, too. That made it an easy decision, so yesterday morning I headed north and west.

When I was pretty sure I was out of the cone of the hurricane’s potential path, I found myself a campground, the Suwannee River State Park. It’s typical northern Florida forest, lots of scrub pines and spiky palmettos, on sandy ground covered with pine needles and leaves. Z and I had a good hike this morning, passing by the old sawmill equipment, wandering along the river until we saw the springs gushing into the river. It was like a mini waterfall, it was so profuse, but you can only see the springs when the river is low. When it’s high, they turn into a bubble in the water and when it’s really high, the river water starts flowing into the spring instead. I think I’m mostly out of range of the hurricane, but it’s predicted to rain for the next couple days, so it’ll be interesting to see how the river changes, if it does.

I didn’t expect to be here, I didn’t plan to be here, but this is one of the most pleasant campgrounds I’ve visited. Lovely, restful, with spacious sites and a serene peacefulness.

R would tell me that it’s not irony that my unexpected destination is delightful, it’s just a nice coincidence, but I’m not so sure.

I’m having my first parking lot overnight.

It’s sort of surreal. A little scary, honestly. I don’t want it to be. I want it to be something that I take for granted, just an occasional night camping for free in an oasis of asphalt. And this parking lot is really quite nice. It’s at an art center in West Virginia, and even though I didn’t ask anyone if I could park here, I’m fairly sure (from online reviews) that it’s fine to be here overnight.

But it’s been a really rainy day, so the ground is wet and the windows are wet and everything is sort of black and reflective and kaleidoscope-ish. It would be extremely pretty if I could chat about it with someone other than the dogs. As it is… yeah, it’s a little surreal and a whole lot spooky. R told me to put the curtains up and the blinds down and make myself a cozy little nest and I really ought to follow his advice. I could then pretend that I’m parked in a driveway, were it not for the highway noise. And I could pretend that the highway noise was ocean noise. But I’m sure I will be fine. And if you’re reading this, of course I am, because ha, I have no internet, so can’t post it until I escape from the parking lot anyway.

So, yes, West Virginia. I’m having, in general, a very surreal West Virginia experience. Most of that is internal. I’m swinging back and forth mentally from a very serene, very joyful, very peaceful happiness — the kind of place where a gray and rainy day makes you think about how beautiful flowers are in the rain, with the contrast of their colors against the gray, and how being inside with rivulets of water running down the windows is like living inside a Jackson Pollack painting — to an OMG, WTF? state that I really can’t describe. Except to say that life is weird and so am I.

But this afternoon a monarch butterfly smashed against my windshield and got stuck on the wiper blade. Ugh, it was awful. For the next twenty minutes, its wings fluttered in the wind and I couldn’t tell if it was alive or dying or dead. I finally managed to pull over at a spectacularly beautiful scenic overlook and get it off. Dead, unfortunately. But then there I was at a spectacularly beautiful scenic overlook which I certainly wouldn’t have stopped at had it not been for the butterfly. I kept thinking about chaos theory and what change might exist in the world because a butterfly crashed into Serenity.

But it also felt like a bad omen. Not that I really believe in bad omens. And I do think it’s unfair of me to consider the death of a Monarch a bad omen when at least a dozen uglier bugs die every time I drive on the highway and I don’t even notice, much less mourn their deaths. Unfair or not, though, there it was: I continued on my path with my mood noticeably darkened.

Until, that is, I was crossing over a bridge and I saw a rainbow in my rearview mirror. A serious rainbow, all the colors, down so low — presumably because I was up so high in the mountains — that it felt like it was practically right overhead. It’s impossible to think that bad things are coming your way when you’re looking at a rainbow. Or at least it’s a sign that if bad things are on their way, beautiful things will follow.

So, yeah, West Virginia, surreal place of rainbows and dead butterflies.

Updated to add: and the night was fine, of course! I didn’t sleep well, but I hardly ever do, so that wasn’t a problem. And I actually had a really lovely walk around the art garden in the morning with Zelda, alternately admiring and being critical of the outdoor sculptures. And then a largely beautiful drive through West Virginia and Virginia and a largely seriously boring drive through North Carolina and into South Carolina. The day was alternately cloudy and clear: I’d break through the clouds into sunshine at the top of the mountain and then descend into clouds and then back out again. Some of it was breathtaking. But it was my second day in the row of hours and hours and hours of driving so by the time I got to my campground in South Carolina, I was sort of fed-up with the whole thing. I can’t believe I’m going to do it again tomorrow. *sigh.

Profound thought for the day (not really): men sing a lot of songs yearning for women and women sing a lot of songs about taking care of men. I suspect those two things are not unrelated.

I wrote eight drafts of a letter yesterday. Eventually, totally annoyed at myself, I went back to the very first version I’d written and decided it was the best. I would really like that not to be a metaphor for Grace, but it probably is.

That said, I love where Grace is going right now. Noah is getting a little snarky and a lot more decisive. I’m really seeing where and how I let reading about writing ruin my voice. All that stuff about showing, not telling… it just did not serve me well. Showing is good, yeah, but turning “Noah was annoyed” (telling) into “Noah clenched his fists” (showing) was terrible for my personal style. Maybe I can do better than “Noah was annoyed” — and really, I probably can, I’m already thinking of better options than that — but I’m much better off with the simple telling than the forced showing.

So, yes, Grace — I love how it’s going, but damn, it’s going slow. I’m still on Chapter 7 and when I think about how far I have to go, how much I have to write, how many decisions I need to make, before it’s finished, I’m inclined to go back to bed instead of writing. So I’m trying not to think about that and just enjoy the words I’m in. A little progress that I feel cheerful about is better than thousands of words that I loathe and in the end, it all comes down to one word at a time.

In general, I’m feeling excessively cheerful. I think I’m probably annoyingly cheerful, so I try to restrain my exuberance except when I’m alone with the dogs, but back in March, when I made the decision to let go of the house, I was the happiest I’d ever been in my entire life. I’m even happier now. Of course, because I’m bi-polar*, I have to be a little paranoid about whether spiraling up too high is just a symptom — am I delusional yet? — but I’m pretty sure I’m just really enjoying my life. And knowing that the crash is probably inevitable makes me appreciate the moment even more.

So this moment is in Pennsylvania. I’m back in my brother’s street, headed to visit an aunt and uncle tomorrow. Over the weekend, I visited another aunt and uncle and got to see/meet a cousin who I haven’t seen since she was a kid. She turned out to be another Jack Russell terrier owner, so we had great bonding over dogs. And I fell in love with their neighborhood. Sometime after I finish the next three or four books that I have planned, I am totally writing about a magical MA town. Not pseudo-scientific magic, like Tassamara, but flat-out spells and enchantments. My uncle looked at the floor of Serenity, at the top of a tiny storage compartment where I mostly keep things that can get dirty, i.e. cleaning supplies, plastic bags, etc. and said, “Where does this lead? The wine cellar?” and the inspirations just burst into life. I want to write about a town with an uneasy mix of styles (Maynard) and outdoor stairways (Rockport) that lead to unexpected places. It’ll be so fun! But not until I’ve finished so many other things. So much to write, so slow to write it!

Speaking of which, I’m going to get to it. I’ve got a day of minor errands ahead of me — air in the tires, getting a prescription filled — and then for the next several days, I’m going to be visiting family, then driving, driving, and more driving. By this time next week, I’ll be in Florida, I think. None of that is conducive to good writing, so I’d like to at least finish up Chapter 7 today and get into Chapter 8.

And I am not, NOT, going to pull the letter I wrote yesterday out of the mailbox and give it another few tries. It is what it is and it says what it says and whatever tomorrow brings, today is a beautiful day. Literally as well as figuratively!

*It’s polite, when referring to a person with a condition, to refer to them as having the condition, not being the condition: i.e., “I have bi-polar disorder” not “I’m bi-polar.” I would do that if I was referring to someone else. But for me, it’s easier to accept my diagnosis when I treat it as part of my identity, not some illness that I suffer from. YMMV.

Gluten-sensitivity 101: soy sauce has gluten in it. I’m used to thinking of soy sauce as a problem, only to be used in limited amounts, because of the soy in it. In my kitchen, the soy sauce is gluten-free and the rare times I’ve gone out for sushi, it’s been to a sushi place that has a gluten-free soy sauce available. Even my grocery store used gluten-free soy sauce. I stopped thinking about soy sauce as a gluten problem.

Mistake.

But so it goes. My days in Maine have been very quiet and much more unproductive then intended, but I remind myself that I’m living in a tiny house, not a vacation home. It’s okay if sometimes my life in my tiny house mirrors what my life in a real house would be. A gluten screw-up always does result in quiet days.

It’s strange how often I think, “when I get home,” though. Example: I think I should cut off my hair. Taking care of long hair is always a pain, but even more so when water is limited. I’ve managed to overflow the gray drainage tank before, which means water around my ankles in the bathroom until I can dump it. Short hair would rinse more quickly. So I think, “when I get home, I should cut my hair.” But… this is home. Wherever I am is home. For some things — the doctor’s appointment, the dentist appointment — it makes sense to stick with the people I know in Florida, but hair cuts, vet appointments, buying birthday presents for relatives, looking for a rug for the door area, picking up some better twin sheets… these are all things that can be done wherever I am (more or less). And yet, I think, “when I am home…” I wonder how long it will take for that to wear off or if it ever does?

But it won’t be long now before I am home. A week from today I start the long drive south. In between will be many quick relative visits. It will not, I suspect, be my most productive week, but that’s okay. When I am home, I will get lots of writing done. 🙂 (I suspect “home” is going to turn out to be an unrealistic daydream destination that I never quite get to, but I hope I get lots of writing done soon anyway.)

This morning, a flock of wild turkeys wandered through the campground. B was enraged, barking and growling and choking himself on the end of his tie-out cord in his determination to kill them all. I can definitely say, as a result, that he just wanted to make friends with the cat this weekend, because B in a “drive these creatures away” mode was very different. Also kind of ridiculous, since the turkeys outnumbered and outweighed him. He did scare them off, though, to my regret. I would have liked to watch them for a while. They had that elegant bird stalk, long necks bobbing as long legs delicately picked their way along the gravel path. Not pretty birds, but surprisingly graceful. Much, much skinnier than your average Thanksgiving bird. And I am sort of guessing that they were wild turkeys, because that’s the only slot in my head for birds of that size, that color, that shape, living in Maine.

Two months ago, I was almost moved into Serenity. Tomorrow will be two months since I’ve been sleeping in her. I’m trying not to let myself get settled into solutions that aren’t perfect. Example: I left a folded blanket by the door about ten days ago because it was dirty and damp and I didn’t want to put it away. It turned out to be a huge help with keeping the dogs from tracking in dirt, so it’s been there ever since. But it’s not a rug, and it gets in the way of the fridge door opening, and now that I have an idea for a potentially helpful addition, I’d like to find a real rug. I don’t want to wake up six months from now with that blanket still on the floor, still being occasionally annoying and more often useful. As a home, Serenity is still a work in progress, I guess.

As a life, though… well, two thumbs up. It hasn’t always been easy — change is hard and this is a seriously big change. But it has often been glorious.

Outside Serenity lies an ocean. An ocean of RVs, that is. From every window, front, back, both sides, all I can see are RVs and more RVs. Well, I suppose technically some of them are trailers. I wonder if there’s an actual distinction between a motorhome and a trailer in the definition of RV? Answer: not according to wikipedia. So, yeah, I am surrounded by an ocean of RVs.

I’m not as dismayed as it probably sounds, although I am feeling nostalgic about my lovely spot at the Onion River campground in Vermont. And the terrific walks around Frances Slocum State Park in PA, with its gorgeous lake views. This place? Eh. It’s in Maine, but it’s really just a parking lot with amenities. Still, I’m not complaining. I have electricity, water, even a sewer hook-up, plus a fridge full of interesting and delightful food possibilities, although the store was mostly just your average grocery store. But I bought pumpkin bisque soup (gluten-free, of course, which was exciting to find), and some pecan-based crackers, and organic mixed greens with herbs, so delicious food is in my future.

I even got a steamed lobster at the store. Somewhat sadly on the lobster, the store guy vastly over-rated the strength of my hands. Note to self: when coming to Maine, bring nutcrackers. By the time I managed to wedge the lobster meat out of its shell, it was quite cold and I didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I wanted to. But I’ve got four more days in Maine, so maybe I’ll try again on one of those other days. I’m actually ridiculously tempted to drive back up to Freeport to go to the Bow Street Market again. The gluten-free chocolate cupcakes were seriously delicious and there was some greek yogurt that was out of this world amazing. Of course, for optimum health, I should not be eating either of those things — sugar and dairy, not the best foods for me — but so, so good.

Around twelve years ago — if I had access to my scrapbooks I could come up with exact dates, but it was sometime in the summer — R and I went to Louisville, KY and spent a week with Michelle and her son, F. I have a great picture of R at the airport, giving F a disgusted look. He thought toddler F was just too cute, too good, too charming. Teenager F has actually not changed all that much. He had a couple tiny moments of teenager-ness with his dad, but he was so personable, so fun. I hadn’t seen him in over four years, which is basically infinity in kid terms, but he treated me as if I’d been there the previous day. I felt the same with C — as if we’d somehow dialed time back a decade or so to the last time we hung out together, before Michelle got sick, before… well, before so much.

I got there early on Friday, having had an entirely successful and only moderately terrifying drive to get there. Yes, I drove Serenity on city streets and in Boston traffic. And I am sooo patting myself on the back for it. Yay, me! I even parked her by myself, although admittedly, C had a fine driveway, with plenty of room.

And also a nice backyard, where the dogs and their cat debated whether they were going to come to blows or not. Supercat and Z would have been fine together but B was a bit of an obnoxious brat. I think he was trying to be friendly — his tail was wagging and he was acting playful — but he barked and growled, while Supercat stared in offended reproach. If Supercat had lost his patience, B would have been in trouble. Super is bigger and undoubtedly tougher, so Super vs. B would have ended quickly, with B the clear loser. Super vs. Z might have been another story — I think there would have been two losers if that had happened. But apart from the rare moment of interest when they got a little too close, they navigated the weekend together well enough.

On Friday night, we went off to Harvard Square, Newbury Comics, the Coop, and eventually a sushi dinner. It felt strange and wonderful to be in a city again, a real one, with sidewalks and people rushing from one place to another. I bought things, too — the complete season of Firefly for C and F, who had never seen it — and a pair of socks that are my favorite, perhaps now and perhaps forever. And I feel like the socks make a good story, but it would be too long for this post, so maybe someday I’ll write a post about socks. With pictures! And emotional revelations and thoughts about friendship and yeah, whatever, I’m not writing that story now. But maybe later.

Saturday was a morning of miscellaneous errands, in the way that Saturday mornings are, for people with jobs and school and schedules, but in the afternoon, we went up to Gloucester, to the beach. It was a beautiful day for it, perfect end of summer weather. C said he thought the dogs were allowed off-leash, so even though I secretly believe that they are never allowed off-leash on that beach, we let them run free as we walked. Z got momentarily lost — a small white dog joined us for a while, so when I was checking on the dogs with casual glances they both seemed to be there, until I realized that MY white dog was missing. It wasn’t all that scary. It was a big beach and I spotted Z right away. She was clearly confused and searching for me, albeit headed in the wrong direction, but it was an adrenaline surge followed by huge bursts of gratitude when she was safely back with me. Especially because by the end of our walk, she was pretty tired and clearly dragging. I can see so much how she’s getting older — well, we all are — but it reminds me to appreciate every one of our healthy days.

For dinner Saturday night, C made coho salmon with dill and delicious lemony crunchy fennel, and I made salad. It was very companionable. I don’t remember ever cooking with C before, although it feels like I must have… but nope, I don’t remember any occasion when he and I would have cooked together. And wow, that just led me down a long and winding trail of memories. We’ve spent time together in kitchens in England, in Chicago, in Gloucester, in Connecticut… maybe even in Kentucky, although I think mostly when I visited Michelle in Kentucky, C was traveling. Even in Massachusetts before. Many, many kitchens, over a lot of years.

It has officially taken me all day to write this blog post. Sort of ridiculous. But every little story feels like it has layers of depth and meaning and memories and… I should just TL;DR this whole thing: I had a good weekend. A good week, in fact.

And to finish the stories: we watched Firefly (the first three episodes). We ate ice cream. Sunday, we visited C’s friend B and her son and had arepas on their rooftop deck, with sardines and a scrambled egg mixture named after parrots and some spicy stuff that I think was Armenian, all of it delicious. It rained, the tiniest bit, and we ignored it, and talked and talked and talked. And finally, about 3PM, I headed out, up to Maine, which is how I come to be sitting in my parking lot, listening to the rain on my roof.

I really wasn’t sure about visiting Michelle’s family. I worried that we would be mutual reminders of pain. But I spent so much of the weekend remembering the good stuff, not the bad, even as I made new good memories. Ten years from now I will remember talking video games with Finn on the beach while we waded through the waves. I will remember B bouncing around on the grass trying to convince Supercat to play with him. I will remember watching C and F talking about art at the kitchen counter, their bond so evident while they tried to describe an exhibit they’d seen and finished each other’s sentences. And I’m really glad I get to add these memories to my others.