I preach “Live every day to the fullest.”
Well, there are days, if I may speak plainly, when I’m full of it in that regard. Yesterday was one of those days here at our lovely camp on King of Kofa Road between Yuma and Quartzsite, Arizona.
Not much living life to the fullest going on.
That’s because late in the afternoon a storm rolls in, a very nasty storm in the form of an intense intestinal upset. This affliction rapidly worsens into a Category 3 hurricane by nightfall.
My discomfort . . . er, more accurately, my agony . . . is apparent to Spike and Bridget who listen to my groaning from the other side of the bathroom door.
Canine eyes full of concern follow me as I stagger from the bathroom to the bed and from the bed to the bathroom and repeat.
Bridget curls up with me and licks my arm, offering comfort and sympathy. Spike lies down by the refrigerator, and, instead of throwing his usual tantrum, patiently waits for me to rise and dole out supper. What a great crew!
By nine o’clock this intestinal churning is up to a Category 5.
I want to die. That sentiment, I’ve been told, is a sign of food poisoning. Whatever, it’s terrible . . . until I remember the pain pills left over from my tooth extraction in Los Algodones. Now where did I put those little suckers. I find the box and select one of the white pills. Down it goes.
Ah, yes. Better living through pharmaceuticals.
I sleep well.
I feel pretty good both times I get up in the night to carry Spike outside for the ritual Emptying of The Bladder.
We’re all about waste removal lately!
Today it’s lemon tea and dry toast. I’m weak and drained and sleep most of the morning, but the storm has passed, only a few waves of nausea before calm seas return.
Shortly past noon a white Chevy cargo van pulls up!
It’s Wicked Lady from the state of Washington. You may remember her name from her comments on this blog. She left her travel trailer behind for this trip, choosing to van camp. I explain to her the reason for my less-than-energetic greeting and droopy appearance. We sit outside and visit, and she fetches me some paperbacks from her van.
Wicked Lady is a member of LOWs and Escapees and Women RVers. She travels with two, beautiful dogs. One is a a Tamarin/Lab mix and the other is a Golden Retriever.
Her crew and my crew show little interest in each other. Apparently the genetic divide is too wide to cross.
Off they go to take a look at King Valley . . .
Before I sign off, I need to ask a favor.
Please don’t shower me with sympathy and get-well-soons. I know you can come up with something else to talk about. Please do.
I’m all better now and plan to consume some chicken soup as soon as I’m done with this blog entry. I’ll take it easy for the rest of the day and tomorrow I plan on living life to the fullest again.
I only told you about my less-than-24-hour malady in order to explain why this isn’t the promised post about how I chose the nomad lifestyle. You know me. I can’t just write “I didn’t feel well.” I have to make a dadburn story out of it. Anyway . . .
I set you up to expect a post about our leap into this lifestyle.
As it turns out, I don’t have the creative energy right now to write it. I will soon. I promise!
You know? Y’all are such a delight for me with your enthusiastic comments and camaraderie.
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