Friday, August 30
Bridget, Spike, and I are on our way to Morton to pick up the mail.
(Editing of today’s photos is poor due to my glasses being left at camp!)
I put together a blog post in the library parking lot at Randle and now we’re making the seventeen-mile trip west to pick up the new registrations for the Perfect Tow Vehicle and the Best Little Trailer.
If you’re a brand-new reader of “rvsue and her canine crew,” let me get you up to speed. The crew and I are camping in the Gifford-Pinchot National Forest of south-central Washington.
I procrastinated about sending the money order for the registration renewals to my mail-forwarding service in South Dakota. Sunday my vehicle registrations expire. I need those registrations to be in the mail!
I pull on the inner door of the P.O. but it won’t open.
“They’re closed until two o’clock.”
I turn to see a petite, senior lady with bright eyes. She’s dressed in a print shirt, pink slacks, and sneakers. “They close up and go to lunch,” she adds.
“Oh, thank you. I’ll come back later.” I look at the big, round clock. It’s 1:15 p.m.
I step outside and stop. Hmm . . . Never pass up the opportunity to ask a local. I’m very hungry. I go back inside. The lady is checking her P.O. box.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Can you tell me a good place to have lunch?”
Her expression reveals she loves a chance to be helpful.
“Well, dear,” she replies, walking over to me, “that depends on what you want to eat?”
“I don’t want beef or pork and I don’t want to spend $15 for a lunch plate.”
She hesitates a moment. “Let’s see . . . “
“Where would YOU go?” I ask.
“Oh, to Cody Café. The Beanery is next door to it and that’s good, too, but I like the fish and chips at Cody Café.”
She gives me directions to Cody Café and proceeds to rave about the fish and chips.
“It’s good fish and a good place. I oughtta’ know. I’ve lived here all my life and I’ll be eighty next month.”
“You’re kidding me!” I exclaim. I’m stunned. “You look great!” This woman looks healthier and more energetic than many fifty-year-olds I’ve met. She’s lit from within.
“By the way, my name is Sue.”
“I’m Esther.” Just then a local resident walks by and they exchange a few words in that relaxed way of people who’ve known each other for several years.
“Well, Esther. I’m going over to Cody Cafe. Thanks so much for the help.” I turn to go.
“Tell the girls at the Café that Esther sent you!” she calls after me.
I park the PTV next to a ball field.
“I’ll be back. You be good, little puppies.” I lock up the PTV and walk the block to Cody Café.
The last of the lunch crowd is filing out as I arrive.
I pick up a menu and sit in a booth.
Soon the senior lady running the place comes over with a glass of water. I tell her Esther sent me. She smiles. They probably went to kindergarten together.
“Would you like the lunch special? It’s halibut sandwich with clam chowder.”
“Gee, I’d like the sandwich but I don’t care for clam chowder.” Fish and milk should never be mixed. The very thought of it constricts my throat.
“How ‘bout fries instead?”
Well, Esther is right.
The fish is good – fresh with a crunchy coating, no grease. I’ve got an appetite to match this lunch.
I devour every bite, leaving the plate clean. My first restaurant meal in Washington is fish. How fitting.
At the post office I’m handed a bundle of mail.
I jump in the PTV and quickly flip through the envelopes. Hmm . . . insurance, Medicare, Medicare, insurance, Medicare, Casita Travel Trailers? . . . There it is! Pennington County Treasurer’s Office. . . It came! Boy, that was close . . .
The town of Morton is bustling. It’s Friday afternoon and the start of Labor Day Weekend. Right before picking up Route 12 to go back to camp, I pull into a farm and feed store.
I interrupt this riveting story to make a confession.
Several days ago, as I sit in the PTV alongside a road somewhere in order to pick up internet signal for posting on this blog, I’m startled by the sound of scratching directly over my head. Apparently some rodents live in the ceiling of the PTV!
I pound the ceiling, creating a scurry of little rodent feet that makes my skin crawl. Heaven knows what wires they’ve chewed.
To remove the panel above the front seat area would require fooling around with the overhead light and such. It’s more complicated than I want to attempt. I’d get the panel down and then wouldn’t be able to put it back right. I know how these things go for me.
So I drive around with rats riding above my head!
I was too embarrassed to mention this here. (Not to mention the disgrace to two RAT terriers I know.) I tell you now because I have a solution! The farm and feed supply store has Cab Fresh Rodent Repellant!
Back at camp . . .
I pry down the ceiling panel far enough to shove two packets of Cab Fresh in there. I put another packet behind the bench seat and another at the back of the PTV. The fragrance of balsam fir fills the PTV. Rodents hate the smell of balsam fir. (I’ll report on the results in an upcoming post.)
I hope they don’t jump out onto my shoulders while I’m driving!
Later . . .
I sit in front of the campfire with the pile of mail in my lap. Bridget and Spike are in their pen, snuggled in their beds like good, little . . . SLACKERS. I slit each envelope, throwing them into the fire.
Inside the Casita Travel Trailers envelope is a thank-you card. How odd. I’ve had the BLT for more than two years . . .
Hmm . . . What’s this?
A check for $200!
Someone – Margaret W., a reader of this blog – bought a Casita and gave my name. Thank you, Margaret! You’re a sweetheart!
I gaze into the campfire and reflect on the day gone by.
The registrations arrive . . . I meet Esther . . . lunch at Café Cody is fun . . . that fish was so good . . . the roof-dwelling rodents are on the run . . . and two hundred smackaroos drop into my lap.
I place another log on the fire.
This certainly has been a good day . . . a very good day.
rvsue
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