We have now had this beautiful campsite for a year. In that time, we’ve had a crash-course in camping. We’ve learned how to deal with full tanks, refilling of water and propane, and all the other basics of camping.
We also learned that, while we adored camping, our motorhome was the wrong rig for us, so we traded her in for our our current travel trailer.
And as much as we love camping and intend to keep camping here, we’re planning phase two of our camping adventures.
After looking at a bunch of recipes online, I did what I do best – I threw something together, and I’m very happy with my first try.
Up until about three weeks ago, we had a Star of David prominently displayed on the front of our house by our front door. (A picture of it is in this post.) I’m Jewish, my husband is in the process of converting to Judaism – I’m proud of our Jewish home. But three weeks ago, something very disturbing happened and it was a reminder that I’m in a very different place from where I once was.
Well… we traded in our 2005 Winnebago Aspect after just 13 months. With engine troubles constantly plaguing us and not enough space for me, the hubby, and our huge dog, we decided we’d had enough. Last week we took possession of our brand new 2018 Forest River Salem 25RKS travel trailer with a rear kitchen. It’s 29 feet long from tongue to bumper, but the camper box itself is 25 feet long. I’m in love!
For the last couple of months, two ladies who are Jehovah’s Witnesses have been stopping by our house every third week or so. They are very aware of my status as a Jew because the posts by my front door make it clear where I land on matters of the spirit.
While I am firmly rooted in my “religion” (I put that word in quotes because Judaism is so much more to me than just a religious practice), I also believe in being kind.
It’s common knowledge that as we get older, we become more aware of time. It seems to pass more quickly than in our youth, with the months and years marching past so fast that we feel dizzy.
When my father died, I initially counted his absence in days. It was important to do so because for the first 30 days, I wore a torn ribbon over my heart as an outward sign of my inward grief. Once those 30 days passed, I still counted in days, ensuring that I recited the Mourner’s Kaddish each evening before saying the Sh’ma. As time passed, I began marking the loss of him in weeks. Every Friday, I’d say to myself, “It’s been X weeks since Dad died.”