Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass- it is about learning to dance in the rain.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

More from the past

Writing about the motor home reminded me of other events. We lived in that thing for almost two years. At times it was lovely and idyllic: time for family, together all day, beautiful scenery, meeting new people. At times it was plain hellish: a cracker box on wheels, hot in summer, cold in winter, small, tight quarters. Bradley had his first haircut while we lived there; Robby learned to hit a baseball.

And there were memorable events. That night in McAllister, Oklahoma in March was cold. But the cold air didn't send that chill down my spine. The pastor's announcement following the Sunday evening service was the culprit. With a voice that would have chilled a volcano, he admonished us all not to be frightened. Then he advised moving quickly to cars and getting home becoming careful not to stop, not even at stop signs. Especially on a dark street, worse if you're alone.

"Now I don't mean to scare any of y'all single women. But when you get out of your car at home, be careful to stay in the light. Sometimes they hang out in the dark. Have yer keys out an' ready to open that door. Ya never know who cud be awaitin' in the dark."

And if I'd been going home alone, at that point I think I would have throttled him.

But we boarded our RV and followed him to his house. He instructed us to park beside the house, in the shadow because there was a hookup for electricity there. We hooked up quickly while he stood outside and pontificated about the dangers that could be lurking in the shadows.

Our meal that evening was punctuated with his stories of other prison breaks, enhanced occasionally with the radio reports of the break that evening. There were six prisoners still missing. Authorities suspected they were still in the area and were only slightly less ominous than he with warnings to not stop for strangers, check the back seats before entering cars, etc.

After the meal, the family made arrangements for their grown children to spend the night in order to avoid going out into the darkness with the dangers of lurking escapees. So, we picked up our 2-year-old and 4-year-old and headed out to the motorhome parked in the shadow of the sturdy house with the deadbolt and double-chain locks. He didn't accompany us this time. Too dark, I think.

So we bravely opened the door of our big crackerbox with a little aluminum key about the size of the one for my diary. We closed the door, careful to engage all four corners the way one does with a high school locker door. Security measures: double-check the paper clip holding the sliding glass window by the driver's seat, pull the big 3/4 size master bed down in front of the windshield. That should stop any intruders. Oh yeah!

So locked safely in our little aluminum box, I lay awake most of the night hoping that the shifting shadows in the yard were really shadows and not prison escapees.

I can't remember for sure, but I think all but one of them were caught that night. With the pastor's warnings not to pick up strangers ringing in our ears, we hit the road. For sure, we didn't pick up any strangers that day. Nope not that day! (Hey! I'm being ironic. We didn't pick up strangers, period!! Not after we had kids.)

Ah! The joys of life on the road.


Cookie Sunshine said...

I love this!

Ballerina Girl said...

so how often did this come in to play...
"on the road again...
just can't wait to get on the road again..."
hahaha, love these posts!

truth said...

Oh my, why would the pastor be so...well, scary?

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