The Good Luck Duck

Crossing over.

2012-01-22T17:11:00.002-05:00

I can't stop myself from blogging. It's NaBloHoMo around here.

We're scooting around the border with Mexico, which seems exotic and exciting to this country duck. We want to give all due credence to sensible warnings, while blocking out the extreme and sensational. You border-dwellers and -crossers, how do you make your decisions?

Here's how I made our sleeping decision last night: heebie-jeebies. We did all our fill-uppy things at the Flying J on the Texas side. Still, we were determined to cruise on into New Mexico for the night, and we rolled about 1/2 mile into the NM Welcome Center. It's a pretty little building, secluded and quiet. So secluded and quiet, and not visible from the road. At 6 PM, after sunset, we were the only motorists in the entire lot. No staff and no security, and then, no us. We headed back to the perceived safety of a Pilot travel center.

We're actually pretty familiar with border issues. Back in NYS, there were stories of mules: innocent-looking U.S. citizens crossing back into our borders smuggling basic health-care for all. Scofflaws flouting international regulations and filling their prescriptions in Canada, trafficking in recreational Crestor and Celebrex.

Speaking of border issues, here's a Border Patrol stop ... Annie! Stop looking guilty, for Pete's sake.

Afternoon. Just you two middle-aged, white women?

Yessir. We are not, nor have we ever joked about becoming, coyotes for the purpose of making a living and supporting our mobile lifestyle.

Okay, you can go.

I'm not saying these guys are profiling. But, along with the sad decline and bodily softening of age comes a certain comfortable invisibility. They try to imagine us as dangerous criminals, but instead, they think of their moms.

Little Duck on a big desert.

As we drive, I see dozens of little roads I'd like to head down. This gives me B-ness envy. Size matters, and this Duck has to stay off many intriguing roads.

Annie wants to see one of these cuidados. I am not so brave, and would settle for a live prudencia.

Annie's sinuses have started to hurt. Do you deserters have suggestions? Is it the elevation? The dry air?

So close, and yet, so close.

2012-01-21T21:37:00.001-05:00

Otherwise, they could never have anything nice.

Don't even tell me it's okay to come out. I see the lie in your eyes.

In an earlier rest area, we caught a guy taking a picture like this through our windshield. I wonder how many we haven't seen taken.

Stereotype busted: Texas only cares about oil. In fact there is a 160.5 megawatt wind farm in Pecos County. Instead of finding you a nice picture on the internet, I'm sharing my craptastic shot through a dirty window.

Each one is rated at 1.5 megawatts. That's enough to power your rig AND ours.

A woman working at Flying J is a geologist, and she told me stuff about the local mountains (north of El Paso, TX). We're in the Rockies! And, if you're a geologist not working at the Flying J, maybe you should consider yourself appreciated. I asked about the range that I could almost touch with my credit card, and she told me other stuff, too, which I'd tell you but this is not PBS.

Flying J had gas, propane, and potable water. It's like we died and went to a campground.

We made it to New Mexico tonight! Then we came back to Texas! I think we'll keep going tomorrow, but I don't like to jinx us with unreasonable expectations.

So fast, it's like we're on wheels.

2012-01-20T13:20:00.000-05:00

We aborted our Big Bend plans like honey badgers. I was resting in a rest area one night, thinking Big Bend sounds like a sensible thing to do next ... SCREEEE? Sensible? So, I looked over at Annie and I said Annie? Would you rather just head for Arizona instead? and she said WOULD I?!? so I talked for a while until she was convinced.

Steve, please forgive us for the speed (62 m.p.h.) at which we blew around San Antonio on the 1604. Annie's gas foot got itchy and leaden, and there was no slowing her down.

Once we got north of the city, the scenery got KABLOWIE! pretty, but hard to drive through even on the interstate. We gained some altitude without realizing it, and my side of the Sleep Number got very, very firm. Chris warned us about exploding mattresses in higher elevations, but we thought she meant Pike's Peak. We deflated before something bad (like another hill) happened. This must be why biological implants are not filled with air.

We're west of Sonora, and the scenery just got WOWIE KABLOWIE! awesome. Someone look this up for me - is this considered high chaparral? I'd Google, but I'm already using my one bar of 1G to send this post instead of calling 911 or something. Bring me my horse and six-shooter! Throw over my poncho and cheroot!

I have got to pee like a beer-drinking man.

We're heading out to see the girls at Where the wind goes, if they don't kill us remotely with laughter first. Annie said We're their biggest fans. I asked how she knew that. OH I KNOW. I sense danger for anyone else who claims to be, but that does NOT make us stalkers.

Texas rest stops are very friendly to overnighters. Some of them have dump stations and potable water. Often, they have free wifi. So far, it hasn't been strong enough to stream TV or watch an endless loop of Marcel the Shell with Shoes On. We stayed in a picnic area last night. There were trucks coming in and leaving throughout the night, but somehow that anchors my sleeping mind and helps me remember where I am.

Nicole and Darlene challenged us to do 200 miles yesterday, and we did 252. Plus, see, that's more proof that we're not stalkers, because they're encouraging us. Two hundred is probably our comfortable limit, though; otherwise, we're missing out on primo hours of rest area wifi, and the Nutty Bars are all gone from the machines.

Our preference is boondocking someplace pretty, but it takes some work to find and settle into some of those places. While we're traveling, it's easier to use the quick-in/quick-out method of overnighting. Now we're nearing some free wifi, courtesy of the Lone Star State, so here goes nothing ...

Texas rest stops need love, too.

2012-01-18T20:05:00.000-05:00

Easy-out through Corpus Christi, and the seashore gravitational pull has been broken. We had to wash most of the gravity off at a car wash with a series of delicate, yet demanding, maneuvers involving removing the Prius, the tow dolly, reattaching the two in reverse, pulling around, taking two bays, 122 quarters, two naughty words, becoming completely drenched, reattaching tow dolly, reconnecting the Prius, smudging my almost-clean-enough shirt, and Annie pulling her shoulder. Later, we found sand in every crevice, and then there's the rig. [RIM SHOT]

These cormorants are just praying the salt comes off. Why did we vacation here? I wanted to visit my mom in St. Augustine!

We were pleased to spend multiple units of time with Chris, another full-timer who will eventually be cajoled and shamed into blogging again.


Photo by Teri

No, c'mon! Not my backside!

Seriously, what is wrong with you? Not my backside!

Honest, Chris, all the frontward pictures I took came out blurry! It's like your frontside is a vampire. Oh! My mistake - here's a good one.

Teri is a full-timer who was cajoled and shamed into meeting us. She caught the trolley, which was quickly controlled with ginger ale and bed rest. It was good to spend time with her and learn more of her story. She's in the pre-retirement set like Annie and me, and she has some interesting ideas for suitable employment that I'll try when times become desperate.

"Whatever you do, just don't post my picture to your blog." Always happy to comply.*

We're in for the night at a Texas rest area, where they have free wifi. It's not strong enough to stream videos or TV - the gold standard - but plenty for surfing and blogging. Not good blogging, but it's fast enough for obnoxious posts.

We watched an honest-to-Pete murmuration at sundown. Please watch this and pretend these young women are us:

They are so graceful and lovely, those starlings, and they really only want a place to sit for the night. We're like them, we Road Starlings. Beautiful and flowing, restless yet weary, and ready to settle in for the night with wifi and Nutty Bars.

*In real-life, I always comply with photo requests. If you don't want your picture here, it will never see the light of day. Unless you're Chris' backside.

Port, Eh?

2012-01-17T18:15:00.000-05:00

Thank you for your responses to my question about change. I am grateful, and awed by your stories. If you feel inclined to add a reply, I hope you'll give in to the urge.

Meet Toni and Scott:

They're living full-time in their Honda Element with their two substantial dogs, Walter and George. Both are swim coaches (the humans; the dogs swim avocationally). Toni describes her work with young kids as helping them relate to people better, speak more effectively with adults - a set of life skills - and almost incidentally she helps them become better swimmers. Scott works with older kids and young adults, superior swimmers who are headed for watery greatness. His work is more focused on the mechanics of swimming, and helping kids reach their scholarship and Olympic goals.

They have given themselves a year to find their own Utopia. A place that feeds their soul and jobs that feed their food habits. They've been offered jobs, but not in places where they want to live. Toni says she'd settle in a heartbeat if there were only a swimming pool in the Escalante Wilderness.

When we met them, they had snuggled in tightly against the Duck to shelter from the punishing winds we'd been enduring on Bird Island Basin. Which was fine, except that their too-cute rig was also snuggling the exhaust on our generator, so we got a little depleted waiting for them to move. Annie eventually took our rig for a drink and potty break and pulled back in a little further away.

They don't have a toilet or any refrigeration. I asked them about stealthing, but their handy pop-up makes them conspicuous, and without it they're sharing the bed with George and Walter.

They had some solar equipment that I covet:

The Powerfilm line of solar chargers is especially rugged and remarkably thin, as you'll notice because I'm remarking on it. The 30 watt charger folded up to be about the size of a spiral notebook (that's an iPad you can rip pages out of). If a panel should become damaged, it doesn't take the array out of the game.

We rode our bikes to dinner.

Bring mine with a chainsaw and an artichoke.

We each enjoyed an adult frozen beverage. Annie asked for the butchest thing they served.

This was a bit too much alcohol for Annie, and she had to walk her bike home. I mocked her from the sidewalk where I was resting; I don't remember the details, but the officer was nice.

Where are we going next! The giant car wash! Where then! I don't know! It's a mystery to all of us! As soon as I know, I'll tell someone!

Hello Madre, hello Padre, here we are at Camp Grenadre.

2012-01-14T20:45:00.000-05:00

I told a friend once that I hoped this thing we're doing would change me. Not that I needed to erase some smelly, evil smudge on my soul - I like my smudges, thanks - but, that I wanted to sense that how I see myself has shifted. Continues to shift with time. It seems, though, that you can't even begin such a project without changing; that it isn't possible to seriously conceive of starting a life over without already having permanently shifted.

Lots of you have started over, sometimes more than once. Are you willing to share what changed for you on the inside?

~~~~~~~

Please meet our friends, Obadiah (4) and Bella (6).

Bella and Obadiah love cats. Specifically, Bella and Obadiah love Bob.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

They live with their two little brothers in a school bus, along with their parents (who look like L.L. Bean models). The family is from Indiana, and they decided they wanted something other than the life they were living; they hit the road this past September. We've been neighbors for two weeks, and we met while dumping our potties into the chemical toilet. You know how it is: you're waiting in line with a gallon of urine and you just start talking about stink control.

~~~~~~~

Within the National Park is an old overnight corral and sleeping quarters for cowboys driving cattle in the early part of the 20th century. Pat Dunn owned the whole island and used it to graze his cattle. It's roped off to prevent vehicular traffic, but it didn't stop my hooves.

I picked up a little marching cadence:

I don't know, but I've been told

Bacillus spores just can't get old

The Castle Anthrax

Walk past the old corral ...

... get a treat.

~~~~~~~

Photo by Chris

It's been fun here on the Laguna Madre, and we're ready to fun-seek on down the road.

These videos and an apple, and you can drop your insurance.

2012-01-11T11:28:00.002-05:00

I'm feeling distractable and frangible and marsupial today, so I'm going to share other people's histrionics instead of punishing origami material.

Some of you pay $247,983 per Kb of streaming video. These are worth it:

Annie and I have been using Massage By Heather's tricks for fending off congestion and sinus infection. So fast, easy and effective! That brain-eating amœba neti pot scare with Louisiana tap water while we were in Louisiana made me glad I was flushing my own sinuses with raw swamp water from the bayou rest stop.

Live long and prosper, Heather!

She's got a bunch of partner-massage tutorials for you happily-partnered pardners, and self-massage tutorials for you solo sojourners and people with partners who suck.

As always, check out the Duckroll for new things to read. Some are boring as heck, some are scintillating stars in the blogging constellation, and that's what makes this place a thrilling grab-bag of poop. You've got to keep digging to find the corn.

Let the pickle chips fall where they may.

2012-01-08T19:39:00.000-05:00

Our new friend, Chris, joined us at the lagoon last night! We had fun! We see eye-to-beak on a lot of things besides just RVing. One thing we did not agree on:

She thought it was warm enough to swim. I disagreed.

Chris was having genny issues of her own with her Onan MicroLite 2.8 KW generator. The problem sounded similar enough to ours that Annie thought they could fix it without Camper Clinic in Rockport.

We're going to make it work now, okay?

Jubilation! It's charging again!

There's another story I have to tell THE RIGHT WAY before someone else tells it wrong. I pulled a jar out of the pantry, and the hugest, meanest, ratty thing ever encountered fell out of the cupboard. First, it roared at me, then bared its teeth RIGHT IN MY FACE, then dropped to the ground and swaggered into the bedroom.

I've lost that 30 seconds forever, but Chris had to double over, so amused-at-my-expense was she. I (allegedly) make a sound that (allegedly) turned two of the cats to stone and made Annie temporarily lose continence (allegedly). I may have also lost continence, judging from the evidence when I came back around, or else I broke the pickles on my crotch.

You remember we visited Judy and Emma in Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge. Birds. Remember now? She had dozens of mice. We were smug. Mice in a rig! we snickered behind our hands. Would you like to borrow a cat (hur hur hur)?

I released the hounds into the bedroom, and within five minutes our Ellen gave us a tenderized ~~mouse~~ woodchuck and that was the end of the drama, except for my change of clothes.

~~~~~~~

Some of you guys who don't have your own Amazon link have continued to use our link for your purchases - thank you! We are very grateful.

~~~~~~~

By the 5000 watts of power vested in me by Cummins Onan®, I command thee to get out!

2012-01-06T17:49:00.000-05:00

Women and RVs go together like coconut shrimp and hushpuppies.

Chris, Rachael, Annie, Denise, and Dawn.

Last minute substitution: 2nd from right = not Denise

Guess who drives:

fifth-wheel
Dolphin
tricked-out conversion van
monster class A

Denise and Dawn are the Cruzin2some, Rachael writes Me and Moonbeam, and Chris updates by Facebook.

The shark no longer blogs, apparently due to copyright infringement.

These women add the voom to the va va! Lunch was lively, and while Chris and I talked a little biology, the jocks mocked our nerdity. It was high school all over again.

Rachael stayed two nights at the lagoon. Mi laguna es su laguna. We were itching to get inside Moonbeam and check her out up close. There is not an ounce of fat on that rig; she is pure muscle. Every item has its place, and one place only.

Annie was glad to have Rachael's help with our generator. They methodically tried several different approaches.

They touched things.

They read the manual.

They joined spark plugs in prayer.

They cleansed the genny of bad spirits with sage.

They also used carburetor cleaner, which is like a sage bundle that you buy at Ace. Just when we thought the spirits could only be assuaged by a licensed Cummins Onan® technician, Annie turned the elevation correction knob and the demons left the generator.

Although they changed the spark plugs (even the unchangeable one in the back), the new spark plugs made things worse. They reasoned through the clues, tried each logical step, and the part that made no sense at all was the solution.

Thanks, Chris, Dawn, and Denise for meeting us in Port Aransas, and many thanks, Rachael, for sharing your time and expertise with us down here at the water. It was our pure pleasure.

Gratuitous watery pictures:

I'll be on the other side of the island. Please forward my mail.

2012-01-03T21:50:00.000-05:00

We're on Laguna Madre now, Bird Island Basin. Maybe three miles from Malaquite Campground, but a whole 'nother vibe. This campground has pit toilets and levelish gravel sites. Oh, and bay views to knock your SmartSocks off.

We read that this place starts to hop in February, but in January it's content to flop. We're content, too.

What the Other Cat Saw

Houses in the lagoon

Imagine a young family living in a modest home in suburbia. Now, trade the 'burbs for a yellow school bus, and you've done just what our neighbors did. The children are active, cute, nearly-edible, and all under six. The ones who can sit upright have chairs.

Only 30W.

Isn't it cute? It's been keeping us current, although we did run the genny today to ward off a deep-cycle spiral. We cut our hair, microwaved rice, and turned the refrigerator to "AC" to load it up; if you need more information on Onanism, email me privately. Or, hit the Google. No one knows when you Google.

Over here it's quiet in a different way. People do run their generators, but occasionally. The fee is $10 for the year, with a 56 day annual limit (divided into 14-day stays). Over at Malaquite, it's $8/day. Not steep, but enough to sift out the hardcore boondockers from the daily generator-runners.

I've been feeling a boondocking post coming on, like a petit mal. Please assume a safe position.

An X-treme boondocker's best friends.

The B-team

This stuff works for body and Duck. For example, is it already the day you wash your hands again? Spray them liberally with a castile soap solution, suds up, then spray your hands with water. No need to turn on the pump or run a quart of water into your gray tank for such a simple task. I didn't invent this trick, I'm just passing it along. I got a million of 'em.

I've been no-poo for several months, and I like it. I can't think of a reason to go back. Some people no-poo with commercial shampoo that doesn't contain sulfates, and that works. I've tried that, but a baking soda solution followed by dilute apple cider vinegar works a little better for me. No-poo isn't mandatory for extreme boondocking, but it is very compatible. There's a large component of boondocking that is a pursuit of radical simplicity, and this is a small piece of that picture for me.

The family next door wants to get a load of our composting toilet. They're using a Luggable Loo, which works for them. I don't think they're looking for another solution, they're just curious. We met and immediately started sharing toilet tips, probably because we were waiting together outside the pit toilet with our buckets. I love this life! Micah said There's an enzyme solution, but don't buy it. It doesn't work for crap. We all appreciated the accidental poop humor at the same time. Now I'm sharing so you can appreciate it, too. [Crap absent on picture day.]

Tomorrow ... oh, it's too exciting for tonight's post! We're going to ... oh, no, I can't. It'll have to wait.

Paaaahhhdre Island, Texas

2012-01-01T18:51:00.000-05:00

A: When you absolutely, positively have to be out-of-touch overnight. When you're willing to suffer through a deserted, untouched, sandy beach and sunrises over the ocean. When the sound of surf (and nothing else) can be tolerated all night.

Q: When is it okay to boondock at Malaquite Campground?

Then I sez ... hehehe ... then I sez ... SNORT haw! ... then I sez ... This is the GULL'S room!

In the fog we called this Briga-Dune.

You know what I always say about pelicans.

Still, I couldn't help but feel that the ocean was sending us warnings:

Our friend, Leslie, drove all the way from Bryan (six hours away!) to spend a few nights with us and help us welcome in the New Year. None of us saw the new year arrive, but we definitely felt the change this morning. Thanks, Leslie - it was great to see you! And, thanks, Gary! who soldiered through New Year's Eve without his wife to smooch at midnight.

Annie, Leslie, and satanic photobomber. This must be what the warnings were about.

Cupcakes are a thing! Did you know?

The CupCake Shoppe has a cupcake van! This is what they look like on the way out of town.

This is what they look like on the way back into camp.

Find The CupCake Shoppe on Facebook, or at their website. I'm not linking because they have instant music.

Bullish on Texas.

2011-12-27T20:11:00.000-05:00

I'd like a steer, please.

A chubby, middle-aged fulltimer decides to try bull riding, even though she has had no lessons or prior experience. Roxi mounts the bull unassisted and it immediately springs into motion. It bucks and twists and Roxi begins to slip from the saddle.

In terror, she grabs for the bull's horns, but cannot seem to get a firm grip. She tries to throw her arms around its neck, but she slides down its side anyway. The beast keeps bucking, encouraged by its slipping rider.

Finally, giving up her frail grip, she leaps away from the bull to try and throw herself to safety. Unfortunately, her foot has become entangled in the stirrup and she is now at the mercy of its pounding hooves and enormous mass as her head is struck against the ground again and again.

This one has the crazy in him.

As her head is battered against the ground, she is mere moments away from unconsciousness when Annie abandons her shopping cart to unplug the bull.

Herd that one?

This is cow country, and they come in all flavors. I saw black cows and white cows, cows with wattle and cows with horn. Brown cows, and golden-brown cows.

We'll head out to Padre Island tomorrow morning to settle in for a few days. These long days of roping and hard riding are taking their toll.

Gal. Vest on.

2011-12-26T19:16:00.000-05:00

Judy, it was a pleasure being your company. Thank you for a great visit!

I'd like to show you some pictures of Emma. I'd like to, but it's not possible. Any photos you have ever seen of her have been Photoshopped.

Gal Vest On Bay. I thought the requirement was a little arbitrary.

Definitely a bird (we spent five days on a wildlife refuge; don't question me).

This ferry will take semis, RVs, cars, whatever. It doesn't care! It's a honey badger!

All this water represents the dolphins that we saw, but couldn't photograph. Some kind of maritime law; don't question me.

We're avoiding Houston by any possible means, and possible means we're taking Texas roads. We passed through the hometown of Nolan Ryan! That guy is so funny - I loved him on Whose Line.

Cowed into submission

2011-12-24T18:22:00.000-05:00

It's fun getting visitors from Judy's blog! Push the longhorns off the sofa and sit down.

I am Al Gore.

I am Gore Vidal.

I am Vidal Sassoon.

Do not be fooled by my kind eyes and sensuous nose. I will ...

... walk away from trouble when I can.

The real Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge visitor's center.

The fancy visitor's center

Here's a fancy visitor. I fear she does not take her airboat captaining seriously enough.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING MAY CONTAIN BITS OF EDUCATION. PLEASE CHEW CAREFULLY.

The pointy parts on an alligator's back are called "scutes," as in, "Scutes me, but which way is the alligator?" They are like solar panels, and they gather warmth for the 'gator, like a hot rock massage. Alligators have 10 fingers and eight toes, and their tracks look like this:

Here are some beautiful things we saw at Anahuac Lake:

A cypress swamp

Cedar berries?

What is your poop du jour? Okay, I'll have the salad.

We took ourselves down to the Bolivar Peninsula to check out the beach boondocking situation. We like the egalitarian feel of the place. You got something to live in? Bring it on down and put it on sticks!

I think the Duck will fit in nicely.

Here's where we are right now, disguised as people who are contributing to society.

Parked in the volunteer village.

Where we didn't get on the ferry to Galveston.

I have nothing else to tell you, which makes this ...

(you know it's coming)

Yep, I'm done talking, so this is ...

(there's no way to avoid it now)

I'm through writing things down, therefore this is ...

The End.

Anna Whack National Wildlife Refuge, Texas

2011-12-22T19:28:00.000-05:00

Marshy Brady was the cute one.

We spent our first night on the prairie - WOWZERS can it storm here! The volunteers here agreed that it was scarypants last night, which made me feel less like a pansy. Everyone considered running for the community center except for those newcomers who didn't know about a community center.

We hold no grudges agains the Prairie, though, because it's awesome here. And, if you're sick and tired of Judy's crisp, breathtaking, professional-grade wildlife photography, boy howdy! have you come to the right blog.

We rolled in yesterday, and Judy had a spot picked out for us. We have a front-row view of the horizon. I love horizons.

Solstice Sun.

Judy, Emma and their rig. Does the motorhome have a name, Judy?

Crawfish nest? The heck, Texas?

Two of us are not Judy. None of us are Emma.

Prairie seashell. I blame Ike.

I took this picture! I'm so proud, and I hope you see this one before you see Judy's.

Snow Geese and the Seven Other Geese

The rarely-captured Blogger

Her Weapon of Choice

This? Not a toilet.

Safety First: only look at the sun when reflected in a marsh.

She aims! She shoots! She SCORES!

We got to see some parts of Anahuac (ANa whack) National Wildlife Refuge that are only open to staff and volunteers. Cool! Judy knows every bird who has ever napped, snapped, or flapped on the Refuge.

Galveston Bay

Judy invited us to stay on for Christmas dinner, and we accepted with grateful hearts and drooly mouths.

Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

2011-12-21T15:00:00.000-05:00

We put Orange behind us this morning. It was a satisfying visit, and just long enough.

Then

Now

Then

Now

Aunt Mary Ann Ellis Bland (this will be on the exam)

Cousin Dale

Cousin Judy

Cousin Von

These are the nice cousins who were happy to see me. The cousins who refused to see me can lick a vulture's leg (thanks, Judy! I knew that trivia would come in handy!).

My cousins were born here, grew up here, and have never gone anywhere else. But, ducks gotta fly!

We're on our way to Anahuac Wildlife Refuge to meet Judy and Emma! We've been pronouncing it anna HUACK! and we'll continue to do that until Judy educates us. We need to hurry.

McKnight at the Museum

2011-12-16T22:04:00.000-05:00

If you are languishing in Orange, Texas, you might start looking for culture or barbeque. We found culture first, and wandered into the Stark Museum of Art. Getting Annie to an art museum is like talking your six-year-old into kissing Aunt Hildegard before she's plucked the hirsute moles. Look, Hon, it's free! [FLUMP] It's Southwestern! [MEGAFLUMP] You know you like Remingtons! [becomes boneless.] Hon, don't lay on the parking lot like that. Annie, please, you've got gravel stuck in your face. I don't like to pry, but I know she was frightened by art as a child.

She relents, and we get our free tickets. One parasol, she growls, and the jig is up. The place is empty. It it ours! The pictures are stunning and realistically representational, thankfully. No impressionism, no water lilies, no long gowns, and no parasols. But, a guard follows us and we are always in his line of sight. At one point, I experiment and stay behind in one room while Annie moves to the next. BOOM! Two guards! They are cloning themselves faster than you can say "asexual reproduction." I'm sympathetic, and I begin putting my hands behind my back in a reassuring sign that I honest-to-God won't touch ANYTHING, officers. We start moving through rooms quickly. Ah, great use of color and light - RUN!

Finally, one guard says Can I ask you a question?

Yeah!

When you look at this painting, what do you notice?

It looks 3-D?

Look at the faces.

Oh! They're all the same face!

Right. He used the same model for all of them. [We all pause to look at the painting again.]

Have you seen our ghost? It's over here. This is a self-portrait. And, Ufer's painting this painting.

He's painting himself painting a painting of a painting?

Right!

And so, he became our personal docent, showing us things he knew we hadn't noticed. He said, "You remember that case with two small pads? You didn't even stop to look, and that broke my heart." Then he told us how Paul Kane had been a Cavalry artist, commissioned to paint what he saw. But, without a point-and-shoot Canon, how was he going to capture what he saw on the run? So he made notes, and later painted incredible scenes from them. Yes, we went back to look.

I'm bad. And good.

His name is Michael McKnight, and he's from Rochester, NY. He told us how he grew up near the Eastman Museum, but didn't go in until he was in the military. One visit, and he knew he wanted to work in a museum one day. He described specific bigotry and overt discrimination he has experienced here in east Texas, but says he loves this place and wouldn't go anywhere else.

Come over here. You see you can't take a picture of this painting. [There is a sign forbidding photography of this painting only.]

Oh, Georgia O'Keeffe!

You've heard of her, then? Can you tell me something? Why do ladies come in here and get so mad over this painting? Whenever I ask them why they're mad, they just say it should be taken down. What do you see??

[...painful silence...]

[...three extra beats of painful silence...]

"It looks pretty genital to me."

He looked at the painting so long I thought I had gotten the answer wrong again.

I see that! Well, I'm not going to ask that question anymore! I'm not going to look at that anymore, either!

Throughout the rest of our tour, he'd occasionally shake his head, remembering O'Keeffe, and marveling that he never saw that. I told him he'd see it every time he looked at an O'Keeffe now, and he assured me he would NOT be looking at any. You have certainly educated me!

Michael talked about growing up, about his kids, about Texas in general, and about finding God here. He likes to tell kids stories about the art they're seeing, and he doesn't mind telling adults stories, either. I can see him making the difference between a kid looking at buffalo and a kid seeing art. He did that for us.

I didn't expect this kind of resource in Orange, either the Stark Museum or Michael. I can't recommend the town the way he does, but I can recommend the museum. Look around for him and then act clueless. He'll take it from there.

A bad case of Blue Elbow.

2011-12-14T18:58:00.000-05:00

Texas Welcome Center, Orange, Texas. Texas has bayous, too.

We stayed overnight here. It was fine. Really. I said it was fine. Kind of loud, very crowded, but we felt safe and slept fairly well.

We New York Ducks aren't used to rest areas being interesting or pretty. We're satisfied if the toilets flush. This is why we keep going Oooh, what a pretty potty break this was! Such a beautiful truck stop! New York State has set the bar for public interstate bathrooms so low that other states cannot help but excel. You can't spend the night there, and the upside is, you don't want to.

Squee! Texas has nice necessaries!

Blue Elbow Swamp

I swear to you there is a bird in this picture. I just can't find it.

Can you see the alligator?

Annie spotted him first.

My first feral alligator! RAWR!
(I didn't mean to scare you)

When I first came here, this was all swamp. Everyone said I was daft to build a castle on a swamp, but I built in all the same, just to show them. It sank into the swamp. So I built a second one. That sank into the swamp. So I built a third. That burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. But the fourth one stayed up.

We are also not tortoises, please.

The three of us are also not tortoises, too.

Never drop a toaster into the swamp.

This is a chicken.

We've settled into a longish-term RV park here in Orange. People seem to be living here; it's a working-class neighborhood in the middle of a ranch. Boondocking opportunities here around Orange are abysmal. We'll stay a few days, see about seeing relatives, then head on to greener pastures ... literally.

Atchafalaya Welcome Center - two wings up.

2011-12-13T17:34:00.000-05:00

We start looking for nesting sites by 4PM, and yesterday that landed us at Atchafalaya Welcome Center, exit 121 off I-10, if you're taking notes. We parked in the truck lot and went over to ask permission to stay overnight. Louisiana policy is that parking is limited to two hours, and Louisiana policy is to ignore that policy. The staff treated us like we were walking in to register at the Walduck-Astoria. They encouraged us to come park in their RV-only section (oo-la-la!) away from the noisy turnover of the big rigs. Free wi-fi, coffee in the morning, 24 hour restrooms, and an all-night security guard.

If you don't want to stay the night, stop in anyway, especially if you're traveling with children. There are some nicely-done displays, a Country Bear Jamboree gone Cajun, and a short movie in a theater. BONUS FOR PARENTS: there is nothing to buy! Your backseat bandits can't even hit you up for a candy bar here.

My name is not Louisiana Coffee.

No, you cannot have me.

Jennings, LA, on the other hand, seemed downright RV-unfriendly. We just wanted a quick stop, and the Walmart had one of those unwelcoming steel low-clearance warnings. Yes, I see there's a low clearance because you put it there. That's not very Walmartish, and so we blame Jennings. RV parks often put pressure on local politicians, and then legislation is passed forbidding parking anywhere besides a privately-owned campground. So, when you see Exit 64 beckoning you to the Jennings Walmart Superstore, clench a little tighter and drive on by.

We've made it to Orange, Texas, my ancestral stomping, hunting, and coffee grounds. I have dozens of cousins in these parts, and possibly one or two may want to meet me. Literal, all around. The ones who want to see us will have us, the ones who don't will have their piety. Everyone wins! No one leaves empty-handed! This is also the stop where I leave my father's ashes behind. He wouldn't let me do anything for him while he was alive, and this is about all I can think to do for him now.

WHOA! RETROACTIVE BUMMER ALERT!

We might want to stay a few days, and would love to find some green boondocking site, but we're coming up empty. Thirty to 45 minute radius from Orange would be wonderful. Does anyone have a secret spot they'd share, just this once?

Tell me a story. I don't feel funny.

2011-12-12T17:02:00.001-05:00

Chalmette (top) and Algiers (bottom) with ferry line marked

It's easy to see how living on the banks of the Mississippi would inspire wanderlust. Everyone going somewhere, and you're the only one staying where you are.

Erratum: We didn't stay overnight at the eastern Mississippi Welcome Center Friday night. They don't have any official overnight parking (but, I wouldn't discount it entirely unless I talked to security, which is on-duty 24 hours). I've heard that real people working at rest stops are much more sensible about sleepy driving than those grumpy "NO OVERNIGHT PARKING" signs are. The welcome center does have free RV dumping on the way out.

We stayed in the parking lot of the Island View Casino ("more winners, more often") in Gulfport, MS. There were several other RVs parked in the lot already, and as we pulled in, security pointed toward where we should park. It put us a quick walk from the sand beach, but it wasn't a quiet boondocking location - lots and lots of trains. But, it felt safe and we slept well. The only walkable restaurant food was the casino buffet, but at $22 per person we didn't feel hungry enough to indulge.

Here in Chalmette, we're back at the Walmart. It's not my idea of long-term parking fun, but it's perfect for an overnighter, and man! is this spot level. It's propane refrigerator heaven. I waited in line at Customer Service to ask permission, and the girl just said "no." I kept looking at her for a couple of beats, and the older woman at the next station told her "You have to ask a manager." Which she did, and I did, and he was friendly and accommodating. Thanks, Shawn! I'll totally recommend your perimeter lot out past the Lawn and Garden Center to friends!

Elaine, Annie's cousin, works for a construction company. She told us that apartment buildings here dig 70 feet to pour footers. Digging, you can begin to hit water at one foot. There's a Lowe's just down the street that has gone out of business because locals developed a strong loyalty to any business that survived Katrina and first opened for business afterward. That's why people in Chalmette shop at Home Depot and eat at Burger King.

The Army CoE blew up the levee here in 1927 to save greater New Orleans. Post-flood racial attacks triggered a massive migration of African-Americans to northern cities. Hurricane Betsy flooded the adjacent Lower Ninth Ward when a levee broke in 1965. And, you know what Katrina did there in 2005.

[a few hours later] We left the city by way of the Lower Ninth Ward, on Claiborne. Lots of houses still wear their "X." Chalmette neighborhoods are clean and tidy, even though the vacant lots tell a story. In the Lower Ninth, there's no need to read between the lines.

I'm obsessed with New Orleans, especially what happens here when the levees break. If you have a story, I hope you'll tell me.

A local wrote me: New Orleans is cold now, but by this coming weekend, she should be warm and showing off like the old whore she is. I'm sorry I'm going to miss that.

In 1814 we took a little trip (singing optional)

2011-12-11T22:26:00.000-05:00

You people have been cracking me up lately. I was going to ask you to caption these photos for me, but I have control issues.

Add caption

Annie's aunt and cousin live in Chalmette, a suburb of New Orleans. We rolled in early afternoon and they met us to show us their town.

Good looking family!

A ferry on the Mississippi River!

The Mississippi River!

A Carnival Cruise ship in the Mississippi River!

The Mississippi River!

I should have let you caption.

Crawfish po-boy. Gumbo did not survive until picture day.

Why, Roxanne? Why? Because we stared at him until Elaine figured out it was a Corvair.

A twofer. Annie's relatives demonstrating the proper use of our new living room furniture.

I asked goofy questions, like "What does a levee look like?" and Elaine drove us to some. We saw neighborhoods that had been under nine feet of water. Many people abandoned homes after so much destruction, so the town tore them down and removed the slabs; now they're empty lots. Every house had sustained enough damage to be completely gutted or razed.

The Battle of New Orleans? Fought at Chalmette. I displayed my extensive knowledge of the battle by asking if it was part of the Revolutionary War. Then I sang a bit of Johnny Horton's "Battle of New Orleans" to further impress the crowd:

Thanks, Elaine and June, for a fun time! I don't know if you read this, but big wave!

Biloxi Roxi and the Brown Water Blues. Don't forget to tip your bartender.

2011-12-10T20:32:00.000-05:00

Mississippi Welcome Center:

Just flush it down.

Across the hall was the Bœrean Baptist Church choir entertaining weary travelers and, possibly, wearying entertained travelers. An elderly man handed me the New Testament with Psalms, which I declined on the basis that we need to keep underweight, and I've read it already. Once I know the ending, I can never enjoy it the same way again. [Spoiler alert!] Surely I come quickly! Yes you do, and don't call me Shirley.

A Lake City bargain.

Annie made a traveling crockpot chili yesterday. Inexplicably, our inverter is working exactly like it's supposed to, which means we have AC any time we need it. She quickly put this together at one of our rest stops, and by dinner we were nomming it.

Warning! This chili requires secondary containment!

We're parked on the Gulf tonight! We didn't make it to The Big Easy, although it's not that much further. I saw all this white sand and water, and flumped myself dramatically all over the Duck until Annie stopped here for the night. The flumping stuff really works.

You're thinking the sign exaggerates. How dangerous could it be?

Ask Lefty.

This fancy joint even has security, and it's not to kick us out! Lap o' luxury, I'm telling you.

Guess where we are?

2011-12-09T19:13:00.000-05:00

Not Lake City!

We made it about 250 miles today, which seems plenty. I would have settled for the Live Oak WalMart just to break out of the gravitational pull.

I have nothing to report, except that there's nothing to report. I offer some photos for your amazement, disgust, and identification.

I said skate egg sac. Or skate reverse-direction.

I said "KIYIYIYIYI!" Yes or no?

Box jellyfish? I don't know. I just don't know!

The cats did well. They all found a place on the bed while we rolled, then ran out as soon as the engine quieted.

Lake Ponchartrain by tomorrow evening?

Always going, never gone.

2011-12-07T19:19:00.000-05:00

We spent all weekend goodbye-ing then forgot to leave. More beach time, because Annie indulges my every whim. We've been so busy not leaving that I haven't had the energy to yoo-hoo.

This was my cousin, Jennifer.

"See? Guantanamo security isn't so ... "

We still don't understand the mystery of Woodhenge.

The next day:

I call him "Big Bill."

I call him "Jack Webb."

He is not an albatross, but it's good luck to photograph him.

It's super-good luck to be photographed with a pelican, whose beak can hold more than his belican.

It's always good luck to hang out with my friend, Tammy.

"Faster-than-light neutrinos? I'm skeptical."

"Yet, relativity is no longer orthodoxy."

"Let's just enjoy the van der Waal forces."

"See, Roxi? Hydrogen bonding!"

"Oooh, look! Water! Does this hat make my butt look big?"

Later that evening, my old friend (John) and his wife (Kim) made us a delicious Thai dinner. Yessir, we really Thaied one on. They live on a pond and have ducks who knock at their back door. This was one night they had Ducks knocking on their front door, too. John and Kim, it was a pleasure and WHY OH WHY didn't I take your pictures? The conversation was too interesting and I forgot. I blame you.

Here's a thought about anxiety. If you don't full-time, you might think there's nothing to be anxious about. But, some ducks are naturally anxiety-prone and will find things to worry about even when waters are calm and bugs are plentiful. John showed me a yoga posture that helps with anxiety by forcing deep, diaphragmatic breathing. It started helping immediately. Yay! Ducks don't like to paddle constantly. I found this page that describes it, but if you've just ordered your senior coffee in McDonald's and they forgot your cream, easing the stress with the crocodile pose is going to get you more attention than you paid for. Just notice how your breath flows, and breathe deeply wherever you are. You'll unclench faster than you can say Dr. Young's Ideal Rectal Dilators.

We tried to leave Lake City yesterday, but our caliper stuck and we didn't make it to the city limits. We used Lamb's Automotive, and we liked them a lot. Took the Big Duck in this morning for more maintenance we've been putting off. While we're here, you know.

It is our earnest and honest intention to leave Florida on Thursday.

They thought I'd never amount to much.

2011-12-01T20:53:00.003-05:00

Mom: Annie, Roxanne is really lucky to have someone like you who can do anything.

[silence]

And, you're really lucky to have someone ... so docile.

Oh yeah, that's right! I contribute, baby!

I ran down to the Busy Bee for some standby orange juice. I noticed something unfamiliar tucked into a corner, and I thought of Andra (The Accidental Cootchie Mama - look for her in print soon). I knew in an instant that I couldn't leave the Deep South without Cheerwine fueling my mitochondria.

My mom: "She'll take pictures of anything." Yeah, that's what Ansel Adams' mom said, too.

I graduated high school, more or less, in Fernandina Beach. I graduated high school, essentially, in Fernandina Beach. I graduated high school! I did it, technically, in Fernandina Beach. I was completing my first year of college while fulfilling the requirements for my HS diploma, which meant I didn't really hang out in Fernandina in my senior year, only my junior. Thirty years later, I emailed my class president to ask him to invite me to reunions. I'm not going, but a girl wants to be asked.

I told you that part so I could tell you this: we went to FB today so I could "show Annie around." Except, nothing was familiar. My trailer park home was a Lowe's. That's where I learned to put a penny on the tracks and watch it get flattened. That's where we all had to coordinate wash days so the well didn't go dry. That's where we'd cross the two-lane to wait for the bus, staying as far back as we could so the logging trucks didn't take us out in the dark like one did my classmate two stops away. She was an identical twin and I don't remember her name.

Annie's Behind™

Annie's Behind™ the World's Biggest Anchor Ever Attached to a Shrimp Boat that Doesn't Exist Anymore. Before becoming the Dread Pirate Roberts, he was merely the Best-Avoided Pirate Roberts, mainly because he was a shrimp boat captain and always smelled like an appetizer. In frustration, and desperate to move on and accomplish a dream, B-AP Roberts cut the line, dropped the anchor to the harbor floor, and let the trawler drift out to sea. Almost immediately, he realized his mistake and swam out to the runaway boat. He began what is believed to be the first RV (River Vessel) modification and converted it into a frigate. He could sometimes be heard from the shore screaming "Frigate!" when he wanted to put down the anchor he used to have.

That's what the sign should have said, but signs lie.

Post Office

Not the Post Office

Blogging has come a long way from the time we bloviated on stone with our chisels and ran down to our neighbor's hut to ask him to follow us. Pictures go a long way toward conveying a feeling, but I need Smell-o-Vision to really, REALLY take you to Fernandina Beach. This is the best I could do.

It is our earnest and honest intention to leave Florida on Monday.