Next week, we will point the RV north and head the “wrong way” for a winter roadtrip, to push into the land of snow and ice for a large archery tournament. We will use our Harvest Hosts membership for overnight stops along the way (I’m hoping for an alpaca-farm stop somewhere in Oklahoma 🤞🏼🦙), but I haven’t had the time to plan this adventure as well as I’d like.
Because the last couple weeks have involved:
📖A quick read to get me ready for bed,
❌Not time for planning roadtrips and picking out RV-friendly alpaca farms.
Basically, work has been swamping the little boat that is me, and I’ve spent my time “bailing,” rather than enjoying any yoga, walks, social interaction, or real meals. (Or planning roadtrips.)
The Bosun and I simply haven’t had a chance to sit down and chart paths to neat camping options. But that’s okay. In many ways, I actually enjoy the simplicity. Life has three goals right now: produce work product, shoot decently, sleep well. Wash-rinse-repeat daily. Pretty easy.
Sure, if I had more time for social media, I might feel like I’d nothing of note to share because each day feels a lot like the last. But from a focus perspective, my psychic energy is flowing down a pretty defined channel, allowing me to pour myself fully into the limited tasks at hand. Kinda cool.
On the road next week, I’ll have to work diligently while the Bosun drives. I may feel like I’m missing a bit of the experience if we do luck out and spend a night at an alpaca farm and the Bosun and Boat/RV Dog get to wander while I sit chained to a laptop and hotspot, but heck, that kind of thing is part of its own experience. At least I’ll be on the road. At least I’ll be doing what I love on multiple levels: investing myself in my work ... and exploring....
Whatever creative freedom I need, I’m grabbing from my bits of nightly reading. An English friend recommended Evelyn Waugh, and I picked up Vile Bodies (I think I mentioned the book last week). Boy, it delivers this cocktail of bitters (with acerbic social commentary), over a base of feisty, satisfying prose, all shaken up in a canister of skeptical, sensational, “spherical,” “symmetrical” storytelling. It smacks a bit of Ship of Fools from the ‘60s and of the ending of Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not. It asks for no mercy and takes no prisoners as it drives through post-WWI England. A literary pickmeup indeed, not from the content (which is satirical—and good satire makes me overthink and get a little down) but from the depth of the execution.
Now the big question for next week’s trip:
Which books should come along?