And if I’m never tied to anything
Decisions were made. There was a new New Plan. Yesterday.
Stop looking for another motorhome of whatever size — I meant it this time — and improve Pegasus instead. Easy-to-maintain laminate dark grey wood-grain floor up front. Long-desired solar system up top. As for spending the winter in Mexico, I’ll leave my car here in Deming and get a small trail bike with knobby tires to run around on.
Sandra liked the new New Plan: “You won’t regret getting solar,” she said.
Stephanie was tired of hearing about the whole thing. “Let me know when you put money down on something,” she said as we watched Really and Roan take turns eating a stick in the dog park.
And then, last night, after the office closed at 5 PM, a white Dodge pickup towing an aluminum trailer that wasn’t an Airstream pulled into site 33 here at LoW-HI RV Ranch.
The second Avion I had ever seen in my life.
What the @#&*?
Was it a sign that I should buy the Avion or just the Universe messing with me?
Regardless, I couldn’t help looking towards site 33.
The Avion was still there the next morning when Roan and I returned from our walk around 8 AM.
I texted Ron: “Help! An Avion pulled into the park last night.”
Ron texted back: “Walk quickly away without looking and put cotton in ears to mute the siren song. Praying may help.” He also recommended a priest for an exorcism or a curandero (traditional Native healer, shaman, or Witch doctor).
“Are you trying to help?” I typed.
1972 Avion La Grande
I phoned Faun.
Faun said: “What does your I AM say?”
I asked my I AM: “Should I get the Avion?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!.” Ever the Grand Instigator, my I AM is more into the Big Picture and not so strong on details.
“Well then,” Faun replied, as if that solved everything, adding, “But you feeling sick to your stomach means something too.”
Later that morning, I walked over to recycling to drop off two broken down cardboard boxes. I passed the 30s row, glancing over to now-empty site 33. Whew!
But then I saw it, parked in front of the office. Lurking, taunting me, a sleek aluminum specter. I could not resist its song. I walked up the ramp to the office just as a man with a short white ponytail came out.
I told him my tale about almost getting a 1972 Avion La Grande. We chatted as he showed me the inside of his 1972 Avion. Same year, length, and layout as the one I almost bought. Same twin beds, same mirrored walls, same bathtub. His had a dinette, “mine” had a sofa.
“My” Avion’s front rock guard had blown away in a West Texas wind storm. Kenneth had replaced his and was willing to sell the original one to me. He knew someone who rebuilt old fridges too. We exchanged information.
Back in Pegasus’s cool expanse, I called Ron. As we spoke, I had a revelation.
“Maybe the Avion came to me here in the park so that I could see it again,” I offered. “I didn’t spend much time in the other one when the owners came through town. I had a romantic idea about it. Maybe this one came here to show me the layout and that it wouldn’t be practical for day-to-day living.”
A big maybe.
Ron explained Fritz Perls’s parts psychology. The part of me that wanted to keep Pegasus and the part of me that wanted the Avion needed to have a discussion and come to some agreement.
I’ll let you know how that goes.
In the meantime, call the curandero.