in which dreams are formed

 

It was only a few minutes, nothing really to speak of at all – but for those few minutes, that brief moment this past Wednesday – I was home again. Where I feel best, where I feel I belong – with 454 cubic inches of motor singing its sweet, throaty song next to me in the driver’s seat of my motorhome.

 

Wednesday, 6:30 am and the alarm on my phone went off, my eyes barely opened as I lift this hellish thing off of my dresser and be certain I touch ‘dismiss’ instead of ‘snooze’. It’s not a noise I wish to hear again. Of course, the night before I had found the rare parking on Hyde St. which *didn’t*  have street sweeping this morning, but they were unable to start my girl the day before and needed the space for a 50 foot trailer that was coming in. Not expecting to find such ideal parking I promised that I would be there at 7:30 to move her…

It’s been a while – perhaps well over a month since I’ve been to the East Bay, as with fuel prices and bridge toll it’s not a trip I can make too often, and besides, except for just opening the door and sitting in her, there was little reason to go visit my motorhome.

I felt her welcoming smile as I opened the door and stepped inside again after so long – it was like visiting a dear old friend. Some may understand this; those people whose vehicles become, after a time, much more than just something to use in order to get around in – they become, in a way, a part of you. Part of your history, part of your future, part of dreams both realized… and yet to come.

I climbed into the driver’s seat – *my* seat – and sat there for a minute or three, just looking out the windshield with my eyes closed, imagining the roads we would someday travel, then with a bit of massaging and a small simple trick I turned the key and her heart roared to life, a deliciously low rumble as her blood was sucked up from the oil pan and started circulating again, feeling her strength & power as I pressed lightly on the accelerator pedal, checking the gauges to be sure all was well and, after far too long, moved the lever on the steering column to that sweetest of letters: ‘D’.

DRIVE.

I didn’t go far, just out the rollup door and around the building to the other side, but it was still a sweet little spree and reminded me of what I had been missing.

In those few short minutes, I was home again.

 

Perhaps some may think I’ve gone off the deep end in writing about a motorhome with such romance – words that are usually saved to paint poetic images of and for loved ones of the more, shall we say, *human* nature, and well, perhaps I have – but dreams are still dreams, regardless of what form they take or the way in which they are realized, and Serenity, my motorhome, is the way in which my dreams not only are formed – but can also become a reality.

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8 responses to “in which dreams are formed

  1. Once upon a time, I had a Pontiac Bonneville that I probably would have joined in unholy matrimony, if there’d been a way. So I know whereof you speak. And a few months ago, I came within an inch of buying an RV and just taking off for parts unknown. Glad now that I didn’t, though…

    • A Bonneville??! What year?
      I’m partial to ’64-’69 Bonny’s, meself – though of course, what I would REALLY love is a GTO!
      There is something truly wonderful about old American muscle cars… they essentially scream “ROAD TRIP!”

      • Ah, yes, they knew how to make real cars back then. Alas, Sweet Marie was but a ’93 SSE, though I *was* preparing to give her a super-charged “heart transplant.” Unfortunately, she was killed at a stoplight (by an idiot who was too busy with his phone to pay attention to the road) before I could make it happen.

        My ex-husband had a ’70 Goat. There was more play in the steering than I like, but otherwise it was a gem!

        One of my friends had a ’63 T-bird that I was very partial to, as well.

      • Ahh. Certainly not as sexy as the older models (in my opinion, of course), but love is love and cannot be denied.
        Effin’ PHONE FUCKO’S! Loathe them – though admittedly, I am occasionally one when I absolutely need to be & can’t pull over, I’m embarrassed to say.

        I had a ’67 Ford Econoline van which I bought from a friend in Phoenix when I was going to school there which I really loved – it had the engine between the two front seats so essentially you sat in front of the front wheels, and it was a BLAST scaring the hell out of passengers by coming up on stopped cars, as it basically didn’t have any “nose” at all. It was funny as hell watching them try to hit their imaginary brake pedal while stomping on the floor. (Insert diabolical snicker here)
        Same problem with the steering box though. I was able to take some play out of it, but you still had to turn the steering wheel back & forth in order to keep going straight – kept you on your toes though, and I never had a problem nodding off on long drives!

  2. LOL–I just love that you used “effin'” and “FUCKO’S” in the same sentence! :p

    But seriously, I suspect that *you* become extra-vigilant about watching the road during those unavoidable “emergency calls,”–as do I–not less so.

    • HEY! NO “LOL” ALLOWED. Are we CLEAR? Really – it, and the other various abbreviated erosion’s of the English language are one of the things that make my skin crawl… please. For me?

      And yes, I try to – but still find myself getting honked at when the light turns green and I’m trying to finish a texted word letting someone know that I’m just about there & to be waiting outside – so I don’t block traffic… (Hmmmm…)

      • My deepest apologies. Please feel free to delete my previous comment. Otherwise, just pretend I said “Heeheehee” instead. I hope the emoticon wasn’t equally offensive…

        And texting at a red light isn’t so bad, in my opinion. This fool plowed into the back of me because he glanced up and saw my brake lights go out when the light turned green, then went back to whatever he was doing–and missed seeing my brakes go on again because the woman in front of me had to wait for the foot traffic to clear before she could turn! I’m just glad I jammed my foot down as hard as I could when I saw him bearing down on me, or I would have smeared her tiny sportscar all over the intersection!

      • Apology accepted, though not truly necessary – though my older friends are, for the most part, aware of my phobia, my newer ones (which is pretty much just you) would need to do some clever digging indeed to discover it.
        And – though it was used, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been – for example if that were all that you wrote. Therefore, I wouldn’t think of deleting your comment.
        After all, if I deleted that one, I would need to delete the rest of these, as well – and that would just be ridiculous.

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