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Author: Elizabeth di Grazia
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We Can Do This … the Saying of Yes
One month ago, Jody and I flew to Texas for a weeklong RV Fundamentals course. We don’t own an RV. Our goal was to learn the intricacies of RVs and how to maintain a motorhome before buying. Our chance of success would increase, and we’d have much less frustration.Class A motorhomes look like a large bus, Class B a van, and a Class C has a sleeping area over the cab.
On two occasions we had rented an RV for travel. A 31ft. Class C for a trip to the Grand Canyon and a 30ft. Class C for a trip to Mount Rainier. We learned that we had no idea what the sensors were indicating, where the fuse box was and what to look for if the refrigerator stopped working. We punted. We asked questions of other RVers, found the operator’s manual, and bought a cooler and ice to keep food cold.
After landing in Dallas, we picked up our rented 24ft. Class C. This would be our home for ten days while we attended classes at the National RV Training Academy (NRVTA) in Athens. The program prepares individuals to apply basic technical knowledge and skills to build, test, inspect, repair, service and maintain recreational vehicles, systems, and interior and exterior components. At the end of the week there was an optional RV Service Technician exam.
We didn’t sign up for the test. We hid in the back of the class.At first, our goal was to listen to the lectures, and be active in the labs. Absorb the teachings and feel more competent as yet-to-be RV owners.
We were intrigued to learn being an RVer could lead to a business opportunity.
During the week we attended small business developmental training before the technical training started. The Stepping into Business Success course was compelling. Jody and I could see our way to owning a small business. Our new RV could be a work vehicle and become a tax write-off. Graduates of the school were in business as RV Techs, Inspectors, and some had branched off to other specialties such as air conditioners, refrigerators, generators and solar.
We just needed to find our niche.
Where we landed was the deep cleaning of grey and black tanks. Ms. and Ms. Poo if you must.
At week’s end, Jody and I received an RV Fundamentals Training certificate. In addition, Jody studied for and passed the RV Service Technician exam and became certified.Still, we didn’t own an RV. Our intention was to buy one from a private owner or dealership while on vacation in Florida in the coming six weeks. Our retirement snapshot was summer at our home in Minnesota and winter in Florida living in an RV.
During one of our breakout lab sessions, Jody and I mentioned that we were looking to purchase an RV. A classmate had an aunt who lived in Farmersville, Texas selling a 2020 Class A 28ft. Winnebago Intent with less than 10,000 miles. Having spent a week crawling into a corner bed and bruising our elbows and shins from the tight space of a 24ft., owning a much larger RV was very appealing. We had never considered a Class A. I kept returning to the fact that we had previous experience with a 30 and 31ft RV. This was just a different style, and the length was only 28ft!
Jody and I drove 1 ½ hours to Farmersville, met the owners, and test drove the Class A. The owners were delightful. It was a motorhome we could be proud of. We signed a bill of sale. Named her Flo.
Back home in Minnesota Jody and I registered two businesses with the State: tankrefreshrv (grey and black tank maintenance) and dogGo (Jody’s dog walking business).
While we were on a roll, we researched becoming Workampers. Workampers are people who have chosen a lifestyle that combines work with RV camping. RVers are provided a campsite in exchange for service.During our vacation in Florida, Jody and I secured part-time positions for the coming winter season at an RV resort as activity directors. We will also oversee our small business on the side.
Jody and I have signed up for additional online training to be poo specialists.
We are no longer saying, “We can do this,” we are saying, “We ARE doing this.”
It’s been one month since our RV Fundamentals class. Following the flow, the saying of yes, brought us to this point. The only thing missing is Flo herself. She’s still in Farmersville, Texas. Mid-March, after our vacation in Florida, we’ll fly to Texas to bring her home.
Can’t wait to get to know her.
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If You See Something, Say Something
If you see something, say something. Bags cannot be left unattended. Murmuring of voices. Click of heels, shuffling of shoes, suitcases rolling and being dragged. A baby crying. All areas of the terminal have been designated as smoke free. At the kiosk, I finished inputting the airline confirmation for our flight.“Stop it, Crissy,” I hissed. My stomach tensed and knotted. Sounds muffled around me. “Crystel, Stop!” I said louder with more urgency. She had stepped sideways to her own kiosk and was checking herself in. “Crystel, we are under the SAME confirmation!” I glanced at my screen: both of our names were listed. “It might screw us up if you check yourself in!” Veins stood out on my neck.
She hesitated. Her lips tightened. With chin held high, she turned her back to me.
Our 4-week Guatemalan trip had scarcely begun. A minute ago, we hugged Jody goodbye. I knew that defiance stance well. Even as a toddler she didn’t like to be told what to do. She insisted on dressing herself, zippering her own jacket, putting on her own shoes. It made for some fanciful ensembles. Beads adorning her hair, mismatched socks. Even her crib couldn’t hold her. After putting Juan in his car seat, I’d dash back to get Crystel who was waiting in her crib. Until the day she met me at the screen door. Grinning from ear to ear, clapping her hands.
Crystel was an accomplished traveler; she’d spent a year in Hawaii as a national exchange student and had traveled alone to Vietnam and Korea. Yet, I was still the mother. I was holding all our valuables, the passports, global entry passes, credit cards, and cash.
Sighing, I clicked on our names, printed our boarding passes and bag tags. “Crystel, here.” She jerked her head sharply and wouldn’t meet my gaze. I raised my eyebrows and handed her the documents.
Crystel had invited me on this trip with a simple, “Why don’t you come?”
Why not, I thought. Crystel and I have similar personalities. Always up for an adventure, searching for the unfamiliar. Both of us enjoy researching, planning, and arranging travel.
Xela, Guatemala located in a remote mountain valley in the western highlands, was known for the best place to learn and improve your Spanish. Crystel and I would have a full immersion experience living with a Guatemalan family that didn’t speak English. Five days a week, four hours a day, we would attend Spanish classes and be tutored by our own teacher.
Crystel walked with purpose towards security. Her long black hair was braided, bouncing against her back. When she was little, I researched how to perfect pigtails. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was 21 and I was 65. I inhaled deeply, relaxed my gait.
As expected, my double knee replacement set off the alarm. I pointed to my knees. A female TSA agent was beckoned. While waiting for the pat down inspection, I scanned the conveyor belt for my backpack and tray of valuables. I held my arms out, spread my legs. I wanted to holler for Crystel to secure my possessions as they emerged from the x-ray machine. I couldn’t yell at her. I couldn’t even see her as she had gone on.
I started sweating, my shoulders tightened. All I could imagine was all our cash, credits cards, my phone and passport disappearing. Our travel ended before we had even left the airport.
Minutes later, I gathered my items at the end of the conveyor. Crystel was waiting around the corner out of eyesight. “CrySTEL,” I said sternly. “We know I’m going to be stopped every time at security. We need you to go through first, then secure our stuff. I have everything on the conveyor.”
Her eyes flickered with recognition. She understood we were in this together. Our success depended on each other. We were bound. In the past hour, Crystel had also established that I was traveling with my equal, my adult daughter.
Heading toward our concourse I tripped. We both laughed.
“Are you up for a Chai?” I asked.
