California, Here We Are

We have officially started the process of becoming Californians again.

It has been an expensive, though so far relatively headache-free, process.

Although our vehicles were previously registered here well into next year, we had to start the process over (and pay the associated fees) as though they never had been. We figured that would be the case, but it was still a bummer to have it confirmed.

We had to get California insurance again, and because of the two months we were insured in Texas, we lost our California "continuous insurance" discount. We had to pay the difference in sales tax on Homer. We had to get smog tests for the car and truck. We had to tow Homer over to the AAA office so the insurance people could take photos and so they could do a VIN identification for the DMV.

(By the way, we have been able to take care of all the registration at the AAA office. They are so much nicer and more efficient than the DMV people. They also had a toddler-sized picnic table set up by the desk, and an employee brought over coloring books and crayons for the kids.)

We can't register the Pilot yet because we have to get a letter from Texas stating that they never issued a title there. (They were huge sticklers about us registering our cars, but they couldn't have cared less about the title: They specifically gave us the option of changing the title or not.) Hopefully we can get that faxed over on Monday.

There is still the issue of the licenses, which we have to do at the DMV. We're going to get our Class C's for now, and then Steve will start the process of getting his Class A. Unlike in Texas, we actually have to take a written test here. I took five practice tests online and only missed three questions, so hopefully I'll be ok. I'm sure Steve will be.

The thing that sucks most is that we're not going to be able to vote in this election. Based on the amount of campaign literature we've been receiving, we're still on the books in California, but we're technically registered to vote in Texas. (We figured we were doing our civic duty.) We could probably walk into our polling place and vote and no one would know the difference, but we're not really keen on committing voter fraud, so we'll sit this one out.

I don't know the total cost of everything we paid to register in Texas, plus the additional cost of re-registering here. I could total it up, but I'm not going to. I figure we'll chalk it up as part of the experience.

Incidentally, there was a young couple next to us at the DMV desk at AAA today. The husband was in the military and newly stationed here. They thought they needed to establish residency here and register their vehicles and everything. That would include paying the difference in sales tax on the car they paid 3% on in Virginia (so they'd be paying another 6% or so). The AAA people explained that because they're military, they didn't need to register here. The couple seemed hesitant and kept talking it over. The AAA people, while not overtly telling them not to change their residency, were subtly begging them not to do it. Steve and I kept whispering under our breath, "Don't do it, don't do it!" They left, still Virginians, to go home and think about it.

Although it feels strangely reassuring to become Californians again, the extra taxes and fees are among the main reasons we're still looking forward to leaving.

Thanksgiving

To say I love Thanksgiving would be an understatement. To say I'm obsessive about Thanksgiving would also be a bit of an understatement. To say I'm a control freak about Thanksgiving would be...well, you get the idea.

The holiday has always played a central role in my life: I was born on Thanksgiving day. As a kid, I thought it was awesome that my birthday was always on/around the holiday, and it didn't hurt that I got to gorge myself on turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and birthday pumpkin pie (who needs cake?).

That's not to say that all of my Thanksgivings were great.

There was the year we had dinner with my mom's friend, who had disliked me since I was a child and made passive-aggressive remarks to and about me the whole night.

There was the time that my mom and I had dinner with some friends of hers and their college-age daughter. We would later find out that the couple was getting a divorce, which explained why (with the exception of a few pleasantries exchanged between the daughter and us) no one spoke during the entire meal. They also sent us away without leftovers.

There was the time, when I was about 8, that my parents were both working around the clock on different projects: my mom on her Master's dissertation, and my dad on a series of articles that would later win him a Pulitzer.

That year, Thanksgiving was just another day at the office. I spent the afternoon playing with my new birthday presents and the Billy Joel album I had received a day or two before. As the sun started to set, I began to wonder when we would eat and why no one was in the kitchen cooking.

When I inquired, it became obvious that my parents had either lost track of time or forgot it was Thanksgiving all together. By then, of course, it was too late to make a turkey (if we even had one), and all the restaurants were either closed or booked.

We had pancakes.

These experiences (especially the pancake dinner) are what drove me toward my current obsession. When I grew up and moved out on my own, I decided to reclaim the holiday. If I were in charge, I'd know it would be right. I could make sure I had all my favorite foods, done correctly. (Stuffing with sausage? No.) I could make sure everyone went home with leftovers. I would ensure there would be no pancakes.

So for the past 10 years or so, I have compiled recipes that I file in my Thanksgiving binder, which represents, by far, the height of my organizational skills. Around September I start planning recipes and decorations. By the beginning of November I start working on my schedule for Thanksgiving Week. I spend two or three days cooking a meal that lasts 40 minutes. And then, the day after Thanksgiving, I vow that I'm taking the next year off, although I never do.

Until now?

It looked like this year would end my streak. We were going to be living in the trailer by now, and it would be hard to cook a feast for a dozen people, even if they wanted to make the long drive out to the middle of nowhere.

We considered taking Homer to the beach, but he's too big. So then we decided to go to Solvang, just us and the kids. We'd make a small turkey breast and some sides.

But then Homer had his hitch issues, and we've been going back and forth about everything, and now it's probably too late to make reservations, plus I'm having minor panic attacks about Thanksgiving not being "right."

My dad offered to host at his house, but his oven is too small to make a proper turkey. He offered to take us to a restaurant, but that feels sacrilegious.

So, I made the only logical choice: I'll host and cook as usual.

I'll need to restock my kitchen supplies, of course. I have no pie plates, rolling pin, or casserole dishes. I'm not sure I have a roasting pan. But I will overcome. Nothing will come between me and a perfect Thanksgiving feast.

Bumps in the road

This is a post I have needed to write for a few days now, but I haven't even wanted to think about it, let alone sit down and type.

Until recently I thought that baseball offered the best analogies for life, but now I'm starting to think that the road does. You see, we have reached a dead end. Or perhaps just a detour. I don't know.

But the bottom line is that we have decided to postpone our launch date. Instead of leaving in March 2011, things are on hold...for a while. It could be another six months, or a year, or up to two years (likely not beyond that, though).

It's no surprise that thus far, things have not gone as we planned. From the whole Texas-paperwork-fiasco to the trailer breaking within a half-hour of owning it to the housing market taking another nosedive, we have not gotten off to a good start.

These setbacks have forced us to take a closer look at the overall situation, which has been hard in itself. Once you start down a road, you want to keep going.

At some point, though, after hitting pothole after pothole, you start wondering if maybe you took the wrong route.

In literal terms, leaving right now doesn't make financial sense.

Steve went to a required retirement seminar the other day and came home with a breakdown of what he would retire with now vs. when he maxes out his pension (in two years). The difference isn't enormous, but it's significant.

Starting in February we will also have an increase in income that will last until Steve retires. If he leaves in March, we would only see that increase for one month. The longer he works, the longer we benefit.

Obviously we already knew all that to some extent. The biggest factor has been the house. The market here has been depressed for a couple years but had recently experienced an uptick. We expected to be able to take advantage of that and sell the house for what we paid, thereby recouping our down payment. That, in our minds, would compensate for not maxing out the pension and giving up the added income.

But to sell the house now would mean giving up all of it. Renting it out, besides being a humongous headache, wouldn't make a lot of financial sense either, in the end.

Then we also learned that when our mortgage readjusts next year, our payments will indeed increase, but not by nearly as much as we expected.

Add up all the factors, and, frankly, we'd be idiots not to hold off for a while.

Of course, this decision comes with new headaches. If we're staying here, we have to re-Californianize ourselves, making the whole Texas thing a huge waste of time and money (not to mention the toll it took on our sanity).  

It also raises questions about what to do about Homer. To tow him here, as Californians, we need the Class A license. He is way too big to use as an occasional vacation trailer, and it makes no sense to keep him in storage for the next who-knows-how-long. So, as much as it hurts to consider it, we are thinking about selling him or trading him in for something smaller until we need something bigger again.

So that's the situation.

For my entire adult life it has been my mantra not to plan too far ahead because once you start speeding down one path, you're likely to miss other--potentially better--ones.

Still, though, this feels like admitting defeat, like we failed before we even set out. It probably doesn't help that we just watched Lost in America, in which the characters did just that.

It's hard to get halfway to your destination before realizing that you left the stove on. But at that point, you can lose some time and go back to take care of it or you can keep driving and ignore the imminent disaster. Ok, maybe that analogy is a bit too dire, but that's how it feels right now.

I plan on keeping up the blog in anticipation of when we do actually set out. I hope you'll keep reading while we are parked here on the side, waiting for the road to get smoothed out.

Lost in America

Many, many years ago, when I was still in high school, my dad decided that he was going to have me watch several Albert Brooks movies. I think Dad had come to the conclusion that Brooks is a cinematic genius and wanted to share that genius with me. Since we typically have similar tastes in movies (Citizen Kane not withstanding), it was a reasonable request.

It turned out, though, that Albert Brooks would divide us the same way Charles Foster Kane had. After dutifully sitting through two Brooks movies, I declared the man a bore and refused to watch anything more.

One of those movies was Lost in America. The movie had such little impact on me that until recently I forgot it even existed. I would not have been able to tell you any of the plot, let alone any of the dialogue.

Then my history professor from college (the one who taught my American Highways course) emailed me a couple weeks ago to suggest that I watch it.

Slowly, bits of the movie started coming back to me: A couple sells all their belongings to head out in an RV. Well, that's certainly worth a watch!

So I put it in my Netflix queue and waited.

It arrived the other day, and Steve and I watched the other night. (The rest of this post contains spoilers, so if you don't want to know what happens in the movie, stop reading.)

Basically, a guy from LA gets passed over for a promotion. He quits his high-paying, white-collar job and convinces his wife to do the same. They decide to "drop out of society" and travel the country, like in Easy Rider. They forgo the deposit on their newly purchased house, liquidate their assets, and head out with a $145,000 nest egg to last the rest of their lives.

Their first stop is Las Vegas, where the wife gambles away all but $800 of said nest egg. They keep driving as far as Podunk, Arizona, where they decide they'll get jobs and rebuild their savings.

They quickly realize that they are not cut out for entry-level blue-collar life and decide to high-tail it to New York, where the husband begs back his old job, at one-third the salary, "but with better dental."

As soon as the movie was over, Steve said, sarcastically, "Well, that was inspirational."

It's true that the movie is a bit unsettling given our current situation. Southern California yuppies leaving their lives behind to experience America on the road, then failing miserably after only a couple weeks.

At the same time, though, the movie is absolutely hilarious, and I'm not sure why I didn't see that before. Maybe when I first saw it I was in a bad mood, or maybe didn't have the life experience to appreciate it, or maybe I was determined to prove my dad wrong about something. But I will admit it now: He was right, and Lost in America is a piece of genius. I might even watch it again before I send it back to Netflix, and I'll probably add a couple more Albert Brooks movies to my queue. I'm still not admitting defeat on Citizen Kane, though.

Getting Some Kicks

We headed up to Pomona today for the 58th Annual California RV Show. It was pretty disappointing, to be honest. Since we already have our trailer, we went mainly in hopes of checking out some peddlers of various wares we might need while on the road. To our dismay, there were hardly any vendors there.

Since we didn't spend much time at the show, I decided to take Steve and the kids on a fun little trip.

First we stopped at No Sugar Added in Claremont, my favorite purveyor of cloth diapers, wooden toys, and other such articles.

Then I had everyone pile into the car to go on a little trip down Foothill Boulevard, part of old Route 66.

First stop was to see the Madonna of the Trail, which I wrote about in a recent post. Sure enough, she was right there at Foothill and Euclid. I really don't know how I missed her all those times, but, in my defense, she stands on the center median of the Boulevard off to one side, not right on a corner. I always drove past her, rather than toward her.

I left Steve and the kids in the car while I went to get some photos.



I wanted to try to get a photo of myself with her, but there were no available pedestrians around. I'm a big fan of pointing one's camera at oneself with outstretched arms, but there were a ton of cars waiting at the lights, and I was sure the drivers were all staring at me, which made me too self-conscious to try.

Then it was off to the Wigwam Motel!

I had driven there twice before. The first time was my freshman year of college, late at night, when my friend and I were starving. We were sick of Taco Bell, and Denny's had an inexplicably long wait that night. There weren't too many other dining options at midnight in Claremont back then, so we decided to drive until we found something.

My sense of direction isn't that great, so I headed toward what I thought was Ontario Airport. Instead, we drove and drove and drove down Foothill Boulevard--encountering no open restaurants--until we reached San Bernardino, about 30 miles away. At that point we resigned ourselves to two facts: This wasn't the way to the airport, and we weren't eating until morning.

I turned the car around only to notice a ring of giant teepees in front of me. I knew of the Wigwam Motels, but I had no idea they were right there! I vowed to go back another time, preferably in daylight.

A year or two later, on a day I had nothing else to do, I drove out there again. I wanted to see the teepees, but I also wanted to drive farther down, just to find more evidence of Route 66's heyday.

The area is built up now, but once in a while, between newly constructed strip malls and housing tracts, you can glimpse indications of the past. There are some tiny old buildings--some abandoned, some still in use--ancient motels boasting "Color TV!",  and the occasional signs in googie-architecture style.

So that day, back in college, I decided I'd drive until it got dark. But I underestimated how long it would take to get to the Wigwam Motel, and by the time I made it, the sun was going down. A little ways up ahead was a rail yard with a giant smoke stack that freaked me out, so I turned around and went home. (I have a fear of tall lurking objects.)

Today I had no intention of trekking farther than the Wigwams (which, yet again, took longer to get to than I imagined), but this time I was going to stop and check them out.

For many years the motel was extremely seedy and actually embraced that image, boasting a sign suggesting that people "do it in a teepee." However, I had read that new owners had recently renovated the place and tried to make it more family-friendly.

When I pulled in, the manager, a young guy, came walking up to the car. I thought he was going to tell us to leave if we weren't staying there, but instead he offered to let us look around and even showed us the inside of one of the teepees.

I have to say that the room, the grounds, and the pool were impeccable. Elias, of course, was thrilled that they looked just like the Kozy Kones from Cars.



We talked with the manager for a while and walked around a bit. We told the guy that we'd love to stay there sometime, and we weren't just giving him lip service. We really do want to stay there. Who wouldn't want to sleep in a big, old, historic teepee? (I did not see any signs imploring us to "do it" in one.)

Next time we go back (hopefully soon) we will stay there for a night or two. Maybe we'll make it down a bit farther on Route 66, because I would like to see some more relics of the era. Steve will have to drive, though, because of that big lurking smoke stack.

Life's a Hitch

Sorry it's been a while since I updated. I try to post as often as I can, but not much has happened lately, other than being stuck in real estate limbo. But what else is new?

Anyway, you might recall that we were having some problems with our hitch. In the past few days we have been making some inroads in solving our hitch problems, and in the process have created some new ones.

In an attempt to be clear, concise, and interesting, I have written this post four times. I have come to the conclusion that the details of our hitch problems are far too involved to be clear, concise, or interesting. So here is a very abbreviated recap:

We're having hitch issues.

Some of that is due to improper installation of parts.

Some of it is due to the fact that the components just aren't playing nicely.

Camping World in Katy, Texas, which initially installed the hitch, has offered to reimburse us to have fixed what they messed up. We'll see if they make good.

In the process of having the hitch fixed, we have come to realize that we might need to swap out some parts to make it work better.

Also, after the problems were partially fixed, Homer wound up smashing the track of the Canyonero's bed cover. So that raises a whole new set of questions, and also requires yet another repair.

Slowly but surely we're getting things worked out. Or so we think.

A big change of plans

The macro-plan (head out full-time) is still in place, but we're tweaking some of the other details. The main change is that we're taking the house off the market.

The housing market is just absolutely dead here. We have already lowered the price three times and can't go any lower. Even if we could, I don't think it would matter. People just aren't buying anything.

Part of me wonders if I got a defective EcoJoe, but honestly, god herself couldn't sell this house right now.

Our revised plan, then, is to rent out the house. We have another year until our mortgage readjusts, and rates are so low that it might not be that big a deal when it does. We probably won't be able to bring in enough through rent to cover our expenses, but we should be able to come close. Having the house as a write-off should make up for any loss we take. You know, if things work out the way we plan. And you know how well that's worked out so far.

This is a big change for us psychologically, because we had prepared ourselves to make a clean break. Now we're still hanging on a bit, and it's going to take some getting used to.

In the meantime, things around here are getting back to normal: the sign is gone from our yard and my living room is a mess.

Close to My Heart

I have written about a couple parenting issues I feel very strongly about. There are car seats, of course, and I wrote about the nurse-in in Arizona. Another issue I strongly believe in but don't think I've written about yet is baby-wearing.

Baby-wearing is gaining in popularity, but a lot of people still don't understand it, let alone practice it. Most of the comments I get are positive, although some people look at me like I have two heads. (To be fair, most of those looks came when I was wearing Anna in a sling facing out, with her legs tucked under her, so it sort of looked like I did have two heads. Push, the talking trash can at Disney World, told me that I looked like Signorney Weaver from Alien.)



Baby-wearing got a much-unneeded setback a couple months ago when some carriers were recalled due to baby deaths. These particular "bag" carriers are very padded and do not properly position the baby, who is worn low on the parent's body. The padding can cause suffocation, and it was possible for baby's head to tilt too far forward, cutting off his airway. Most baby-wearing advocates were happy to see that particular type of carrier recalled.

Babies worn in slings should be worn up high, at chest level or above. They should be worn close to the parent's body, and a good, properly fitted sling will allow that. The baby's head should never be tilted toward his or her chest, and fabric should not flop over the baby's face. The recalled carriers do not allow any of that to happen, and were, therefore, inherently dangerous.

However, many people don't understand that there is a difference in types of carriers. They are quick to assume that all carriers are dangerous, even though the reality is that most carriers are perfectly safe if used and fitted properly. Unfortunately, among the people who don't quite "get it" is the Consumer Product Safety Commission, the government agency in charge of urging/forcing recalls.

According to the Baby Carrier Industry Alliance, the entire industry is in jeopardy. Supposedly, a popular manufacturer of (safe) slings was recently approached by the CPSC and told to cease operations immediately. The CPSC, supposedly, claimed that although they had no proof that this company's products were dangerous, it insisted upon a recall anyway. The CPSC has, allegedly, threatened legal action against the entire industry.

I put a lot of "supposedly"s and "allegedly"s in there because apparently the company in question doesn't want to go public right now, so there's no way to verify all that. The story sounds both implausible and completely believable at the same time.

Without being able to confirm details, I have no way to know what--if anything--has been embellished or misunderstood. What I believe, without a doubt, is that it's very likely that CPSC plans on targeting the baby-wearing industry because the agency can't or won't understand the differences.

There is a campaign to get people to write to/call elected officials in position to stop any unnecessary action CPSC might be taking. (see list below) I'm in a bit of a quandary in that Barbara Boxer isn't technically my senator anymore, and I'm ashamed to admit I don't know who my congressperson in Texas is. So I'm figuring out how to proceed.

What I am sure of is that the government should not be taking away our ability to keep our babies close to our hearts, where they belong.



If you live in one of these states/districts, and you are concerned that safe baby carriers might be targeted for unnecessary recall, please contact your representatives. If you don't live in one of these areas, contact your reps anyway.

SENATE: Mark Pryor – Chairman, AR (202) 224-2353
Byron L. Dorgan, ND (202) 224-2551
Barbara Boxer, CA (202) 224-3553
Bill Nelson, FL (202) 224-5274
Claire McCaskill, MO (202) 224-6154
Amy Klobuchar, MN (202) 224-3244
Tom Udall, NM (202) 224-5941
Roger Wicker – Ranking Member, MS (202) 224-6253
Olympia J. Snowe, ME (202) 224-5344
Jim DeMint, SC (202) 224-6121
John Thune, SD (202) 224-2321
Johnny Isakson, GA (202) 224-3643
David Vitter, LA (202) 224-4623


HOUSE: Bobby L. Rush, IL, Chairman 202-225-4372; 773-224-6500
Jan Schakowsky, IL, Vice Chair 202-225-2111; 773-506-7100
Ed Whitfield, KY, Ranking Member 202-225-3115; 270-885-8079
John P. Sarbanes, MD 202-225-4016; 410-832-8890
George Radanovich, CA 202-225-4540; 559-449-2490
Betty Sutton, OH 202-225-2266; 330-865-8450
Cliff Stearns, FL 202-225-5744; 352-351-8777
Frank Pallone, Jr., NJ 202-225-4671; 732-571-1140
Joseph R. Pitts, PA 202-225-2411; 717-303-0667
Bart Gordon, TN 202-225-4231; 615-896-1986
Mary Bono Mack, CA 202-225-5330; 760-320-1076
Bart Stupak, MI 202-225-4735; 231-348-0657
Lee Terry, NE 202-225-4155; 402-397-9944
Gene Green, TX 202-225-1688; 281-999-5879
Sue Wilkins Myrick, NC 202-225-1976; 704-362-1060
Charles A. Gonzalez, TX 202-225-3236; 210-472-6195
Tim Murphy, PA 202-225-2301; 412-344-5583
Anthony D. Weiner, NY 202-225-6616; 718-520-9001
Phil Gingrey, GA 202-225-2931; 770-429-1776
Jim Matheson, UT 202-225-3011; 801-486-1236
Steve Scalise, LA 202-225-3015; 504-837-1259
G. K. Butterfield, NC 202-225-3101; 252-237-9816
Robert E. Latta, OH 202-225-6405; 419-668-0206
John Barrow, GA 202-225-2823; 912-354-7282
Joe Barton, TX 202-225-2002; 817-543-1000

Domestic Diva

One thing I can say about having our house on the market is that it has never looked cleaner. Every time we prepare to leave the house, I run around wiping down sinks, making beds, picking up toys, straightening pillows, putting away dishes, hiding dog bowls, recycling newspapers, and doing any number of other necessary tasks.

One thing I can say about being a great housekeeper is that it sucks. I'm not cut out for immaculance. (To the best of my knowledge, I just made up that word. Let's start using it and get it added to the lexicon.)