Phannie Gets New Jacks; I Avoid the Funny Farm (For Now)

At Trailway Campground, Montague, Michigan...

The new jacks are done! I'll give you the details below, but first, a little background info:

I have put up with the infernal Atwood electric jacks that Tiffin--in perhaps one of its two worst engineering debacles--installed on some of its coaches in the mid-2000s; Phannie, unfortunately, was one of those. The other engineering catastrophe was when they installed plywood flooring under the wet bay during the same years; Phannie was one of those, too. I can't imagine who at Tiffin thought that was a good idea; the words "wet" and "plywood" should not even be used in the same sentence. To his credit, Bob Tiffin replaced every one of the plywood floors with waterproof material at no cost to the owners. That episode with Phannie is documented in this post.

I wasn't so lucky with the Atwood jacks. I suppose some owners had pretty good service with them, but I know plenty of others like me who had nothing but trouble. I suppose that, because of the difficulties, Atwood offered an upgrade kit a few years ago that consisted of replacing all the jacks and the brain with what was, supposedly, a more reliable and robust system. Due to my exasperation, I bought the kit and had it installed by Tiffin. For a year or two after that, things went fine. But then I started having trouble with them again and, by this time, Atwood announced that they were no longer going to manufacture the jacks nor were they going to make any parts for them either. I can't say I blame them, failed as they were, but the name Atwood will forever be a dirty word in my vocabulary from now on. So, there went $3,500 that I would much rather have given to family or any worthy cause.

As time went by and the troubles continued, these jacks ultimately became the bane of my existence. Fortunately, I was saved from the funny farm when both HWH and Bigfoot came out with a hydraulic jack retrofit system to replace the junky Atwoods. This was great news! If I get one of these, it can't possibly cost as much as psychiatric therapy, I thought. So, I carefully researched both systems and decided that Bigfoot offered what appeared to be the better designed and more robust product at a lesser cost than the HWH kit. And, fortunately, I had two friends who had the Bigfoot retrofit systems installed recently, and they are very happy with them. Thus, the decision was made and the appointment made with Bigfoot. As you may recall, the previous post left off with our arrival at the Bigfoot factory and parking for the evening.

The next morning, we had gotten up very early to make sure we were dressed and Phannie was all buttoned up and ready to go. Promptly at 0800, there was a knock on Phannie's door, and Jeff said we could go eat breakfast, as they would take it from here. So, we drove into downtown White Pigeon and stopped at Rachael's, a small cafe that appeared to be very popular with the natives. We had a very nice and leisurely breakfast, knowing there would be no need to hurry, as the installation would take 6-7 hours to complete.

After that, we drove back to the main office waiting area, where we relaxed and napped a while. Then we went to get some gas in the car and stopped by the local grocery store before returning to the Bigfoot office.  Soon after that, one of the guys came in and said, "We're all done; come on down to your rig, and we'll show you how to operate it."

I couldn't help but walk around Phannie and admire the shiny new jacks, upon which I had them install SnapPads, at an extra cost of about $200. Then we stepped into Phannie's cockpit to take a look at the new control pad:

Everything seemed pretty straightforward, and I was pleased to have a separate air dump capability, which I didn't have with the Atwood system.  

The Bigfoot system uses an individual extend/retract self-contained hydraulic system for each jack, controlled by a central brain. It will not operate and will alarm if the jacks are down with the engine running, so as to ensure no attempted driveoffs with the jacks extended. It can be operated with automatic or manual leveling, as desired, but the automatic worked perfectly.

Although photos are not allowed by customers during the installation, I told them the installation would be featured in a fairly widely-read RV blog, and they quickly offered to take photos for me, which I appreciated.  Here is a photo of Phannie backed up onto ramps to give the workers more room underneath:

Here is the last look at one of the Atwood jacks that would soon be extracted:

Here is the last Atwood jack, lying pitifully on the floor, as if ready to be picked up by a hearse. Good riddance!

Here is a worker, welding the new jack support in place:

The new Bigfoot jack housing is now in place:

Next, the jack's pump/valve control module and hydraulic reservoir are installed:

Two more pump/valve control modules and reservoirs are waiting to be installed:

After about seven hours, voila! The installation is done and we are hooked up and ready to go; we will make our next stop, Montague, Michigan by 1730.

Here is a photo of one of the jacks extended at our next stop. I love the SnapPads. I should never have a need for extra pads with a footprint like this:

Reaching Montague, we activated the system for the first time and oh, what a difference! After dumping the air, I pushed the auto button and the system activated almost silently and, after a few bumps, the leveling was done. Never before has that task been so quick and easy, and never before has the coach been so level and secure-feeling. To say we're happy would be a huge understatement. Looks like they will not take me away in a strait jacket after all.  Stay tuned as we travel up the UP in the next few weeks.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

A Layover in Elkhart; We Arrive in White Pigeon

At Quadra Manufacturing (Bigfoot Levers) overnight parking, White Pigeon, Michigan...

After a fairly tiring 435-mile trek from Hannibal, we settled in at Elkhart Campground for a day of rest before taking Phannie in for her annual service at Indiana Diesel in Elkhart. This was our first time to use Indiana Diesel, and we have mixed feelings about the experience. We sort of got off on the wrong foot because they weren't able to begin work on Phannie for more than an hour past our appointment time of 0930. Secondly, they didn't have on hand all the filters they needed, even though I had specified the engine and transmission types when I made the appointment. Thirdly, they didn't have a lift, so the mechanics had to slide around underneath the bus in very limited space, so I know that doesn't make for the best working conditions and requires a longer time for maneuvering. However, I kept an eye on the process, and they finally finished after taking almost the entire day--stopping from time to time to await parts deliveries and taking breaks.  Here is Phannie, apparently during one of those breaks:

We admit to being a bit spoiled by Bay Diesel in Red Bay, Alabama, a no-nonsense shop with motorhome experts where Phannie gets most of her service done. In my book, they are the standard by which all others are judged, and most of the others fall short in one way or another. I admit to being a bit obsessive-compulsive when it comes to getting Phannie serviced on schedule and with the best shops. But perhaps that is why the drive train has served us so well--90,000 miles now without a hiccup.

Indiana Diesel was not without a couple of bright spots, however. The techs appear to be experienced and sufficiently skilled in their work, and the owner is very personable and laid back--but maybe a little too laid back, judging by the snail-like pace of the work. The best part, however, was their pricing, which was quite a bit lower than I was accustomed to paying for an annual service that included transmission service. That helped make the all-day event a little easier to endure. Would I use them again? Maybe, if we were in the same situation where the service became due at the same time we were in the area. That's not very likely, however. 

One of the nice things about traveling through the upper Midwest is the occasional finds of roadside vegetable stands. We passed an uncountable number of corn fields and truck farms during our trek through Missouri and Indiana, so we are taking full advantage of the bounty of sweet corn, tomatoes, cucumbers and the like of freshly-picked vegetables. We will miss these, for sure, once the season is over.

 We couldn't help but make our way to Shipshewana while in the area, where we picked up some goodies from Yoder's Meat and Cheese shop, a favorite stop right there on the main drag:

Inside, I scored some jalapeno summer sausage and a big block of jalapeno and bacon muenster cheese that is, well, to die for. Outside was a fried pie truck that I was unable to pass up. We bought four cherry pies (they had sold out of everything else), and once we tried them, wished we had gotten a dozen. It was every bit as good as it looks:

We left Elkhart on the first rainy day since our arrival. The purpose was to be on time for our appointment in the tiny town of White Pigeon, Michigan to have our old Atwood jacks replaced with Bigfoot levelers. We were trying not to be smug with our Texas friends about the very pleasant temperatures in the high seventies here during the day and the low sixties at night. We even had to run the heater on one of the cooler mornings!  It'll get even cooler, of course, as we head north. It was a very short drive from Elkhart, as the Bigfoot complex is only three miles north of the Indiana/Michigan border. We were a little surprised at how small the facility is, and we went inside the sparse office and met several of the executives and employees, all of whom were dressed very casually in jeans and sport shirts. It is definitely a casual and friendly family-run business, and they clearly don't believe in spending lavishly on overhead like fancy buildings. Here is a photo of the main office:

We were directed to pull Phannie around to the back of an adjacent building where there were electrical hookups provided for three RVs. We were the only ones there, so we parked and prepared for a restful evening:

The installation will be done in the tan-colored building beyond Phannie in the photo, and our appointment is for 0800. This means we will have to actually set an alarm and get up at an hour we are rarely awake to see. I'm not sure how this is going to work out with such sleep deprivation. We'll have a complete report in the next post--whenever I can get rested up enough from lack of sleep to write it. 

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

A Stop in Hannibal; Friends Who Gave Up Fulltiming

At Elkhart Campground, Elkhart, Indiana...

Since we were fairly close by in Lebanon, we couldn't miss the opportunity to drop in on our friends in the Hannibal area. These are folks we had gotten to know in the RV world, some as fulltimers. We had a great time with Ed and Marilyn, Denny and Jackie, Bob and Janet and Steve and Cathy, Bill and Deb. 

As Ed and Marilyn and Bob and Janet had recently come off the road and bought stick-and-brick houses, we were eager to see their new digs and, we must say, they seem to have come up with the perfect setups after making this transition. Below is Ed and Marilyn's new house; standing beside them are Jackie and Denny.

Bob and Janet bought and remodeled a house not far away, and their hard work paid off; it is beautifully done:

We occasionally ponder what type of dwelling and location we will choose when we finally hang up the keys. It would be hard to do better than these great examples, in our view. We know we want something small and simple to maintain, but that's about all we know. But we don't worry about it; we just think we'll know when the time comes and everything will fall into place. Meanwhile, we look at possibilities like these and make mental notes.

This was our second visit to Hannibal, having previously taken in the wonderful historical sites under the expert guidance of Ed and Marilyn and other great friends. You can read about those posts here and here. 

We couldn't help but take a few more photos--this one of the American Queen, which happened to be docked in Hannibal, as a must stop during its frequent cruises along the Mississippi:

For those interested in the details about the boat, the American Queen is the largest paddle-wheel steamboat ever built. Its paddle wheel does indeed provide propulsion via a steam engine, but it also has separate standby propulsion from two diesel-electric propellers, called z-drives, in case of emergencies or maneuvering difficulties. It has 220 staterooms, and cruise prices start at about two grand.

We also decided to go back to Lovers' Leap, a cliff area shown to us previously by Ed and Marilyn. It overlooks Hannibal and the river and is a fine vantage point to get an overview of an area worth a visit by anyone who would enjoy seeing the tales of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn come to life:

Above, Sandy is standing near the cliff where, according to legend, an Indian brave and the girl he loved jumped to their deaths because they were not allowed to marry. They wished to be together in Heaven forever, according to the story. A piece of stonework artistry at the site commemorates the legend:

And so it is with warm feelings toward good friends and the refilling of our memories of the rich history of this place that we bid a sunset farewell to Hannibal:

Our next stop will be Elkhart, Indiana, where Phannie will undergo her yearly maintenance service before we proceed to White Pigeon, Michigan for the installation of new jacks. We'll keep you posted.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

On The Road Again; the Psychology of Getting Back on the Horse

At Lebanon KOA, Lebanon, Missouri...

I have discovered I have had some mild psychological effects from my mishap in Fredericksburg and the aftermath of surgery and physical therapy I have experienced. Perhaps most evident among these is the realization that I'm feeling my age more than ever. While I have worked hard at doing my shoulder therapy as prescribed, and my progress has exceeded expectations, I am much more mindful of my limitations in motion that, unfortunately, have been creeping in, including the onset of arthritis that has shown up in my knee and hand. The cumulative nature of these makes me acutely aware that the seeming indestructibility of youth is far behind me, having been replaced with a running calculation of sorts--a constant risk assessment of whatever activity I might be contemplating.  Here's a hypothetical example:  I am standing alone on smooth ground, but close by is an area strewn with boulders, rocks, fallen tree limbs and other detritus that could be hazardous to walking without tripping over something. Suddenly, a gust of wind blows the hat off my head and well into the rough area. Do I walk into the rough area to retrieve it?  I think not; I can afford another hat. Before the fall at Fredericksburg, I probably would have gone after the hat.

This realization is something new; I never really felt old and vulnerable before the accident, and it's getting harder to push these thoughts aside as I recognize the decreased mobility and dexterity issues in several parts of my body. But push them aside I will, to the best of my ability; I refuse to "go gently into that good night," as Dylan Thomas wrote. I'm just going to try to be much more careful in my movement and wise enough to know my limitations.

Because of my desire to keep the old man out, as Clint Eastwood explains his vigor in old age, I was determined to carry through with our longtime plans to drive Phannie to meet friends in Missouri and then continue to Michigan. And so we did, departing Conroe as planned, except a little later into the hot summer than we had anticipated. The bright spot is that we got to spend more time than usual with the kids and grands! The trip was cleared by Dr. Hayes and the therapists, after I promised to adhere to the daily exercise instructions they prescribed until returning. 

As it turned out, there was no need for apprehension on my part, as I had very little difficulty with the physical activities involved with departure, driving, fuel stops or overnight parking and hookups. That's not to say that my shoulder is back to normal, as there are still some arm movements that are restricted, but I found that I can use it much more than I expected.  

So far, I have kept my promise about the exercises, and these workouts have now become part of my daily routine. Oddly, I almost look forward to these, as through doing so, I can see slow but steady progress in regaining mobility and strength in my arm. Once on the road with a couple of overnights behind us, things really began to feel more normal again. Yes, there were the little grunts and winces as certain of my movements reached their pain threshold limits, but it was so good to be "out there" again. 

Along with being thankful for the restorative care given me by medical professionals and especially by my dear Sandy, I cannot help but be more mindful of the vast number of people whose medical conditions are so much worse, circumscribing their ability even to walk, much less drive a motorhome around the country.  I never really appreciated what it might be like to lose a limb until after the fall when my arm could do nothing but hang limp at my side preceding surgery. I am so blessed compared to so many, and my heart goes out to those whose mobility is permanently impaired.

The following photo will give you some idea of my progress after a couple months' therapy after the surgery. Instead of my right arm hanging lifeless before, I can now reach up to Phannie's door lock with little effort. For those of you who have had this kind of surgery, you know what a victory that is...and it's getting better all the time:

 We were excited to meet up here in Lebanon with our Arkansas friends Carolyn and Larry, who are also gospel music fans. They are fun to be with, and we always have a lot of laughs:

The concerts have also been great. The Collingsworth Family, one of our favorites, was here, among others, and gave a fine performance:

We will be leaving here on Sunday and join other longtime RV friends in Hannibal, Missouri. Most of these folks have come off the road for various reasons, so we don't get to see them as often. This will be a very special time for us.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it each day as I should.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

 ---George Bernard Shaw

"I get up every morning, and I just don't let the old man in." ---Clint Eastwood

Shoulder Update and a Flip-Flop on New Jacks for Phannie

At Lake Conroe Thousand Trails, Willis, Texas...

My shoulder therapy continues twice weekly and will continue for a few months, except for a break we're soon taking that I'll mention later. Dr. Hayes is very pleased with my progress, as am I. I continue to be amazed at the things I can do now with my arm that were impossible a few weeks ago--especially before surgery, when my right arm was little more than a useless appendage, dangling mostly limp from my shoulder.  By now, the tendons that were severed have pretty much completed their remarriage to the rotator cuff, and this realization has given new inspiration to the therapists, who circle me in the therapy pool like sharks waiting to attack their next victim. 

Armed with the knowledge that whatever devilish techniques they use now will not likely dislodge any of Dr. Hayes's handiwork, they seem entirely too gleeful in finding new places to grip, pull and prod, causing my poor arm to contort itself and to go places that it doesn't want to go, causing rather embarrassing grunts and groans from me in the process. My shoulder is telling me that it doesn't like what is happening to it, but I am powerless to help. Firearms are not permitted in the therapy pool.

The therapists are very professional and, as I mentioned before, quite charming as they go about their demonic trade, joking with me to diffuse my thoughts of suicide, I suppose. Oddly, I sort of enjoy the banter with them, whom I have come to know and who are just as aware as I am that without pain there will be no gain toward full use of my arm again. With this in mind, I do what I'm told, but I playfully insult and disparage them as being cruel and heartless. They give it right back, asking, for example, if a sticker or a lollipop would stop my whining. 

I even told one of the therapists that she probably couldn't keep pets when she was a child because they were so terrified of her that they ran away. We had a good laugh about that, but then I could swear she stuck a knife in my shoulder blade after that remark, although I didn't see any blood in the water; her hands are truly weapons-grade! 

I may have to rethink my habit of making smart aleck remarks when there is a good chance of immediate and painful retribution. Nah, that's not likely to change; I've had a smart mouth way too long.

Because of my progress, I have been cleared to undertake soon our planned trip to Michigan in Phannie with a stop in Lebanon, Missouri for a gospel concert and time with good friends Larry and Carolyn. I just have to take it easy and be aware of my limitations, taking a blood oath to do certain exercises they have prescribed every day. When we get to the tiny town of White Pigeon, Michigan--just across the Indiana state line from Elkhart--we will finally have Phannie's electric Atwood jacks retrofitted with Bigfoot hydraulic jacks at their factory in that little town. 

One of the biggest mistakes Tiffin has ever made, in my opinion, was to install these infernal electric Atwood levelers on some models from about 2005 through 2008. They have been notoriously troublesome and ineffective--so much so that Atwood itself came out with an upgraded retrofit kit several years ago that was supposed to solve the problems. So, I shelled out $3,500 for it and, for a while, it worked okay. Now it's worse than ever, totally exceeding my level of tolerance; I am done with them. Another kicker is that the jacks are no longer manufactured, parts are scarce, and no one seems to know how to work on them. It's time to relegate them to the junk pile.

I was initially going to purchase the hydraulic retrofit system offered by HWH, but my research has convinced me that Bigfoot has some advantages, including a lesser cost! On top of that, a good friend just had the Bigfoot retrofit done on his Phaeton, and his glowing assessment was all the confirmation I needed to change my mind. I'll keep you posted on how it goes. 

Here are a couple of photos of the differences in the two jack systems I've considered:

The HWH jacks (like the one above) are operated from a centralized hydraulic system and retracted with springs. Its lifting power and footprint are less than Bigfoot's.

The Bigfoot jacks above are beefier, with a greater lifting capacity and larger footprint; each jack has its own hydraulic system, and the jacks are lifted hydraulically. 

Once the new jacks are installed, we intend to drive up the the upper peninsula in Michigan and down through easternWisconsin when we start back toward Texas. We've heard a lot of good things about the UP, but we've never traveled to the area before, so we're eager to check it out. If any of you have any suggestions, we'd be grateful if you'd include them in the comments section.

We can hardly wait to head northward to escape from the Houston area's oppressive heat and humidity, something we would ordinarily have done more than a month ago, had it not been for my shoulder ordeal. Thankfully, Sandy has recovered 100 percent from her injuries, and there appear to be no lasting issues for her. A bright spot has been the extra time with the kids that we wouldn't otherwise have had; that has made our summer overstay well worth it. 

We also have the good fortune to have wonderful friends we have made through our RV adventure, and we joined some of them recently for a fun lunch at a Chinese buffet in Huntsville. From left to right: Dave, Richard, Karen (plus an unidentified man in the photo whose mustache had its own weather system), Janice and Sandy.

I will have to jump back into therapy with the sharks again when we return from Michigan. There's no telling what nefarious schemes they will have dreamed up by then. I'm told I'll probably be done with the program sometime in October. That will make me a happy (and grateful) camper.

So, there you have it. Things are going pretty well here on the sweltering gulf coast of Texas. We'll have more posts once we start northward.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I don't appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

--George Bernard Shaw

When I get up in the morning, I just don't let the old man in. --Clint Eastwood 

Looking Inside my Shoulder; Therapy Finally Begins; Why Falling is Appalling; A Visit From Friends

At Majestic Pines RV Resort, Willis, Texas...

After I awoke in the recovery room, the surgeon showed me photos of the interior of my shoulder, snapped from the little camera that had snaked around inside during the surgery, allowing him to perform the intricate maneuvers that would reconnect things that had been so violently torn apart. Of particular concern were the ends of the three tendons that had been severed from the rotator cuff and had retracted to where only the shredded ends were visible some distance from their former points of attachment. It was obviously a mess, even to the eyes of someone untrained like me. It was an almost surreal feeling that I was looking at photos of the  mayhem inside my own sad-looking shoulder, but the pain I felt brought it back to reality. This, he said, was why it took him so long to dig around inside and make repairs. 

When I saw him again in a few days, he asked if I was angry with him for not being fully honest about the post-op pain he knew I would experience. I came back with some smart aleck joke but even so, I made sure he knew I felt nothing but gratitude. And even at the worst of the two-day post-op blinding pain, with sleep being impossible, I was nothing but thankful that his God-given skill was likely to make me whole again--or so I hoped.

He delayed the beginning of therapy for a month due to the complications of the repair. I had to be careful to wear my arm sling, staying away from crowds and avoiding at all costs any excess movement that could undo the sutures, clamps and whatever else he had put in place inside my shoulder to reconnect the tendons. He described the movements of my arm that were okay to make, and I followed his instructions carefully.

After about a week, I felt good enough to have visitors, especially enjoying those from the kids. I even went to Mason's tenth birthday party, which I was not going to miss! The kids were schooled beforehand not to run up and hug Poppy, something I sorely missed.

A few days after the surgery, I went in for a checkup. Dr. Hayes gave me allowances for more freedom of movement as I felt comfortable, but with stern instructions about what I was not to try to do. This has been a real confidence builder, as I have noticed steady improvement in the things I am able to do with my right arm. For example, I couldn't dress myself at the beginning (thank God for Sandy!) and now, I need almost no help at all. I'm even allowed to start driving again for brief periods! But small chores like this do not involve the larger muscles connected to the tendons that have lain dormant for weeks and, because they think they're on vacation, still prevent me from raising my arm past my chest. It is to regain the use of these that I have finally begun physical therapy, which will proceed slowly until everything is healed inside. 

The first therapy episodes have been conducted in a pool, the buoyancy of the water helping immensely when the larger motion requirements are demanded by the therapist, who knows well her malicious trade. I would like to say that it was delightful to be massaged by a young lady in a swimsuit, but this was clearly not the case. She was there to awaken sleeping muscles, and that she did, looking unhappy if she didn't elicit from me a groan or at least a grimace as she moved my arm to places it did not want to go. Here is a photo of one of my first sessions:

If nothing else, this experience has reinforced the value of family--especially my dear Sandy--and friends, whose support and helpfulness has been superb. I appreciate everyone for everything, no matter how small, even if only a thought, a note or a prayer. It has also reminded me that older people are terribly at risk from falling. In fact, it is the leading cause of accidental injury and death among the elderly, causing 2.8 million hospitalizations and 27,000 deaths last year. I don't know about you, but I was stunned by those statistics. 

I know I have made a new commitment toward being more sensible in being aware of my surroundings and movements from now on and realizing that I am no longer the kid who thought he was immortal.

Just as I was putting this finishing touches on this post, we learned that good friends Chip and Diane were staying nearby visiting their grandkids, so we made arrangements for a long lunch together, catching up with the escapades of these fine folks. Their visit really cheered us up, another indication that, yes, things will surely get back to normal before long.

Oh, yes, I mentioned in the last post that I would talk about jacks in this post; well, I suppose that'll have to be next time. This one really needed to be all about me. (grin)

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.  

--George Bernard Shaw

The Surgery is Done, But I Think They're Going to Hurt Me Some More

At Majestic Pines RV Park, Willis, Texas...


They didn't quite tell me the whole story there at the doctor's office. They told me that, once the surgery was done, they would send me home with a pain medicine pump that would make my shoulder feel "yummy" for a couple of days. 

"Yummy?" I pondered the word for a minute. That's not a term I've heard from a surgeon before, but Dr. Hayes had a great reputation and a folksy personality, so I thought it was kinda cool. But I had heard this kind of surgery was painful, so I was grateful for this extra measure to help lessen its impact. With this in mind, I presumed I would have no pain at all if my shoulder was supposed to feel "yummy." 

After the surgery, I went home from the hospital looking like some kind of cyborg--half human, half machine--with an arm sling and a brace, along with other restraints and straps to immobilize my arm. Hanging at waist level by an additional strap around my neck was a black pouch containing the pump and the "yummy" pain medicine that would be automatically injected into my shoulder for the next two days. From the bag ran a small plastic tube that snaked up my torso and across my back into a little hole that had been punctured in my neck, through which the "yummy" painkilling fluid would flow, supposedly numbing my entire shoulder via a nerve block. (Remember that word "supposedly.") The tube was held in place on its routing from the bag to my neck with what seemed like enough tape to patch the hole in the Titanic; that sucker wasn't about to come loose, and the whole spectacle definitely turned heads as I exited the elevator and was wheeled out to the car to go home.

The surgeon said that the repairs he had to make to my rotator cuff were far more significant than the MRI had revealed. Three of the attached tendons had been severed and shredded in the fall, and the surgery took twice as long as he had expected. It was arthroscopic surgery, requiring what would ultimately be seven holes to be opened in my shoulder for the insertion of surgical instruments and a camera. This is a photo of my shoulder taken a day after surgery (Two of the holes are nearer the back of my shoulder, not visible in this photo; the yellow is the residue of a surgical sanitizing liquid. The blue markings are part of the process they use to ensure they are operating on the correct shoulder):

One of the first things I noticed when I awakened in the recovery room was that my shoulder didn't feel "yummy" as had been advertised. The anesthetic was working, as my arm and shoulder felt numb to the touch but, evidently, there was just so much it could do. The next 18 hours were pretty hellish, painwise, and I can just imagine what it would have been like without the pump. I mentioned this on the followup, and the surgeon said he wasn't surprised, given the damage inside my shoulder and the extensiveness of his repairs. Thankfully, after a couple of days, things were quite manageable with the pain meds that I was given.

Sandy is doing quite well, looking more or less like new except for a little scar tissue on her lip and nose, so I'm glad about that. 

With each passing day, my arm's stiffness and the shoulder pain lessen, so I am pleased with my progress. I'll be getting the stitches out next week, and the physical therapy begins immediately afterward. 

Speaking of physical therapists, I know these people. I was introduced to them after my hip replacement surgery a few years ago, so I am fully aware of what to expect from them in a few days. I think you have to be a special person to be a PT. I'm not sure what their training is like, but I think they are educated in two very different phases: In the first phase, they are trained by ex-Gestapo operatives in the art of torture and, in the second phase, they attend a Dale Carnegie course. The result is what you could only describe as a charming sadist. If you've had PT after these kinds of surgeries, you know what I'm talking about. In any case, I'm going into the therapy phase with my eyes open, and I promise not to carry any hidden weapons for retaliation.  I'm going to be compliant and do what they tell me, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Let me send heartfelt thanks to all of you who expressed kind thoughts and prayers for us whether or not we were aware of them. We are grateful for every one and believe in the effectiveness of prayer. 

Of course, this little episode has vastly curtailed our summer travel plans, but we're still hoping to save some of them. We have a tickets, along with Arkansas friends Larry and Carolyn, for a gospel concert in Missouri in a couple of months, and I still hope to get Phannie's jacks replaced at some point. By the way, I have some news about that, and I will share it in the next post. 

Meanwhile, it's great being here in Conroe with our family:

In closing, here are a couple of charming bonus photos of Mindy and brand new grandson Sutton:

   

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I don't appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing when we get old; we get old when we stop playing. -- George Bernard Shaw

A Shoulder to Cry On

At Majestic Pines RV Resort, Willis, Texas...

I thought I should give you an update on our condition since our freak accident in Fredericksburg that was described a couple of posts earlier in this blog. Sandy, obviously because of her relative youth and vigor, is pretty much back to about 90 percent, awaiting her broken nose to heal fully.

I wasn't so lucky. I noticed at the time of the fall that I couldn't raise my right arm above my waist. While the other bruises and lacerations have healed, the mobility problem with my arm has remained. My fear of a rotator cuff injury was confirmed by an MRI yesterday, and I will be having surgery in Houston as soon as it can be arranged.

This, of course, will completely change our plans for summer travel, as I will need physical therapy for quite a while after the surgery. On the positive side, we will be able to spend more time here with our family and gush over our new grandson, Sutton. 

I will be posting from time to time with progress reports, but these may not be all that often due to typing limitations with my right arm and my reluctance to turn this into a medical soap opera.  In the meantime, we always appreciate being included in your prayers.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I fail to appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing when we get old; we get old when we stop playing.

--George Bernard Shaw

Grandson Number Three Has Arrived

At Lake Conroe Thousand Trails, Willis, Texas...

Before I get into the introduction of our new grandson, I need to mention a bright spot in our visit to Fredericksburg besides being with our rally friends. We learned that Paul and Mary, friends who are former fulltimers, happened to be nearby in Kerrville, so we arranged a luncheon meeting at the Alamo Springs Cafe, a legendary burger joint in the middle of nowhere between the two towns. It was great to catch up with them and enjoy their company for a little while:

With each passing day after our spills on the sidewalk in downtown Fredericksburg, we are grunting less and moving our limbs a little better, so it looks like we're going to get back to normal before long. But that's hardly as important as the arrival of Sutton Paul Girard, our third grandson and latest object of our affection spoiling. (Yes, it's okay; all grandparents have a license to spoil their grandchildren. It's in the Bible--you know, "spare the rod and spoil the child" in Proverbs. Well, we've taken that to mean that, since none of our grandchildren are named Rod, they're all fair game.) 

Now, without further ado, I present Mr. Sutton Paul Girard, born at 2:51 a.m. on April 18, weighing 6 lbs., 5 oz. and 19 inches long, held by Sandy who, through the miracle of makeup, has her bruises well covered:

:

Sutton on day 2. Poppy on day 26,390:

Mindy and big brothers Mason and Pryce:

Proud dad Tyler:

Sutton seems to like all the attention:

Well, there you have it--a pretty exciting time for our family. We will be hanging around here until early June, when we will leave for Moscow, Iowa and Phannie's new hydraulic jack retrofit at the HWH factory. 

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I don't appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

--George Bernard Shaw

We Fall For Each Other in Fredericksburg

At Lake Conroe Thousand Trails, Willis, Texas...

This will be a bit of a short post because, frankly, it hurts to type. We arrived in Fredericksburg to attend the rally and were having a great time with our friends. Kathy, Patsy and Sandy decided to go shopping in downtown Fredericksburg one day, and I used that opportunity to go to WalMart and pick up a few things. While there, I received a call from a woman who told me that Sandy had fallen on the sidewalk downtown and that an ambulance had been called. I double checked with her about the location and ran to the car to go to the scene.

Seeing the ambulance, I parked nearby and rushed toward where a crowd had gathered and, as luck would have it, I, too, tripped and fell at the very same spot where Sandy had fallen, both of us face down on the concrete. She had already been placed in the ambulance, and the EMTs then turned their attention to me. We were both bleeding rather profusely from facial injuries, but we didn't appear to have any broken bones, so we decided that our friends, who had also arrived, could take us to the hospital.

After many x-rays were taken, it was determined that the only thing broken was Sandy's nose and her eyeglasses. We both had multiple  lacerations on our faces, hands and knees, and I had a severely bruised knee and a badly sprained shoulder. 

As it turned out, there was a rather deteriorated area of the sidewalk, including a hole six inches deep, where we fell. That doesn't exactly excuse our clumsiness, but the area was not cordoned off, even though it was clearly not a new hazard, judging from the grass growing up within it.

We took photos of everything, including our injuries, but I decided not to include them here. Let's just say that we didn't exactly look our best in those photos. And yes, we are considering some legal action; that will be up to our attorneys.

We had several sleepless nights and uncomfortable days afterward and had to delay our departure to Conroe until I felt I was in a condition to operate Phannie safely. This made us a bit nervous, as we knew the arrival of grandson number three was imminent. We made the trip okay, although our procedures for getting ready to travel went much more slowly and painfully than usual. I would like to say one more big thank you to all our friends who came to our aid. You are the best!

Our arrival in Conroe was just in time, as grandson Sutton made his appearance only three days later!  I'll have photos in the next post!

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I don't appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing when we get old; we get old when we stop playing.

--George Bernard Shaw

Leaving the Valley

At Victoria Palms RV Resort, Donna, Texas...

Our three months here have gone by so quickly. Since going fulltime three years ago, this is the longest period of time that we have stayed in one place without Phannie's turning a wheel. I had wondered what it would be like to settle in for a lengthy stay somewhere and, as it turns out, it was just great. Of course, our good experience was in no small measure due to our interaction with so many of the good friends we have made over the years who, luckily, were also here. 

Because of the semi-tropical climate we've enjoyed here in the Valley, we admit to having felt a bit guilty sometimes, as we watched the television reports of the record cold weather and flooding that has plagued the northern climes. We are very fortunate to be able to move around the country as we wish to escape such weather extremes. 

Over the last couple of weeks, we said goodbyes to the last of our visitors, one of whom was a real VIP--Sandy's sister, Brenda. Here are the two at Arturo's restaurant in Progreso, just across the border in Mexico:

The girls did some shopping (what else?), and one certainly can't go across to Mexico without getting a good supply of inexpensive pharmaceuticals:

I've heard from many others of their reluctance to spend the winter near the border, but in all the time we've spent here in the Valley and during our many trips into Progreso, we've never felt even slightly unsafe. The border is very heavily patrolled in this area, and the citizens of Progreso are smart enough to know that their very livelihood depends on the frequent return of winter Texans--something that would dry up quickly and devastate their economy if there were reports of criminal activity victimizing them in that location. I'm not sure how the Mexicans control it so well there, but it is indeed fortunate that they do.

Another couple of our friends who are also heading northbound were nice enough to stop by and accompany us to dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant in Harlingen, the Las Vegas Cafe. Denny and Jackie live in Illinois and winter here in the Valley. They are delightful people who are a hoot to be around, and we feel so lucky to have met them. Safe travels, y'all:

On a recent particularly sunny day, I called Jesse, our favorite RV cleaner, to come out and give Phannie a good washing and waxing. This is always a must-do while we're in the Valley each winter, as Jesse does a great job for less than half the price anywhere else.



As I make the final preparations for Phannie's departure, I look down our street at the now-empty spaces--a radical difference from in January when we had only four spaces to choose from among more than a thousand in the park. 



When we arrived, we found that we had been assigned a space in an area where our neighbors were almost all Canadians. They were polite and waved but tended to fraternize with each other rather than outsiders. This was quite a surprise, as RVers of all origins are usually much more friendly and sociable than these folks. But it was fine; we had lots of friends around the area and actually weren't at the coach all that much.

It has been a great winter for us, except for the peculiar feeling that we didn't really have a winter this year. Yes, there were a few cool spells while we were here, but the temps never got even close to freezing. There was never a time when we needed more than a light jacket.

We are headed from here to Fredericksburg, Texas, where we will join up with a rally held by our club for Tiffin owners, the Texas Bluebonnet Allegros.  Because of our change in status to fulltimers, we aren't often in the area, and we're looking forward to meeting up with these friends again. It's been too long.

After that, we'll be headed to Thousand Trails at Lake Conroe, where we will see more of our friends and await with great anticipation and excitement the arrival of our newest grandson in a few weeks. Stay tuned!

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I don't appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

--George Bernard Shaw 

Old Friends, New Friends and We Meet a Fellow Blogger

At Victoria Palms RV Resort, Donna, Texas...

When I think about our soon-to-be concluded winter stay here in the Valley and the reasons this place continues to beckon to us as we flee the cold weather, my first thought is about the friends, old and new, whose company we have enjoyed during our wanderings and some of whom are usually here during the winter. We write often of our friends--perhaps too often for some of our readers, but they are important to us, and we like to keep them at least in our thoughts when we're apart. I am ever mindful of that prescient quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Go oft to the house of thy friend, for weeds choke the unused path." 

When we see their photos, we sometimes talk about how we first met each of these couples and, with few exceptions, the common thread is the RVing connection. Within that group, the original contact was usually made in one of a couple of ways: By personally interacting with fellow travelers parked nearby or through first becoming a cyber friend through reading RVers' blogs. I used to read quite a number of these in the years leading up to our going fulltime--mainly to assess the authors' experiences and what we could learn from them. And I still read some that are done well and include plenty of narrative along with photos. Blogs that include mostly photos and little story telling don't get my attention. Anyone can post photos; the author's story is the interesting part. While I'm thinking about it, let me give a shoutout to Mary, who writes Reflections Around the Campfire, one of my favorites. She is a talented writer who lets you into her head with a smart and thoughtful commentary about what she's thinking and observing.

We think immediately of longtime friends Ed and Marilyn, whose blog, The Happy Wanderers, we have been following for perhaps the longest time. Ed is another blogger who is more of a  daily storyteller than an picture taker, and his blog has way over a million hits to underscore its appeal. We would have to give them credit for introducing us to a whole gaggle of their friends, whom we now count as friends of our own and, like all of our friends, we think they are the best people anyone could possibly know. Here's a photo of some from that group, sitting outside Ed and Marilyn's coach house a few days ago while John played the guitar and sang. (Notice the warm weather clothing; we mustn't forget to mention that the tropical climate is another reason we're here in the winter.): 

We think of Gordon and Juanita, whom we came to know many years ago through Gordon's blog, written when they were traveling. We think of Dave and Janice, who have a Facebook blog and who introduced us to a wonderful group of pals in the Conroe area. We also think of the friends we've made through rallies of the RV club to which we belong. There are many other wonderful friends--not necessarily RVers, but those whom we've known from other circles and perhaps for decades--who will remain close in our hearts for all our lifetime. Today's focus, however, is really about meeting, right here in the Valley, new blogger friends Mark and Denisa:

I tend to give some extra ink to RV bloggers we've met, but this delightful couple deserve an extra supply. This would not only be because of their terrific blog, Wandering His Wonders, authored by Denisa, but also because they are just such personable, winsome people. Denisa obviously takes pride in her posts, because they are unfailingly interesting and informative with great photos. If you haven't already found it, it's worth clicking on the link above, for sure.

These fulltiming Oklahomans must have retired early, as they both look annoyingly young. Mark was in the tech world, and Denisa was in academia. They have two sons and recently became grandparents! They also seem tireless, engaging in endless  physical activities such as kayaking, hiking, swimming and dancing, to name a few. Oh yes, and let's not forget pickleball and water volleyball, and there are probably more. Just writing about all of their physical activity is wearing me out; compared to these two, Sandy and I would have to be classified as more vegetable than human. (By the way, if you're trying to picture me as some kind of vegetable, please don't let it be kale or eggplant, neither of which I like. Just about anything else is fine.)

Here's another photo of this charming couple, beside whom rests a bowl of freshly picked oranges and grapefruit from the ubiquitous fruit trees in their RV park and many others here in the Valley. And yes, the fruit in the parks is usually free for the picking:

I was delighted to learn that, besides our having a common interest in blogging, Denisa is also a fellow pianist, carrying a full 88-key keyboard piano in their motorhome:

This is a bonus I would also enjoy, but we just don't have the room in Phannie--something that's a little difficult to explain since our coach is five feet longer. (Let's just say that going into that really doesn't serve well my best interests, so I think I'll just move along.) I also notice a guitar case in the photo above, something I failed to inquire about. Obviously, these are talented people who've gotten this fulltiming thing all figured out. 

I feel lucky to have access to three pianos here at Victoria Palms, including the nice grand piano in the activity center. Playing for Sunday church service has also been enjoyable, and the practice has helped a great deal. Speaking of the church service, this would be a good place to mention yet another couple of new friends, Illinois residents and Valley snowbirds Linda and Craig, who graciously had us over for dinner the other evening. Linda serves as one of the song leaders at the church service here at VP:

Since we have only about three weeks left here in the Valley, we are often asked if we will be back next winter. We haven't decided yet, as we have never done the snowbird thing anywhere else, such as Florida or Arizona. We think we would like to see what it would be like to spend the winter somewhere in the southwestern U. S., so we might do that next winter; we'll see. We don't think we will be spending any winters in Florida, where it is difficult to find space, and that which can be found is quite a bit more expensive.

I'll mention one more thing--something I posted in the RV Tips Facebook group, but that I'll also include here for the sake of posterity. By the way, my friend Ed Hurlburt runs the group, and he's got about 140,000 subscribers now, as well as a new program offering to members all kinds of vendor discounts. It's well worth taking a look, in my opinion. 

I wanted to mention the light over Phannie's dining table that, until recently, appeared to be getting dimmer as we got older. (I'm sure it couldn't possibly be our aging eyeballs that are the problem.) The original fixture installed at the factory was a dinky one that was painfully dim from the outset. We put up with it for a few years, but eventually found a three-light fixture on eBay that was 12 volts and used those infernal white-hot, push-in 921 bulbs. This new fixture was a great improvement but, as previously mentioned, the light just kept getting dimmer and dimmer with the passage of time. It was becoming more and more difficult to see what we were eating or sometimes even to identify the hazy figure sitting across from me who seemed oddly  familiar. 

Of course, a better course of action would have been to do a rewire and install a 120V household fixture. We really don't need 12-volt lighting in key areas like this because we never do boondocking. However, that sort of project is well beyond my level of expertise and, perhaps more importantly, my level of energy, which we have already established earlier in this piece. Then there's always the possibility that any shadetree installation of mine involving electricity could result in some catastrophe that might involve the summoning of first responders.

I had been looking for some LED bulbs that would fit the push-in slots of the old 921 bulbs but that were also bright enough to be the cataract-friendly kind we needed. However, I also wanted the kind that would give off a warmer light than those bright white LEDs that remind me of the fluorescent bulbs in an old K-Mart or something. I mentioned that to someone that the other day, and his reply was that the bright white LED lights are "in" and that I'm a dinosaur. He may be right; some of the newer coaches I've been in almost require sunglasses to be worn inside.

Undeterred by his remark that must have been incredibly insulting to dinosaurs, I found some LED bulbs on Amazon that looked like what I wanted and, with uncharacteristically good fortune, they turned out to be perfect. Here's the URL, if you're interested: https://tinyurl.com/y6gynd4z. 

These suckers are almost bright enough to enable surgery to be performed underneath, but they have the warm white color we wanted. I'm including a photo of the fixture with one of the new bulbs in place; the difference is obvious:

But hey, that's just me; I guess I probably am a dinosaur. But I still don't like those ultra bright, fluorescent-looking lights. And the cataract surgery can be put off a little longer.

In closing, we'll be looking forward to a visit in a few days by Sandy's sister, Brenda. We can't wait to see her and show her around.

Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful life; 

please forgive me if I don't appreciate it as I should each day.

We don't stop playing because we get old; we get old because we stop playing. 

--George Bernard Shaw