Most driveways or side yards in my neighborhood play host to travel trailers, several nice fishing boats, one super ski boat and one monster travel trailer. Given the long winters here in Central Oregon, most sit idle at least nine months of the year.

While it might seem a colossal waste of money…which on one level it is…I’ve come to believe those toys are psychic life rafts…symbols of freedom and the power to escape the ordinary. Somehow, it’s almost as important to know they stand ready for use as it is to put them to actual use. Even if they do sit idle most of the time.

In fact, some of us only use our toys when our conscience bothers us over neglect. I don’t know how many times I’ve thought, “If I don’t start using the boat, I’m going to sell it.” Which I’ve done…only to replace it as quickly and as expensively as I could.

Right now I’m dreaming about another camp trailer to replace the one we sold last year. I have this vision of our new trailer parked at Delintment Lake, lawn chairs by the fire pit, a golden mantle squirrel stuffing it’s jaws with peanuts (unsalted), while I watch trout rising on the still surface of the lake. Nah. Too much trouble. Besides, the last time I camped there, it rained hard for three days. But I could take the boat and…

I’ve also come to believe we have other psychic life rafts…maybe travel plans for a magic adventure “next year.” We look at pictures on-line, check prices, figure out schedules, look at our vacation leave balances…calculate the cost…dream…feel the joy. It keeps us going…even if we don’t follow through.

A good book by a favorite author is another psychic life raft. At least it is for me. And my good wife is already thinking about the annual Thanksgiving dinner, and she is also looking at potential Christmas gifts for the grandkids. That’s two of her psychic life rafts.

What’s yours?

Rod

I know…pill box is a term from WWII for small forts equipped with machine guns or small cannons…but the pill box in my life is a little plastic thing with separate compartments marked S through S with tiny lids you can lift to load…or to unload…meds. The idea is to keep track of what you took when…or what you forgot to take when. Even with a pill box organizer, I sometimes can’t remember if I took the darned pills or not. Or if I actually loaded the compartments with the prescribed stuff.

I think I’m lucky to only take two meds…unless you count aspirin…which I don’t. After all, I was using aspirin before I knew it was good for something other than headaches. Or the flu. (“Take two aspirin, drink lots of fluids, go to bed, and see me in the morning.”) I remember once opting to drink beer for my “fluids.” Didn’t work very well, so I really did have to take two aspirin.

What I don’t like about my pill box isn’t the meds or forgetting to either load it or to take the nasty little pills inside. No. What I don’t like is the daily reminder of how quickly a week passes. At my age, it’s a little scary. Makes me think I better hurry up and write a song called “The Pill Box Blues.”

Ciao, Rod

It’s clear some quirk in the human psyche pushes some of us to tell our friends about our health disasters. (I consider cutting a persons leg bone off just to attach a bionic knee one of those disastrous events. And the thought of a new shoulder gives me the chills. Hips? Hmm. At least that’s on the outside of the body. Still…who really wants a new one?)

There is also some quirk in the human psyche which skips the part about letting me know how it turned out. I mean, why invite me on a medical journey and then leave me stranded on the shore?

That’s why I spend some mornings growling at those who neglect to keep me updated about the problems they just had to tell me about in the first place.

But to be charitable, perhaps it’s fear of what might be coming that urges us to enlist an army of friends to send prayers and best wishes in times of crisis or perceived crisis. And perhaps once the fear is conquered or the crisis dealt with, we just forget to let people know it. For me, a simple message will do. As my two year old granddaughter said when she fell, “I okay.”

Rod

Mason Dam, not far from Baker City, Oregon was finished in 1968 to form the five mile pool of Phillips Reservoir. The big, dusty parking area near the dam became a popular spot for RV’s. Strangers would back trailers or motor homes in next to each other and set up camp. It was a crowded, but popular spot. Sort of like having tailgate parties, except the game was fishing. (By the way, I had a fine morning years ago catching bass around the old dredge mounds in the upper end of the lake, but that’s another story.)

Even after a nice Forest Service campground was opened further up the lake, many people still opted to camp on the treeless, rocky, dusty parking area overlooking the dam and the reservoir. Sort of buddy time, I guess.

I didn’t form a very solid theory about why so many people chose to camp this way. Because it was free? Maybe. Just a casual thought.

It wasn’t until I met a Forest Service recreation specialist that my theory began to crystallize. This nice person from the Dunes National Recreation Area played host and took me on a guided tour of the work done by some of our YACC (Young Adult Conservation Corp) crews.

One of the first places we visited was a nice campground south of Reedsport, Oregon. She was proud of the work the crews had done to improve the campground. Each camp was screened from its neighbors, each parking spot paved with gravel. Green, salal covered banks, shore-pine shade, sandy walking trails, nice fire pits, gravel parking, water, modern concrete outhouses, and privacy was the order of the day.

“But,” she said, “I don’t understand why it doesn’t get more use.” My mind scrambled back to the parking lot at Phillips Reservoir. Why there…on a dusty, flat, treeless parking area without water or toilets…and why not here on the beautiful Oregon Coast with all the amenities?  Maybe privacy in the outdoors isn’t what most people want. Privacy still does not seem to be a big draw for a large percentage of those who like camping in the outdoors.

Maybe it’s because we humans are social animals after all.  Or maybe we don’t feel safe…or at least connected…unless we’re buddied up next to other people. Maybe.

A month or so back, I was early at the Madras, Oregon Bi-Mart store. I thought they opened at 8:30, but 9:00 was posted on the door. So I parked my vehicle in the big empty parking lot…mine the only car there…and made a couple of phone calls, listened to the radio, and fiddled to fill the time.

At about five minutes before opening, I ‘m still the only one there. And then, a guy wheels his pickup into the parking lot and parks right in front of my vehicle. I wondered why. I still wonder why. With all that open space, what compelled the guy to park right in front of me?

I can only speculate, but I’d like to find a study on the subject of what aspect of human nature urges us to camp close to each other. And park right in front of my car.

Rod

I dropped into my local barber shop for a trim and found I was number three in line. For lack of anything better to read, I picked up a copy of the Watch Tower. (I suspect my barber is a Jehovah’s Witness, and that’s a lot better than several other choices people make. Better than drug dealer for sure. Not that it makes him a better barber. Just maybe a better person.)

Without really meaning to do more than give the publication a cursory look (maybe to confirm my bias about Watch Tower people), I found an article about raising children that made too much sense to simply dismiss as the product of an off-center religion.

What the author wrote focused on raising children. In brief, children who have chores around the house feel they belong in the family, have value, and have a sense of service to the family. In short, they “help.”

He further contended children who grow up without specific chores and who live from the efforts of the parents grow to feel entitled to the efforts of others, and often become very confused adults.

I don’t know. It makes sense to me, and I mourn the passing of the days when kids could pick crops like beans and berries and earn a few bucks in the process. I think we were stronger and more independent. And much, much more likeable.

Rod