Tag Archives: Vintage Trailer

Evolution of a Crazie Personality

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Evolution of a Personality

My first week as a senator’s spouse, I was invited to lunch with several other wives and informed not only of my “duties,” but was handed a list of all the senators. Each name either highlighted or crossed out, indicating who we should and shouldn’t speak to.

When I told my husband about it he said the whole thing was ridiculous and I should just do what I wanted. What great advice!

Of course I ignored it completely and started my evolution from Farm Girl

Farm Girl Jeans

To Senate Spouse

Senate Spouse Uniform

Fast-forward fourteen years and my husband’s decided to retire from the Senate, which means I get to evolve out of my Senate Wife persona. I can be/wear whatever I darn well please. Only… I don’t know what I darn well want to wear anymore.

On the last day of my recent trip to the east coast, I was packing my suitcase and I realized that if an archeologist examined this bag he’d deduce that the woman who packed it was a schizophrenic.

Suitcase of a Crazie Person

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The first layer of the archeological dig would reveal that I’m still unable to completely let go of the Senate Spouse Uniform so had packed the same type starched shirt I’d worn for fourteen years.

but got a little wild with the skirts.

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The next layer in the suitcase revealed a hippie phase.  I can still remember wearing long flowing skirts and baggy sweaters.  Maybe I should try that again?

Hippie Fail

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I’ve never been a person to wear sparkles, but was it time to start?

Sparkle – splat!

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Probably, I’m a gritty urban woman who wears earth tones to blend in.

Urban Urbane

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Then again, maybe I want to stand out.

Colorful Casualties

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What the?  Now I’ve transformed into a clown?

I don’t care what you say, I’m wearing these. They’re warm!

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When I got home, I eventually evolved into a new personality – The R-Teest.  One filled with flowing tops and black leggings.  Now this was a uniform I could stick with. Kicking it up a notch, I layered on multiple sets of jewelry and scarves until I looked like a blinged out, multicolored popsicle walking around on two short black sticks.

Then, Saturday night the consequences of such a carefree and comfortable uniform bit me in the…uh…ego.

I had one last senate dinner to attend and when I tried to slip on my old uniform, nothing fit. First, I squirmed into my industrial strength Spanx, after which I barely managed to get the top button of my slacks secured. Then, I struggled in to a starched shirt (unable to fasten the last button around my stomach), added a sweater and, hoping to camouflage my middle, topped it all with a jacket.

Evidently my latest evolution of a crazie personality has a downside.   When you always wear pants with elastic in the waist, it seems you magically believe you can have ice cream and chocolate after every meal without any consequences.

Will this setback stop the evolutionary process?  I hope not.  I certainly don’t want to end up a wooly mammoth stuck in a tar pit one day.

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Crazie Camper Caper Update:  My 1955 Aljoa is still stuck in the camper hospital as they try to repair her enough to get her road worthy.  I’d wanted to add running water, but when the estimate climbed to over $500 I decided I could do without it.  Also, after carefully considering my budget ($0.00) I’ve discovered I won’t have enough funds to have her painted just yet.  The upside of this, is that it meant I could finally come up with a name for her.  The Ugly Duckling.  

I’m sure we’ll survive just fine until I can afford to turn her into a swan – speaking of which, click the picture of my book on the right of this blog and buy it – please? (Nice segue, huh?)

Crazie T and the Whale

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If you need to catch up on my Crazie Camper Caper, click here and here.

Where we left off…I’d been in contact with Anonymous Kevin, the person hired to deliver my 1955 Aljoa from Denver to Kansas City, and arranged to have him arrive on Saturday, the 6th.  Unfortunately, I would still be out of town but my good friend, Sharon, agreed to meet him at my house to take possession.

During my time in New York, Anonymous Kevin sent several emails updating me on all the work he was doing on the camper.  “Repaired broken taillight.” his text read.  “Saw that camper came with trailer brakes so hooked those up for you,”  was the next.  And finally, “Hooked up the electrical so the camper battery will recharge while you’re driving down the road.”

This last one came in while I was at dinner with some friends.  Although Anonymous Kevin had offered to deliver the camper to me for free because of all the problems, these friends became his champions and begged me to pay him.  “Look how sweet he is,” Kelly said.  Followed by my friend Hunter asking,”I wonder if he’s single?”

All the way home from the airport I anxiously awaited seeing my tiny little retro camper that I remembered looked like this.

Only, when I drove in the driveway it looked like this.

Somewhere in the month that it had been gone, it changed colors and grew about 30 feet!  I closed my eyes until I made into the garage and then pulled the curtains so I wouldn’t have to look at it.  What was I thinking?  I can’t handle that!

The next morning I opened the curtains and I swear, the whale had grown another 20 feet.  I closed the curtains and avoided the front of the house entirely.  In the early evening, I stepped out to the get the mail and noticed that although the monster loomed large, it seemed a little less intimdating.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.  I retrieved the keys and walked over to take a look inside the whale.

Remember, how I bought the thing in less than 20 minutes?  Turns out deciding that catching my return flight home was more important than say, looking it over, was not such a brilliant choice.  If I’d taken my time, maybe I would have seen that the top of the door curved in a perfect way to catch rain as it was going down the road.  Or maybe I would have discovered that the sink not only wasn’t plumbed, but wasn’t even attached to the counter.  Or I could have taken a moment to realize that the lights in the bedroom area had their on/off switches broken off and were hanging by their original threadbare wires.  Or better still, I could have looked underneath the whale to discover the two giant holes, allowing access for any size critter to join me on my camping trip.

Sunday, I pulled on my Grown Ass Woman suit and drove it to the repair shop where I walked away with a four page punch list.

This whole adventure reminds me of what happens when, during a mid-life crisis, a husband leaves his wife for a sweet young thing.  The new girl seems so sparkly and energetic, but after a while you see that she’s more worn out than you realized and she takes a lot of money to maintain.