I’ve been at the new RV park for two weeks and even I am surprised at how easily I have settled in. I love being in the midst of all of the summer activity of campers coming and going, watching the families, talking with folks, even if it’s just to say good morning. There is more movement around me, a diverse mix of people and demographics, families and seniors and, this weekend, several gay male couples.
Last weekend my neighbors were vendors at the Art in the Park festival. I talked with them about their booth, the crowds, and, on Sunday, I even took the summer trolley into town to stroll through the park.
Morro Bay is a tourist town and, even though I’m on the north end of town, out of the direct crowds, I still like feeling like a part of the fun. And I love, when we ask each other hold long we’re staying, that I get to say, I’ll be here through Labor Day.
Knowing this is my home grounds me. I’m not searching for a house, lamenting where I am not, or focusing on what’s not perfect. I am completely here.
And I am loving what is.
I love the constant sounds of the gulls, calling from their perch on the lamp posts, crying as they fly, kow, kow, kow, not quite in sync with the flapping of their wings.
I love waking up to a cool gray sky, Morro Rock completely covered in marine layer fog, and being able to wear a sweatshirt in the early mornings and evenings.
Laddy and I take our long morning walk through a canopy of Monterey pines that parallels the tall dunes and the ocean. The ground is mulchy and soft, easy on our hips and joints and, when I stop to listen, even if I can’t see the water, I can hear the waves rolling. The trail is stick heaven for Laddy and I pick one up and throw it for him to bound after and immediately find another to throw.
One thing that has been a challenge is that the campsite is gravel. The large, jagged rocks are hard on Laddy’s feet, even with the outdoor carpeting. And the RV sits higher up and his ramp into the RV is much steeper.
Last week he jumped down as usual from the RV but, instead of using the steps he took the three foot leap and stubbed his toe in the gravel. He didn’t cry but he was definitely limping. We took a short walk then he went back into the RV. But later that afternoon, he refused to come down.
I started imagining the worst, that if he could no longer get in and out of the RV, I’d have to put him to sleep. And I was a basket case.
Friends suggested he just needed to rest, that perhaps I could set up the ramp for coming down too. He hesitated, but I lured him with some turkey pastrami and now he is using the ramp for getting in and out of the RV.
I am no longer spinning into the future with grief, but grateful that I found a solution that he is willing and able to work with it. He’s no longer limping and I even found a way to raise the ramp so it’s not quite so steep.
Sure, it’s a lot easier to love what is when Laddy isn’t limping, and my hormones aren’t raging. But this is a great way to practice, to find the small things in each day, each moment, to embrace and say thank you.
And when Laddy IS limping, it’s an opportunity for me to tune in deeper to his needs, to find new ways to support his tender joints, to appreciate just sitting with him and looking into his rich orange-brown eyes and feeling the love.