I made pudding

I made pudding

The life that has stumbled upon me over these past twenty-six months is different than anything I could have imagined…and I have tried to imagine and to dream of what I would like to do in my life. I’ve met many people who are on similar adventures and sharing time with them has been sweet indeed. Time visiting family and friends has been sweet and memorable…worth experiencing.

Before

Before now, however, my wanderlust and the yearning for this nomadic life have always been a part of me.

When I was maybe eleven or twelve my dad bought a funny little truck. It was like a car, but instead of a trunk, it had an open bed. It was rather ugly and it had this wooden camper top on it that someone had made. Inside was a bench seat dinette, a little bitty plywood counter, and a bed that went over the cab of the truck. When the four of us actually went camping in it, My parents slept on the dinette, with the table pressed down. My sister and I slept in the bed. I did not like that…sleeping up there in the stifling heat. Eventually I was allowed to sleep in a lawn chair outside. My parents bought a screened dinette tent and I put my lawn chair in there to keep from getting eaten by mosquitoes.

When I was thirteen my parents said that I could go out to the little camper. When not in use, which was most of the time, it sat on four stilts. I would go inside and be by myself. With its very small windows, it was darkish inside. I wasn’t able to write or draw and I was finished with pretending and playing with dolls. Mostly, then, I just sat out there and thought about things. Often I listened to rain on the wooden roof. Why did I go out there? I went out there because no one else wanted to be out there. It was the only place I could go and actually close the door and truly be alone…a young teenager’s dream come true. Teenagers have a lot of thoughts.

Now

Now when I am in this RV I both appreciate the fact that it is not a tiny little thing on the back of a truck (because Einstein would insist on using up the entire floor and I would be left to hop from bed to table to door) and also that I have lights, running water, and a toilet. Back when I sat in the quiet of that camper, I never dreamed of a time like this.

This RV is the place where I can truly be alone with my thoughts. I suppose I am going through a second set of teen years…where I’m wondering who I am, what I want…before its too late. I am creating myself here.

I read on Facebook about the special moments my children are experiencing with their children…memories they are living right now and that they will cherish always. As I read I remember my own times like that. There were achievements, performances, events where I witnessed them coming into their own, shaping themselves, living in the moment. I guess I long to have that all back…but it is gone and done. If I had lived just a generation earlier, I would be retired from a job, collecting a small pension, and sitting on the front porch waiting for something…I don’t know what. Life would belong to the young.

But I made pudding today. Yesterday I made some really good brownies.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

By Dylan Thomas

I’ve asked no one to take this journey with me. In fact, I’ve intentionally needed to take it alone. I have needed quiet time to sit and reflect on what came before and what might come after. I want to think about how all the things I’ve done and experienced fit into what’s left of my time on the earth. When I drive along in the RV, miles of road before me, I want to see that road with my own eyes and feelings and impressions.

Whether I am able to muster up the courage to speak to a stranger, ask questions, ask advise, find out how their own path has gone out here on the road or behind the cash register or that counter…I want it to be because I wanted it. I don’t want, right now, to consider anyone else’s opinion. I want to fit it all together by myself right now. When I come to an intersection, even if I had a plan at the start of the day, I want the freedom to change my mind and go left instead of right.

I’m ever mindful of the lessening of days in my life. Little aches and pains niggle at my mind and body, never letting me forget. This is my time and I’m letting it fall upon me quietly or loudly.

So today, on this Tuesday, I made pudding…because I wanted to.

3 thoughts on “I made pudding

  1. I could sit and read about your travels and kitchen adventures for hours. Your writing voice draws me in and I’m there with you. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way.

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