Mr. C. Cow and I got stuck on a beach the other day in the middle of a HUGE thunderstorm. We watched it roll in and there was nothing we could do about it. Outrunning it wasn’t an option and, as I explained to Mr. C. Cow, we were not about to pretend to be Ben Franklin. I didn’t want to learn about electricity by tying a key to a kite. Especially when it was the key to the camper.I know he had a kite hidden somewhere in the camper but where he got a Ben Franklin historical reenactment outfit is beyond me.
I talked him out storm kite flying by offering to play cow checkers with him. Cow checkers are different from regular checkers. Basically you just let him move the checkers around and cheer when he gets them across the board. It’s hard to move tiny round objects with hoofs. Just getting them to move where you want instead of shooting across the camper is a victory on it’s own.
After about 500 or so rounds of cow checkers we just sat and watched the rain out the window. Listened to the pitter patter and KAAA BOOOMs of the storm. I’m really glad that Mr. C. Cow isn’t afraid of storms. It would be hard to keep a cow calm in such a small space. Can you imagine the mess? Cow hoofs on the ceiling. Mr. C. Cow hiding in the camper bathroom. Toothpaste stepped on and shot all over the window.
I think I’m going to take a page from the world of Franklin and drink a glass of wine till the storm passes.
Location: Gale Storm Retreat (M)
We’ve been on the road for a very long time. Mr. C. Cow missed talking to his friends that lived in our neighborhood. I really wanted to go dust our house because, after this long being gone, I assumed that everything was super dusty.
Right now, when not on the road, we just called a small place in the middle of the country our home base. No real point in having some HUGE home when you’re never in it. Also….Mr. C. Cow likes to track mud into the house. A smaller house is a little easier to mop up mud hoof prints.
Mr. C. Cow was ECSTATIC to see many of his neighborhood friends while we were home. Bess the stock trading cow. Frank the lumber jack-rabbit. The sheep twins. They threw a party in the yard full of wine, food, and dancing. I’m glad he got to see his close friends. I’m not glad that they left empty wine bottles in the yard.
It was nice to be able to see the things you’ve collected throughout your life that fill a home. The baby pictures of Mr. C. Cow. The vegan chicken nugget collection we got at a veggie meat museum. It’s also a good idea to check your mail because, even on the road, you still gotta pay the bills.
After a few days of being home we started to get the itch to get back on the road. It started out more like a nagging twitch followed by an annoying scratch. Before it became a full-blown rash we knew it was time to head back out.
We did realize something while taking a few days to go home. No matter where you are or how far away from your home base you are you are never far from home when you travel with someone you love.
Our location is actually my personal home base in Second Life. If you’re wondering how Mr. C. Cow and I pay the bills we’ll talk about that in the future!
Cows and wine don’t mix. If it looks like grape juice and tastes like grape juice to the refined cow palate then it must be grape juice. Explaining that it isn’t juice but wine just doesn’t register to a cow. If you explain that it is alcoholic grape juice then you are able to get them to not drink as much. Kinda.
When I started to see rows and rows of grapes then I knew that, hidden somewhere, had to be a place that served wine. Finding one that also has a cheese platter is a bonus. We were lucky enough to find both. Nothing makes you feel fancier then drinking wine outdoors, eating cheese, and discussing your villa on the coast. I don’t own a villa on the coast but it makes me sound important if I talk about one.
I was able to get Mr. C. Cow to lay off of the “alcoholic grape juice” and eat a bit of food. Having a sick cow in the back of a camper just spells “visit to the auto detailer”. I’m not exactly sure though that eating an entire jar of jam is going to help out.
Maybe I should start carrying around juice in a fancy bottle and swap them out when we run into a winery. Shh….don’t tell Mr. C.
Location: Merryman Winery (G)