But where are you FROM?

“Where are you from?”

I can not count the number of times I’ve been asked that question in the last week, but I do know it is greater than in my entire life up to this point.

I must have an accent.

“Where are you from,” they ask, curiosity mixed with just a hint of suspicion.

It’s a trick question because few will accept the truth.

It’s always an odd question for full-time RVers… How do you explain to people you don’t have a home base? You aren’t “from” anywhere. If you say you aren’t from anywhere, they don’t understand. They can’t imagine not being from somewhere.

But these folks don’t know I’m an RVer when they ask. I tell them I am a full-time RVer and I travel full-time. And, still…

Everybody else: “But where are you FROM?”

Me: “I was born in New Jersey, but I wasn’t even two years old when we moved.”

Everybody else: *blank look* “So you’re from New Jersey? I know someone else from New Jersey.”

Me: “That’s just where I was born. I don’t remember anything about it. I lived in California for many years. That’s where I was living when I bought my RV four and a half years ago, got rid of my stick-and-brick, and most of my stuff, and left in my RV.”

Everybody else: “Oh, so you’re from California.”

Me: *sigh* “No, Continue reading

The Life of Pye: The day Pye locked me out of the RV

Remind me again, Why do I have a cat?

Better yet, why do I have THIS cat?

Fair warning: This is long, and kind of ranty.

The trip was already going far too slowly: It had taken me 13 hours to get 2.5 hours away. I was behind schedule by an entire day. I was supposed to be in the Texas panhandle by Sunday late afternoon, and working by Monday morning. But the RV needed a couple minor things (air in tires and a new battery – NO THANKS AT ALL TO PROGRESSIVE’S ROADSIDE-LACK-OF-ASSISTANCE PROVIDER, AGERO.) Read the first part of my adventure to get caught up.

So now it’s late Sunday morning. I’m in the middle of small town America, somewhere in the Texas panhandle. After the sleepless night at Wal-Mart and a second long day on small, bumpy country roads, I have made it only as far as Crosbyton, Texas.

The day Pye locked me out of the RV

Pye hates the RV when it moves, and is positively stir crazy when we’re not driving down the road. She hates riding in the RV more than Checkers ever did and wants to get out as soon as it stops. Refusing to see the pattern of never being let out in a new place, she yowls at the door, and tries pawing at the door handles. (You see where this is going, don’t you?) After two solid days on the road she is done.

I slept late to make up for the lack of sleep the night before, feeling guilty the entire time because I know I’m already not going to make it to the top of the Texas panhandle by that night, even without the compulsory stop in Amarillo to see my top bucket list item, the Cadillac Ranch.  Continue reading

“Hello from the other side”

(sung to the tune of Adele’s “Hello”…)

Hello from the other side

I must’ve gone a thousand miles

I’m sorry but it’s long past time for me to move on

For such a long time you were my home

But not anymore

Hello from the other side

I borrowed this from Adele’s new song “Hello”, (if you don’t know what this is, you should play it…. and possibly get out more). I rewrote the song, just a little. I’m sure she won’t mind, you know, because my version is clearly awesome.

Just as how I can’t tell short story, this is my (long) way of saying I have moved – and will be almost outside of Texas by the time you read this. (I know! I can hardly believe it myself.)

But let me back up a bit…

It took me 13 hours to go 2 1/2 hours.

Huh? What is she talking about now?

I left La Grange at 7:45 a.m. and got to Gatesville, about 2 1/2 hours away, thirteen hours later. I like to take a leisurely drive on my way to any location, but not that leisurely. This was hours of waiting for minor issues to be taken care of, and for Progressive to get their head out of their ass… Continue reading

Gonna bang you like a screen door blowing in a hurricane

“Gonna bang you like a screen door blowing in a hurricane.”

I laughed so hard when I first heard that!

Do you know how long I had to wait for a good storm so I could use that title? Months. MONTHS, I tell you. (If you recall, during the last big storm in Texas Hill Country I was pleasantly, fortunately, blessedly in another state.)

But this is Texas, so I knew it would only be a matter of time until there was a big storm wherever I was at. Like all things they do big in Texas, storms are at the top of the list. And so is the flooding. Many of you may recall the flooding of two years ago.

Leave it to me to find another RV park with a river that floods. Mind you, I’m on a completely. different. river. this time around. Ya, like that mattered.

This is a series of photos taken at three intervals, over about 20 hours. (Click below to see the photos.)

Continue reading

World’s Largest Gingerbread Cartman in Smithville

Have you ever watched South Park? That show cracks me up. If you have closed captioning turned on, it shows you what Kenny is saying. His lines are some of the most raunchy of the show. Not that I’d know anything about that.

Anyhoo, if you aren’t familiar with the show then this post won’t make much sense, but that shouldn’t matter. Many of my posts don’t make much sense, so what’s one more. However, if you are familiar with the show…

…you should know there’s a giant gingerbread Cartman in Smithville, Texas.

Cartman, watching the clock in downtown Smithville, Texas.

Cartman, watching the clock in downtown Smithville, Texas.


The World’s Largest Gingerbread Cookie

As you can see by his name tag, his real name is Smitty. Smitty helped put Smithville, Texas, in the Guinness World Record Book for the largest gingerbread cookie. Continue reading

That dog don’t hunt, and them chickens don’t lay eggs.

Texas and Southern US saying, “That dog don’t hunt.” Meaning: This idea or excuse won’t work, this thing doesn’t work correctly. The expression originated in the American South, where dogs are commonly used to hunt. Also put as “that old dog won’t hunt.” It originated in the late 1800s. – according to The Web.

Evolution kills... note the chicken.

Evolution kills… note the chicken at the end.

Tales From the RV Park: The chickens that don’t lay eggs

A neighbor with a stick-and-brick (that’s full-time RVer lingo for “house”) went on vacation. He asked me to take care of his chickens and barn kitties. (“Barn kitty” or “barn cat” is country lingo for cats that live outside your country house to help keep down the rodent and snake populations. They’re fed some kibbles, but generally not treated like a revered pet. Sometimes they’re socialized, but not usually allowed inside the main house.) 

Actually, my neighbor didn’t care so much about the barn kitties (welcome to the south), but he did care about the chickens (again, welcome to the south). The chickens that don’t lay eggs.

Do we LOOK like we lay eggs? Nope, we don't.

“Do we LOOK like we lay eggs? Yeah, we fooled the guy who bought us, too.”

There are eight hens and one rooster. Eight of them are physically capable of laying eggs. Five of the hens are old enough – over seven months – but they don’t lay eggs. There’s got to be something wrong with them.

I told my neighbor we ought to Continue reading

Lessons From Zen Master Pye – Feeding the Cat

On the third anniversary of the date Pye graced my doorstep with her presence, I think it no small coincidence the Pope graced the U.S. with his presence. I watched the ceremonies with rapt attention. I’m not Catholic, but I do greatly respect Pope Francis and appreciate what he’s doing for the Catholic church and Christianity as a whole. 

In honor of these two great events, the third anniversary of Life with Pye and Pope Francis’ visit to the U.S., I present another guest post from Zen Master Pye: Feeding the Cat. For those of you wondering, per Zen Master Pye’s insistence I have converted most of her LOLspeak to English for the ease of learning the lessons. 

Pye fishing for a minnow.

Pye fishing for a minnow. (Don’t worry – the minnow was never in any real danger.)

Lesson Two – Feeding the Cat

Oh Hai! This iz Zen Master Pye, your teacher in teh wayz of the Zen from da kittehs point of view. Today we will learn about feeding da cat Zen Master and the importance of doing so in a timely manner.

If the kitteh wakes you before the sun rises, this means it is time to feed the kitteh. Continue reading

Bug Killer Rating reaches all-time low

Bugzilla’s relative, made an appearance a few weeks ago, but quickly darted to safety behind a drawer. I’ve been cautiously opening drawers ever since. Until today.

Bug Killer Rating (BKR) reaches a new low.

Bug Killer Rating (BKR) definition: The BKR is assessed on a scale of 1 to 10, similarly to the PSR (Primitive Survival Rating) from Naked and Afraid. (Do I actually watch that cheezy show? I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes. I’m not saying any more. Stop asking me questions.)

A dead cockroach - as it should be.

A dead cockroach – as it should be.

American Cockroach 1” by Preiselbeere on de.wikipediaOwn work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 de via Commons

A few years ago, after she chattered to Bugzilla as if inviting it to play, I thought Checkers was of little help when it came to bug killing. She was given a BKR of 1.5 because, after about ten years of training, she would occasionally chase, slowly torture, and then eat a very small bug. But mostly she’d just pester them until they died.

However, I have reassessed her BKR, essentially doubling it, from a 1.5 to a 3. Why was Checker’s BKR raised when she’s not even here anymore? Because Pye lowered the bar… Continue reading

Nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and Cibolo in Boerne


Probably not a place in the Texas panhandle.

Hi, remember me? I’m that gal who used to blog here. Yeah, yeah, so I’m flaky when feeling overwhelmed. But I make up for it with my vivacious personality. Heh.

Another leap of faith was in my near future, and this time I was afraid to jump. Yes, I gave up my stick-and-brick (read “apartment in-between the city and the suburbs”) – before getting my RV – and that leap of faith felt more comfortable than this one. I was super excited about it, but I was also nervous about temporarily relocating to the panhandle from the start – something about it never felt right. My friends and fellow workcampers knew all the details and none of them thought it was a good idea, either. But I really wanted this to work – it would mean I could travel all the time!

It was for that commission-only sales job for which I’d get to travel all the time. This is the same job I already tried it out in two neighboring towns… the one that didn’t sell (100% commission = no pay if there are no sales), but I got to meet some of the rudest people in Texas. Oh joy.

This time the owner was willing to pay for me to go up there and provide $200/wk as a base for the first two weeks. After my last experience of working for a week and a half without making one sale, I decided it was too risky to try it again that far away from civilization. I already burned up resources when I tried it the first time and couldn’t risk it happening again.

The funny thing is I was all set to go, but was nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs Continue reading

The Life of Pye: Lessons From the Zen Master – Gratitude

The is a guest post from the cat Pye Zen Master Pye. Pye seemed in need of a hobby. She’s been going out late, staying out all night, coming home smelling like bonfire smoke and bad boy kitties. (Last part iz not true, they iz not bad kitties. -ZMP)

The opinions expressed by the cat Pye Zen Master Pye are not necessarily those of this blog. The strikethrough text was not there when I agreed to let Pye write this post.

Zen Master Pye demonstrating the Art of Zen.

Zen Master Pye demonstrating the Art of Zen.

Oh hai! This is Pye, the cat who will not read maps. You may call me Zen Master Pye. My hooman thinks I cannot read maps. Silly hooman is wrong. Again. I can read maps, I merely choose not to. It is not the way of Zen to read maps for hoomans.

How is it that I am Zen Master, you ask? Continue reading