Runaway Barbie!

This is Joan's email to Helen and Bob

In spite of knowing you don't like long emails, I think you might get a kick out of the latest adventure we had. I wrote this up for Dave's blog,but considering the slant, it might end up onthe cutting room floor. This place was just north of Cache Creek and I wish we'd gone there rather than where we did in CC. There was a roadhouse to tour, a house, a stagecoach ride, and a dinner of ribs and chicken wit apple pie!

Here's the other part of the story:
Most things are my fault. Dave can figure out the connectivity to any thought process or activity with a bad ending to a mistake I have clearly made. The other day, I didn't have the end point programmed into the GPS and although I wanted to do it quickly, it was my fault and was not allowed to go near the GPS until we were good and lost, clearly because I wasn't quick enough to grab the GPS to make it right. Fault is important to Dave, and even as I write this, I know it will be the reason something is my fault. I remember learning about "if - then" clauses and logic in Gr 12 Math, thought I understood, but now forty five years later, I finally understand that I did not.

This is why I take great delight in telling what happened today. Let's start with, it was probably my fault, and get that out of the way. I can't tell you why yet, but Dave will. We pulled into our next night at Hat Creek Ranch. I blurted out something about registering as we passed the sign, but Dave said we'd do it later after we picked out our spot. Once in, we set up, had a drink, sat to enjoy the sudden sun and heat, and then went off to find out about the tour of the ranch, and, oh yes, to register. The Blarn and I stayed outside because it's his fault he's a dog and can't go in to most of these places even though Dave asks about him every time. I can't stand the rejection, so I stay outside with him. Dave came out sheepishly and said we had to move. Someone else had reserved our spot and the one beside it. He said the sign didn't make it clear and I didn't read it aloud to him again as we went by it.

You know what they say about moving short distances: they are more likely to take longer and are more trouble. Actually, I think we said that after moving a block from Westbury to Bellcrest. I don't actually think it was anyone famous who originally said it. So, we went into our routine of prepping the trailer, moving the blocks, putting up the jacks and hitching trailer to truck.

Blarn and I walked over to the new site and prepared to guide Dave in. He wheeled around rapidly and started to back up. Klunk. What? Dave hopped out of the truck, and said, "it's the microwave". I rolled my eyes. That microwave has used up three or four lives already. He looked into the trailer and declared, "it's face down this time". More eye rolling, and I mentally totted up how many more days we had to go. Simultaneously, we both shrieked: "the truck!" which had taken the opportunity to sneakily start rolling forward to try to escape to Whistler without us. Yup, Blarn and I were in the campsite, Dave was behind the trailer, and I don't think I was that bad at Grade 12 math not to be able to figure out that no other people were left, and that truck was on its own. Someone must have forgotten to set the parking brake. The image of the truck and trailer rolling forward on a bunny hill compared to any hill at Blackcomb had nothing to do with the terror in our own minds.

DAVE'S ADDITION
I ran like hell to catch the truck. Had to jump in while it was moving. Thank goodness I'd left the door open. There are some my age that might thrown up there hands and cried as the whole rig disappeared over the horizon. I felt like the Lone Ranger leaping onto Silver. Hi yo Barbie!

It's not important about what happened, but when I stuck my head into the trailer I thought the smell of gas might be. I told Dave. "I'll finish unhooking first," he muttered. I thought I'd better have a look, and saw the microwave had knocked one of the gas stove knobs to an on position. You're seeing the same pattern that I am, aren't you? As my grandmother used to say when something jumped in her way to stub her toe, "damn these inanimate objects." That microwave can and will be replaced. It has a lot of fault on its spindly uneven only-three-left little legs. IF it falls, THEN it is gone. Have I got that if-then stuff figured out yet? Or am I in trouble and at fault once again?

We decided to enjoy dinner at the ranch and to use the time saved to plan where we would put the new microwave and a better place for the television, too. These damn inanimate objects sure can take it out of you, and there are so many of them. That's probably why it could be my fault. I think I figured it out myself this time, or maybe I'm starting to think like Dave.