So much is going on every day, but it is so hard to write about stuff as it is happening. I'm going to have to get used to live-blogging I guess. Don’t think I’m a tweet-grrl, but “never say never” as my bro always reminds me.

After the kids went home, I got the blues. No. Capital B Blues! It was windy, cloudy cooling down and getting ready to rain for the next three or four days. I had figured out a bunch of things about the rig, including going up on the roof three times to correct the snappy roll-up/roll-down switch for the awning. I sorted and resorted the various categories of my stuff, and where it should go in the various storage opportunities inside The Beast, as well as in the outside compartments (protip-everything stowed out there will get damp or wet when driving in the rain). Suddenly, I became lonely—aching for my three lovely little boys, and their parents.

My heart was breaking, and my resolve to embark on this journey evaporated like the sunny afternoon had blown away in the face of the oncoming storm system.

I had no idea what I was doing here in this stinky arm-pit of a trailer park. No idea how I was going to leave my family for more then a few weeks, and no earthly idea, "what the hell was I thinking?" I have the best family ever, lots of great friends, a very comfortable convenient sphere that I move in. A very nice life, as lives go. A sweet little rent-stabilized apartment in Manhattan’s West Village. People would kill for this place, and I’m walking (driving) away from it. Why? In that moment, I couldn’t come up with an answer that made any sense at all. I have nice stuff. Nice books. There’s no place for my books in here!

I felt like young Bilbo at that moment when Gandalf arrives and offers to send him on a journey that promises all kinds of adventures. “Oh no. No. Nononono. Thankyouvery much. Isn’t it time for Second Breakfast? Or, maybe Elevens-es?”

I texted Alice and asked if she had any plans for Tuesday. We went back and forth a while, and decided that I would leave the campground and drive over to park somewhere near their house in Long Beach for a visit. (Maybe an overnight visit?) I’d just had them all here on Saturday and Sunday, and with the boys I had my very first sleep-over pajama party. Their voices, full of questions and stories, as well as their sibling interactions, had filled this motor home to the rafters. And then, there I was sitting in the silence, staring down the barrel of a bunch of "empty" hours. Those damn transitions get me every time! From kids or “company,” to “quiet” is my undoing every time. Once Al and I made a plan, I was calm and content again. Spent some time puttering around and getting ready for bed.

Then, I remembered that I already had a plan; to call car service to ferry me from the RV park to the Long Island Railroad Station in Farmingdale, where I was supposed to take the train into Penn Station, then the cross-town bus to my physical therapy appointment. And back again. Short-term memory is the first to go? It must be, because when I actually opened, and looked at my calendar, I also had a Tuesday plan for my friend Barbara, to come over to the RV park after work to see the rig and have diner with me. Duh! I got through the night, with my many overlapping plans in place. Set about untangling the skein in the morning, by canceling the PT, confirming with Barbara, and apologizing to Alice for being mental. She loves me anyway.

The lesson for me here is that the blues may set in from time to time while I'm on this trip. I just need to make a plan (or three) and keep busy. Friends and family are just a FaceTime, or a phone call away. It's going to be OK for me out there.