It seemed simple enough. Sell our house and move into a trailer for five weeks until our new house is ready.
In hindsight, simple is a relative term.
Moving into an RV for September was not going to be easy and sure we would have to purge a bit — my wife’s wardrobe would certainly not fit in a semi-trailer let alone a fifth-wheel — but she, I mean we, would make due.
We sold our house this summer to a great couple from Red Deer (welcome to Okotoks) and they took possession before our new home was finished.
As a result, we decided to borrow an RV and have a family camp out.
During the planning it actually sounded quite romantic.
We would be spending the last days of summer a stone throw from the river, have campfires on the crisp September evenings, roast marshmallows and take the dogs for long walks on the trails.
After one week I am still waiting for the romance to begin.
In fact, I am no longer interested in romantic tales of our camping adventure. Now I am more concerned with just surviving the final four weeks.
It did not start out well when I almost blew up the trailer on the first night.
After heading to the movie we returned “home” to hear the ear-piercing alarm going off in the trailer. It appears I bumped the stove and nudged the knob to turn on the propane before leaving for the movie.
Disaster averted. Barely.
Stressed, I looked forward to a warm shower the following morning to relief the anxiety.
Nope, no hot water. Of course, in my panic to shut all the power down during our propane scare I also turned off the water heater.
Nothing like heading to work without a shower.
Oh yes, there is. Going to work in jeans, golf shirt, runners and no socks. Quite the professional look — if I worked for Yahoo!
When I went to get dressed for work I could not find the box with my dress pants, shoes and socks.
When I arrived at work people must have thought I was hung over, delusional or both.
I just went to my office, shut my door put my head on my desk and hid for the day.
Ugh, Mondays.
Tuesday was much better.
Either from bending to get my body under the shower head, tripping over laundry by the bed or moving boxes my back gave out. It spasmed so bad I could hardly breath.
At least I had hot water.
If I do not survive this ordeal, I want to take this opportunity to thank our dearest friends for the trailer, so far it has been a lifesaver, but not sure it will end that way.
