There’s the sense that you can hit the road and leave it all behind. It’s free, free, freedom — no appointments, no payments, no obligations. Get bored. Move on. Another sunset. Another dawn. Maybe just a day in traffic, but tomorrow there are sweeping curves down a mountain pass and long to the horizon fields of late cotton.

But… there is still life.

Wilson gets diarrhea. He’s been fine. A great and reliable traveling companion. Then a poop (dog owners now know so well their dog’s poop as we ALWAYS pick up) with an icing of loose stool. Easy to pick up. At two, he comes to wake me. An outside. Diarrhea. No means to really pick it up. Back to the camper. 4AM —- again, go outside. This time even more marginal. What the hell? Never had this. Did he eat something? It’s Florida. Iguana poop? Chicken poop? Oh god! A decimated toy. Where’s the squeaker?

I have made this story longer. TMI, as youth might say. Nevertheless — home rememdy – water then boiled chicken and rice — I am in a camper – no different from sticks-and-bricks. Of course, it’s two days before Christmas. Make a Vet appointment. Not as soon as I like. Happens. All good. No worries about the not pooping. My thoughts of rushing Wilson two or three Keys up to the 24 hour emergency clinic vanish.

It’s just life. Same as in sticks-and-bricks. Just life.

Relaxing. Off the road. This is how is should be. Sunsets over the beach. Palm trees. I’m at 74° F — friends in New England, 24° F, plus snow, plus wind, feels like minus four degrees. Working on bills, emails, the junk of life. Every campsite has picnic tables. I do my morning routine. Back feels a little wonky. Oh. Good morning’s work. Lunch. Chill in my camp chair, read. I can read. I mean, I can really read (not as good as my son-in-law) but I’m semi-professional. Cannot get out of my chair. The sling back REI origami special chair has made me origami, but folded and twisted in ways I had never imagined. Can’t stand up. Can’t sit down. Bleacher back says the internet. Can’t maneuver from one position to the other. Ah! I packed a gripper. Find it. Gotta find it. I had packed it in case I lost a nut or bolt in some inaccessible void. But no — I packed it for when I could not bend to pick up Wilson’s food pan!

That’s life. Nothing happens for three days. First day – incident. Second day – figuring out how to live the basics. Third day – oh, my — I might recover.

It’s just life. Wilson has a well formed poop. I still can’t touch my toes, but I can get up from a couch, a seat, and even enjoy the camp chair. But I am more careful… innocence lost… experience gained.