Guest blogger Laura here, Alex is having a few connectivity problems.  The road warriors are enroute to NM, I'm sure we will get the details soon.  Meanwhile, some background......

We gamely took on the mission of rescuing the Spartan without knowing her exact condition.  Lots of the details on the water, electricity, stove and heat were very fuzzy.  Enter aforementioned Trailer Gary, and we were able to ascertain what she has and if it is working.  Good news included 2 working burners on gas stove (propane tanks not empty!), most lights working, water in kitchen and bathroom working.  We all decided to leave the oven alone and even brave Gary thought the oil furnace was a beast we weren't willing to tackle given time constraints and the fact that it is summer and we have sleeping bags.  

Tiffany and Alex are prepared for the lack of all kind of basics. From battery operated laterns to extra ipods with serious playlists. I am still thanking Tiffany for the most awesome rain poncho that I wore as if it was my favorite skinny capris for the solid 2 days of rain from Oregon to Utah.   Y'all, not just one, she brought 2 red rain ponchos!  Better than a boy scout, that girl. 

  However, I need to clarify for you current day RV/trailer folk.  Back in 1950 they did not include generators and holding tanks.  So if you are not hooked up, you have nothing.  Same for the toilet run-off.  Hence the need for peeing in the bushes at Wal-Mart.  Just sayin'.
 
  A few more details about the Spartan and the tow rig 1985 Ford Econo Van.  For those of you thinking we are a bunch of sissies with the hitching up the trailer situation, you need to remember the Spartan was manufactured a LONG time ago.  I am talking sway bars and special tools here.  Also the van is obviously without the modern day amenities of back up camera or those nice extra big mirrors on the side.  Seriously, my mini mommy SUV has bigger mirrors. 

  Do not fear, dear readers!  We have Queen of Reverse Tiffany with us!  She can back up Big Blue in the dark!  In the rain!  In an unfamiliar campground! Faster than a speeding bullet she has the ball within a  quarter inch of the hitch, ready  to go!  Apparently that girl has been parallel parking her big honking truck in the city for some time now, she's good.  Real good.        
And by this point in the game, everyone is a pro at the hitch situation also.  But it was a little daunting at first sight.  Probably not to Alex, who is brave enough to envision this trip AND make it happen, but me....daunting. Just sayin'.
 
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Today it was finally time to start moving in. As ya'll know, I've been sitting on this Orla Kiely stuff since last summer, just itchin' to finally play house in my trailer with it. All this brakes this and safety that sure can get in the way of the actual fun part, namely, cutification.

It was also time to really get into the drawers and unearth some relics of the not-so-cool vintage type. Powered laundry detergent circa 1985 anyone? How 'bout empty coffee cans? (Yes, I kept 2. I know. They'll be useful. But a dozen? Come on.) Dried up sponges? Bundt cake pan? Pancake syrup holder? No, no, and no. Plus I am fending off my parents who think this is a great time to unload stuff on me. More No. 

My rule: If I don't know what it is or don't use it in my daily life then I don't want to haul it cross country. If someone can convince me I really might need it, I'm open to suggestions. Otherwise, OUT. Out, out, OUT. No, no and more NO. 

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Lest you think I'm austere, you can see I did find some room in my trailer and heart for some frivolous things. Above see my pear theme kitchen. Orla, natch. My dishes and glasses (melamine and plastic, as befits a trailer) are all nestled into their drawers and cupboards. Aren't they sweet? Awww. I just like looking at them. 

And today I ran around buying new cotton mattress pads for the beds. Some things ya gotta spring for new, ya know? Anyway, you can see the back bedroom is shaping up. 

I also got the drawers lined in a classic red and white picnic check paper. 

But the real work was that Jeff got the trailer washed. No, it's not a mirror finish. Those take hundreds of hours of hard work with a buffer, btw. Praise the dickens outta anyone you see with a real shiny trailer, they deserve it. But, my trailer is a lovely soft gray and clean and I'm pretty damn proud of her. 

And so here we are. Tomorrow Laura flies in around 10, Tiffany around 1:00. Trailer Angel Gary will take us out for a final trailer 101 lesson before cutting us loose on the highways of America. 


Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

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Don't you hate it when people take up an obviously expensive hobby and then complain about how damn much money it costs? Yeah me, too. So quit reading if it really bugs you, because the money is flowing into the trailer at an alarming rate.

A better way to look at it is by taking stock of how much I got done with the help of my "Trailer Angel Team" lead by the amazing Gary. Gary's brother Len owns a RV/ Trailer supply place. When I called to whimper for help, Len told me that with it being Memorial Day week-end, he was just swamped. This was shortly after we got home from the hospital on Thursday and I was realizing how much deep shit I was in if I actually want to pull off this trailer odyssey. I must have sounded truly terrified/ weenie/ incompetent because he told me Gary was retired but that he might be able to help me. Well THANK GOD for Gary. He is amazing. One of the trailer people on Yahoo told me that I would meet wonderful people, Angels dressed as mere mortals, who would show up just when I needed them. Umm, truthfully, I thought she was a little crystal/ woo woo if you know what I mean. But nooooo, she was so right it's crazy. 

Gary is breathtakingly competent. He knows all about all kinds of trailers and has the additional trait of being both calm and funny. SOLD on Gary. Yesterday he helped me move the trailer from the storage place to my parents driveway. Ya'll. Seriously. This dude is a trailer bad-ass! He drove it out and over like it was a Mini-Cooper. Popped it right into the driveway, right where we asked for it, on the first try. And then casually mentioned that the brakes on the trailer were not working. I stand in awe. 

Gary gave me a list of things to buy and told me he'd be back in the morning. 
While this is all going on, I am remembering how lethally allergic to Oregon I am. I'm having a sinus/ allergy attack that is killing me. My drainage is so awful I can't even swallow liquids without it hurting. So, I manage to buy the things Gary told me to get, crawl into bed and sleep in an attempt to ward off further sinus cooties.
No such luck. I can't even sleep. And the pressure is mounting because I have 2 weeks worth of stuff to do in, oh, 3 days.  So I drink my tea with lemon and force myself to be well.
 
Today Angel Gary showed up, got the trailer brakes, lights and several other things working. I hate to sound star struck, but, really, this guy can fix anything. Meanwhile, I am scrambling around trying to help, but probably just more in the way than anything else. Gary patiently put me on jobs like washing light covers and scraping cruddy old sealing tape (that stopped sealing around 1980) off of tail lights.

Enter my second Angel. My parents have the sweetest neighbors ever, the Kennedys. They share their garden crops. They unfailingly wave. They are just Good People, if you know what I mean. They also own a Father & Son painting business. So in anticipation of my short schedule I had asked Rick ,"Father", if Jeff ,"Son", might want to come help me with the trailer while I was here. So Jeff, who is a hoot, just funny and upbeat, shows up and says "What can I do?" As Gary was on the priority task of oh, you know, roadworthiness, I got Jeff to help me by doing some repairs, such as whipping up a new bottom for a drawer that had rotted out. Sa-weet! Tomorrow Jeff is going to help me wash the beastie, head to toe. 

Meanwhile, I had realized that since I can hardly breathe, it was unlikely that cleaning a dusty trailer was going to be something I could do justice to. So I had my Mom call Betsy, her amazing friend and Cleaning Lady, and general wonderful person (remember the horror movie scene? Betsy.) Betsy came over and cleaned with a vengeance. She scrubbed, vacuumed, and wiped down every surface. 

Behold: My trailer is roadworthy, spotless, and gets a bath tomorrow. 

Meanwhile, I went and bought more supplies, like contact paper for drawers and cupboards, and other such items, and then went and got windshield wipers on the van. 

Now, it has been a very expensive day. But worth it, worth it, worth it. 

So, money be damned, I went and splurged on a luxury- an updated console for the radio in the van. I know, I know, I know. Not technically mandatory. But, come on. How the HELL can anyone drive 2,500 miles without decent music? Now we have an aux jack and can plug in ipods and rock out

If I can get my head off the pillow, that is. I still feel terrible. But, thanks to the Trailer Angel Team, lead by Gary, I'm in a good place. 
 
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So, an excellent question came up the other day from one of my faithful readers (Ahem, my friend Suzanne): Does the trailer have a name?

And, interestingly, the people over at the Vintage Trailer group on Yahoo were having the very same conversation about their trailers. 

Don't you wish you owned The Glammed Ham, also known as Cardinal Sin? Damn. You think she's having any fun? I do. Or The Chiclet, of which the owner simply says, “It is small, shaped like a piece of Chiclets gum, and owned by a chick”. Man, my trailer looks nothing like a chiclet. It would have to be The Doublemint King Size.

Some trailers have more mystical names: Moonbeam, Hideaway, Woodstock. Funny names: The Tin Pirate, Bee's Knees, The Astro Lounge (I bet you could get a drink there, yes, siree). Vintage girl names: Betty, Rosie the Riveter. And, of course, Bad-Girl names. I love these! Runaway Sue, Calamity Jane, Trixie, Pricilla. Hot Child in the City-kinda names.

All these fabulous names, stories and even pictures just make me yearn. Because while it seems like there are a lot of named trailers out there...sigh...my trailer is not one of them.

Yet.

In my family, we always just called it “The Trailer”. I am tempted to fib to make myself look cooler by saying we at least called it “The Spartan” but lying to total strangers on the internet, while a tradition in itself, is not for me.

Truly, it seems a trailer has to earn it's name spontaneously. So, I'm kinda hoping something will come up on our trip. 

Something that does not recall doom like “The Blowout”, “The Inferno” or “The WTFWIT?”.

I'll keep you posted.
 
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Hey Ya'll, for my birthday my awesome friend Monica arranged this work of edible art (aka "cake") that put all my favorite things right on one fork: vintage Spartan trailer + chocolate+ Orla Kiely+ sass! 
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Here is another look, complete with added paper umbrella and festive candles. And, in case you are not just glued to my blog, I'll refresh your memory about those flowers. They are inspired by the Orla Kiely fabric I just poshed up the interior of my trailer with. Sweet details! 

Monica IS the birthday cake fairy. On my birthday I always have my girlfriends over for cake. It's my tradition. And ever since I met Monica, she has put herself right in charge of that cake. The first year she called up Whole Foods and ordered me a beautiful cake, frosting roses and all. And they asked what the cake should say on top. And Monica replied, "Well, it's for a woman's birthday." So the day came and she picked up the cake...and.... and... I love this! the cake said: "Happy Woman's Birthday" in fancy script. I laughed so hard I'd liketa die. Hilarious! So, naturally, now every cake has to say: 

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We had a great time, like always. The cake was perfect. She had printed out pictures of my trailer and gave them to the cake magician. Do you love the little frosting "rivets"? I do! And I love the way it hangs right over the base cake, because, lordy, it IS bigger than life. 
One more quick look as the cake drives off... 

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Have you been worrying? You know, about my trailer? Sitting in Oregon, getting rained on, and getting no love all these long months? Have you been railing against my irresponsibility? Wondering how a gal could be so blessed with aluminum fortune, and squander it so thoughtlessly? 

Sigh. Ye of tiny, tiny faith. 

Of course I did not forget about my trailer all this time! I am a good mama even when experiencing technical (and a heap of other) difficulties.  

Speaking of faith, let's have a moment of hushed silence for the great retailer we bask in thoughtlessly: Oh, Target, how I love thee. 

Wha? Wha? Wha-t? Stay with me. Stay with me. 

You see, de-vine inspiration struck me last Spring in the form of The Orla Kiely line at Target. I was in Oregon, visiting my parents and checking on the trailer. There, in Target, heavenly music played and a light shone down. (Ok, probably Top 40 and florescent light. Whatever. Hush up and don't ruin my storytellin' ambiance.) 

Target, in their ongoing fashion of bringing style to the huddled, unwashed masses, brought in a line of Orla Kiely housewares in her signature kicky, retro-colors and patterns. It was as if an angel whispered in Orla's ear: "Honey, I know you're Brittish and all, but let's design as if we had a classic American Aluminum Travel Trailer as inspiration, complete with awning, grill and picnic table in mind. It will be sooo Summer-riffic." Not, mind you, rainy, though lovely, English Summer. American Hollywood Summer. Perfect Summer, hold the bees.  
 
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 Orla delivered. She worked her magic with Target and they launched a line with just 'bout everything you need to revamp a vintage trailer. First off, she made huge, picnic-table size tablecloths. Work a little scissor magic, marry those to a sewing machine and ta-da! Good bye, old musty curtains and linens. He-llo, kicky toss pillows. She made coordinating melamine (that's fancy for plastic) cups, bowls and plates. A kitchen mat. Laundry bags. Storage tubs. Dishtowels. Even a freakin' apron. It was almost spooky how perfect it all worked out. So, I made a mad dash to every Target in the 100 mile area, and even put out an all hands call to all my girls in Texas to scour their local Targets until Monica found the 2- tier serving tray. In plastic. It was made for a trailer. You will never convince me otherwise!!! 

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So, ensued a frenzy of purchasing, measuring, purchasing, meeting with my mom's dear friend and talented seamstress, Sue, purchasing, and voila. A long-distance trailer rehab is miraculously whipped up. Two more trips to Oregon over the next year, and slowly, all dusty dowdiness is shaken off. 
 

What is that shiny object? Is it my trailer? No, it is my conscious. I’m all good with the karma universe.

In the spirit of True Revelations, I am going to backtrack a little. The trailer has always been promised to my Canadian half- sister, Erika. I had previously talked to Daddy about the trailer and he claimed that Erika did not want it and it was plenty fine up-for-grabs. But I got to thinking about my Dad, and while he has many sterling qualities, communication/ emotional perception is not one of the higher ranking ones. There was nothing for it:  I called up Erika and asked her if she was ok with my trailer takeover.

Now, with her blessing, I can officially say, Yup, I’m a trailer owner. 

It’s funny…  my Dad had three marriages and a total of 6 children spanning a 20+ year gap between the oldest and the youngest (c’est moi).  The common denominator to all of our childhoods? The Spartan + The Open Road.  I personally remember seeing Niagara Falls, The Grand Canyon, The Rocky Mountains, The California Redwoods and Mount St. Helens- still spewing little puffs of ash, no less- while traveling in the trailer. Canada. New Orleans, LA. Yellow Springs, Ohio, McComb, Illinois.  My Dad was a college professor so we took some looong summer road trips. Often with my three half-sisters- which was dazzling to my young self. I worshiped them. A big part of the amazing trailer summer lifestyle was that is was so wildly different from my placid, only-child, suburban childhood. It was chaotic. Baths were much less regular.  Other than salad, no pesky vegetables. But loads of fresh fruit. Chedder cheese and tomato sandwiches with mayo. Salami. Cold Coca-Cola.

What is really bizarre is that I am just now noticing this. It was so much a part of my childhood, that it was almost invisible. Ya know how some Dads are all about the Garage? Or the Basement? Or the Bowling Alley? Well, my Dad was all about the trailer. It is his Baby. He spent hours tinkering in it, lavishing care on it and keeping it in working order. Thus, he is a little mystified about all my questions regarding the mechanical/ structural and road-worthiness of the Spartan.  He insulated it and rebuilt all the wood interior using the old wood as templates in 1985. (Still light honey-colored birch) He gives it a polish/ good clean every few years. All the lights/ exterior and interior work. Propane stove and oil heater are original and still work. It has had many fridges, Thank God, and the current one is about 10 years old. He rebuilt the frame/ hitch early on so it would be stronger. He bought new stainless tanks from Airstream “a while back” but they don’t have the correct safety valves on them, so we may have a project replacing the valves. In short, she is a pretty much a Go. He even has the original owner’s manuals, because, of course, he is the Original Owner.

In case you are wondering, he paid $4099.70 for it in 1950. A diligent 60 second search on Google tells me that is equivalent to $35,300.66 contemporary dollars. To further put it in context, my Dad was an Associate Professor at the University of Oklahoma at the time and he made $8,000 a year. He bought it at the Spartan factory in Tulsa. Hummm… I wonder if that is what really happened to his first marriage? “Honey, I’m Home. BTW, check out the new trailer in the driveway. It cost half my annual salary.”

In light of the fact that I am spending half a year (or possibly more) not working, I think a “free trailer” is just the thing to compensate my family. After all, the memories are guaranteed for a lifetime.

 



 

Perhaps you heard about my near- apocalyptic 2008? If not, skip it. It is behind us now.

So. 2009. Having lost all rational fear, resistance to risk and much of my sanity (see 2008) I decided I need to have FUN in 2009. It is clearly time to cash in on my inheritance.

Now, some people get bequeathed fancy jewelry, some people get choice real estate, others receive 50 years worth of National Geographic and Reader’s Digest.

I pity them.

I hit the Mother Load of Inheritance. Rather, I hit the Father Load, to be more accurate.

My Daddy, bless him, bought a 1950 Spartan Royal Mansion Travel Trailer w-a-y back in 1949 as a returning GI. The Cadillac of silver bullet trailers. Yessiree. And he is giving it to ME. 
So…hooo. I got myself a 5,200-pound 33-foot behemoth of a trailer. Did I mention that said jewel is currently abiding in Salem, Oregon, while I happen to live Deep in the Heart of Texas?  Might as well also come clean and drop in that I’ve never driven anything bigger than my 2000 Jetta.

No problem. Because I am having FUN in 2009. What could possibly be more fun than an insane, likely dangerous and highly dubious project concerning a subject you know little-to-nothing about coupled with a non-existent budget? That is a Westerners idea of Bliss, you Eastern Zen-types.

I mean, all I have to do is move the damn trailer 2,315 miles across the country (It’s only 33 feet plus the 17 foot 1980 Ford Econoline Van!) Find a temporary place to stash it (Um, I live downtown), restore the MF, buy some land, landscape the Hell out of it, and my iconic retro-modern get-a-way will be the Envy of Everyone. (Mwa-ahh -haa-haa  evil-genius laugh obviously obligatory here.)

Hummmm.

I feel I need to elaborate a teensy bit on the whole 2008- scared- me-to-near-death thing... Ya’ll: I now laugh in the face of small chartered planes, certified letters from the IRS, mammograms, and the health risks associated with movie theater popcorn.  I’m corrupt, man. Nothing scares me anymore. This might not actually be a good thing (survival instincts blah, blah, blah, responsible role model, etc.)

But WTF. It is what it is. And I’m scared of NADA, people. Do your worst- or your best- either way. BOO. I won’t blink.

So, on the one hand, I got a trailer. On the other hand, I got nothing to lose. Let the FUN begin.