Coffeehouse Chronicles …Well It’s Not Really Camping, Is It?
- Marc & Bridget Saunders
- Aug 17
- 5 min read
Good Sunday Morning, Chroniclers!
The HB and I have been out with our club this week, doin’ what we do!
We can’t in good conscience call what we do camping. The mobile coffeehouse is fully equipped with all the important necessities. We fully extend the sides, bring out a coffee table, and the HB ensures there is a bowl full of snacks on the table as soon as we are stopped. And in the cargo bay, there is always at least one spare case of Pepsi, in case we find ourselves stranded on a deserted island like Mr and Mrs Howell somewhere.
By coincidence, a former co-worker and a very dear friend of ours was camping this weekend in a nearby area. I call her Reina de la Chisme. Back in the day, when we were working stiffs, I would stop by the station once a week to fill out my time card and take that opportunity to stop by her office. Whereupon we would shut the door and she would catch me up on the this and that of what had happened during the past week.
Look, when I say camping, Reina’s family really camps! I pedaled my little E-bike down to the area where she and her family make it a yearly tradition of roughing it and looking around their campsite. It took me back to my old Troop 168 days. They had their village of tents set up around camp chairs, EZ-Ups, portable stoves, and picnic tables. They even had this set up for the water, where you press a button on a 5-gallon jug and you get a cup. That’s not quite how we do it. The HB and I will walk over to the residential-sized fridge in our coach, put the glass in the cutout of the door, and water magically flows into it. We pull back the glass, and the water stops. It’s like magic.
I started to look around for the caves where Reina and her fam sketched out stories of their conquests on the wall in hieroglyphics.
Reina’s sister, Rene, stood watch over the water bottle, making sure that none of the kids were playing in their drinking water. “YOU HAD BETTER DRINK ALL THAT!”
The last time I was in a camp so organized and so clean was back when my old pals Craig Wallace and Mike Ganung were working on their Eagle Scout Award. I was embarrassed when I tripped over the guide wire holding up the kitchen tent. I forgot that many tents use these guide wires, small ropes anchored into the ground to keep the tents upright, and I wasn’t mindful of where I walked during my tour of their campsite. The canvas roof fell onto “Cookie” whilst he was wrangling up some grub!
Reina said that she would come visit our “camp” when they packed up to leave. I don’t have the heart to break it to her… someone please hide the charcuterie board.
— — —
Anyone who knows me knows that I like my baseball. So that means that pretty much during the months of March all the way through October, there is a likelihood that on most evenings and Sunday afternoons, there will be a pretty good chance I will try to catch a bit of a game that happens to be on.
Well, apparently nobody told Cmdr. McCroc.
Yesterday, after our club luncheon, the Cmdr. gave me the high sign that he wanted to head back to the area where our rigs were. I know my buddy, and that meant that he was ready to wind down with a big, fat Cuban (cigar, you cretins, get your mind outta the gutter, the Cmdr. is a happily married man), and some brown liquor. I was down for that, because according to my watch, it was 6:25 and the Dodgers were probably in the second inning against the Padres! Just in case you haven’t been reading your local fish wrapper, that’s the new rivalry. It’s no longer the Giants, it’s the Padres. Which makes it fun, because one of our camping buds lives down in San Diego, and of course, I’ve gotten the chance to needle her a little bit, because the Dodgers have actually tried not to lose the last two games.
Anyway, the Cmdr. looked confused because he couldn’t understand why baseball is on every day and football is only on Sundays. And Monday …oh, and then there’s Thursday too, but not like baseball.
I had to sit down with him and slowly explain once again that baseball is America’s pastime, and that’s why it’s on every day. The Cmdr. is a little slow, and when baseball is on, and he’s around, it’s like Groundhog Day.
“So, Cmdr., do you remember that we went over this yesterday (and the day before, and the day before that)? Baseball is on every day because…”
— — —
The Captain and Tenille were missing in action most of the day yesterday. Tenille is a Rams guy, and he took his bride, the Captain, to the game to watch them lose to their little sister, the Chargers. When they got back, many of us were gathered at our rig watching a movie.
Whatever you do, DO NOT tell Reina de la Chisme that we have television. And for the love of Pete, do not let on that there’s a TV on the outside of the RV where we gather to watch movies! I’m sure it would break her heart!
Anyway, at some point during the movie, I looked up and to my surprise, there was the Captain all wrapped up in a blanket watching the movie with us! Folks, when I tell you that you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I did a time check. It was 10:15!
You have to know the Captain. Tenille is a hanger outer. But the Captain? Notsomuch. On a good day, you may see the Captain up and out of her rig until maybe 8:15. By 8:25, she’s in the back of the coach gently unfolding her plaid flannel onesie, and by 8:35, she and her stuffed Teddy Bear are curled up with her blankie working on some Rapid Eye Movement.
“I’m good,” the Captain assured me. “I got a nap while Tenille was driving us back from the game.”
— — —
Has anyone seen the Professor? “I’m just trying to stay outta the Chronicles.”
One more day, folks. I’m looking forward to our last day of shenanigans.
You know what to do. Drink ‘em if you got ‘em!
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