The silver lining

I have been camped outside of Flagstaff, Arizona for nearly three weeks now. Sorry, forgot to tell you about that (unless you follow me on Facebook.)

Three days after I got out of the hospital, I had an epiphany:

Go to Arizona, it said, where gas prices are way cheaper

So I did.

My San Diego vandwelling lifestyle was killing me, financially. In order to give Scout the exercise she needed so I could have some peace to write during the day, I had to drive to a dog park every morning and let her wrestle and run with the other dogs until she was good and tired out. Taking her for walks on a leash just wasn’t cutting it.

Then drive to nearby People’s Market where I could get an organic, vegan breakfast at the deli. (I believe it was a double-helping of one of those delicious meals — mock chicken salad made from tempeh, a meat substitute made from wheat gluten — that landed me in the hospital.)

Then drive back to my day-parking spot by the water, where the cool ocean breeze made even hot days comfortable in the van, hopefully to work on my book while Scout napped.

In the afternoon when she got whiny, I knew it was time to drive the two or three miles back to the dog park for another workout, then to People’s Market for supper, then back to our day-parking spot until park closing time, and finally to the nearby spot I had found where we didn’t get hassled during the night.

That’s a lot of driving every day in a van that gets, in the city, less than 11 mpg

With gas prices hovering near $5 a gallon earlier in the month (it had dropped below $4 by the time we left), plus the cost of eating out almost every meal because I can’t cook inside the van and I’m too self-conscious to drag my stove and other kitchen stuff to a picnic table in a park and cook in public — Do people think I’m homeless? Horrors! — it was clear that a fiscal reckoning was coming.

So I Googled the distance to Flagstaff, where my friend Lori and her son Russell were camped along with Scout’s mom and twin sister, River, as well as another friend, Sameer. With some quick figuring, I realized that I could almost get there on the gas already in my tank so the trip wouldn’t cost much extra. After that, I would be able to stanch the bleeding—er, spending.

Gas in Arizona is a dollar a gallon cheaper than in San Diego, and I wouldn’t have to drive every day the way I had been doing. With two dogs for Scout to play with and a forest to roam, there would be no need for dog parks. I would be able to unpack my ‘kitchen,’ table and all, and cook every meal outdoors instead of relying on deli and fast food — a big savings and health benefit.

So the next day, after bidding farewell to Sons #1 and #2, we headed for Flagstaff.

I wish I had thought to bring out the camera to show you the Denny’s parking lot reunion of Scout, River, and their mother, Kaylee, but I had my hands full.

Imagine three, fifty-plus-pound wiggle worms with claws, spotting each other from separate vehicles, and trying to get over their owners and out the windows. It was, let’s just say, painfully touching.

We finally got all three canines leashed and out into the parking lot. They recognized each other immediately, even though Scout and River have both grown from small pups to near-adulthood. But they were clearly still puppies, jumping all over each other, tangling leashes, and nearly knocking down us humans.

After another scramble to get the dogs back in their respective vehicles, I followed Lori back to her campsite in the woods. It is, if you ask me, a little piece of heaven.

The dogs relaxing in our shady campsite

The elevation is about 7,000 feet, so temps are mild in spite of the blistering summer elsewhere. Mountain peaks, meadows, and forest surround us. It even smells divine, with sun-warmed pine needles and chamomile fields that make you want to roll around on the ground and sniff with the dogs. And yes, they do stop to smell the flowers.

River, sniffing a thistle

But I was still recovering

Lori and Russell were good about letting me set the slow pace as we took the dogs out for their twice-daily walks along the forest road, stopping when a stomach cramp overtook me.

I was feeling better after a day or two but I didn’t truly understand that you don’t go back to your normal life after a few days just because the doctor says you can eat solid food now.

I decided to celebrate with my favorite breakfast — home fries, onions, and eggs — all scrambled together in my big cast iron skillet. I invited Lori, Russ, and Sameer. That might have been fine if I had limited my portion, but come on, this is me we’re talking about.

I had two helpings

The cramps, the kind that make you groan involuntarily in the middle of a conversation and go lie down, started a few hours later and lasted three days.

The next day, I went to town and bought all the soup, pudding and baby food I could carry.

After a few days of no symptoms, I stared one night at a box of Rosemary and Olive Oil Triscuits.

I could have a few, I told myself, if I chew THOROUGHLY.

By morning, they were all gone

Triscuits, in case you’ve never had one, are the addictive, salty equivalent of steel wool combined with sandpaper. In my old life, this would have resulted in a bit of mild indigestion and regret. Now, I was waylaid with two days’ more painful stomach cramps, cursing my gluttonous ways.

No more overeating, I told myself. Half portions only from now on!

Back to the store for more soup, pudding, and baby food.

I am feeling much better now. Scout and I take long walks before sunrise every morning, and then again when the others wake up. No stomach cramps in several days, despite frequent forays into semi-solid food. I even had (well chewed) bacon the other day.

The secret really seems to be portion size

Scout appreciates this a lot because she winds up with the leftovers. And who knows? Maybe, what with eating less and walking a LOT more, thanks to the dogs, I will wind up finally losing some weight.

That would be a nice silver lining to my misery.