And so is Queenie. What a trek it has been! I had surgery on June 18th to remove bone particles left from a previous injury to my right elbow. The surgery was only half successful, but it had to be tried. I did allow myself some pampering, yet decision time was soon at hand as reality had to be faced. I would not recover full use of my right arm. I would need help for a number of chores. Pain was a faithful companion. Driving full-time would present an insurmountable challenge. As already did maintenance, shopping, cooking, cleaning, various chores that I so wanted to accomplish as before but clearly could not.
After taking all summer to order my body to respond to my liking, I had to give in. It wasn’t working. While a return to the desert with my many full-timer friends and the numerous activities at Imperial Dam was pulling hard on my heart strings, it wasn’t likely to happen. Friends or not, I remained the sole driver, sole doer of chores, and that presented definite logistical problems. Hardest to contemplate was giving up my autonomy, my independence, my freedom. All that I had planned for my retirement years.
I had tried to settle down in the Great White North—a dismal failure. Full-time rv’ing was too risky, a near impossibility. But where to go? What to do with my rig? Where would my Queenie be accepted? All questions to which no easy answers were readily coming to mind.
Then a suggestion from full-timer George of vagabonders_supreme made me check a site put up by a retiree who had settled in Tequisquiapan, in the heart of colonial Mexico. An idea was soon germinating while ultrasound and electrotherapy were buzzing me into a new realm of thinking. A door had closed, but perhaps a window was opening. . .
