Home – A Short Ghost Story

Sarah sat on the floor watching her mother labor on their one, small bed. She understood her mother was hurting, but Sarah didn’t understand why or from what. When her mother got a short reprieve from the labor pains, she looked at Sarah and smiled.

“It’s okay, love. It’ll be over soon enough.”

Sarah smiled back at her and nodded, somewhat relieved, but still with no understanding. She pulled at a loose thread on the hem of her threadbare dress, running it through her thumb and finger until they began to feel raw. Her mother had often admonished her to not pull on the threads, as there was precious little holding the thinned fabric still together, but it was a nervous habit that soothed her. And as her mother was preoccupied with the pain, she felt it was safe to indulge herself in the habit.  

They used to live in a big house called “The Candy Kitchen” with several other women. The storefront looked like a confectioner’s shop – and actually sold some confections – but that was not the chief business of the place. What the storefront did provide, though, was heavenly smells that wafted throughout the entire building and the occasional stolen treat. She had lived there her entire life, was told she was born there in her mother’s bedroom.

Most of the women there were kind to her. The ones not kind were simply indifferent. She liked the indifference and the kindness, and she missed both. She liked how the kind ones would sneak her treats with a wink when her mother was occupied with a gentleman and they were not. Sometimes she was handed a hard candy, sometimes a cookie, sometimes a scrap of sausage or bread, once it was a cheap bracelet of colorful beads that was too big for her wrist. In her world, all these things qualified as treats. It was a life she had enjoyed.

But their time there abruptly ended when the man in charge decided that Sarah, at almost six years old, should be entertaining men also. Upon this announcement, the indifferent ladies shrugged and walked away, uninterested as usual. The kind ladies disagreed vehemently and loudly, scolding him with obvious disdain.

“She’s just a child, you greedy bastard! She’s got no bi’ness entertainin’ men! She’s meant for better things! You should be ashamed of your damned self!”

He swung at them indiscriminately, intending to connect with any of them in an attempt to assert his authority. But they were too young and fast and ducked and ran down the hallway, away from his swinging fist. They did not fear him nearly as much as he desired.

“Filthy whores, I’ll do as I please! Don’t you have men to tend to? Get back down to the parlor!” They scattered but were not appeased.

For the next few days, while her mother spent every spare moment finding a room for them elsewhere, the kind ladies hid Sarah, moving her at intervals within and throughout the house to keep the man confused as to the child’s whereabouts. Their plan worked, and only three days after his announcement, the two said their quiet, tearful goodbyes to the women who had gathered to see them off. They left in the early morning hours while he slept, carrying everything they owned. Several of the kindest ladies, including her mother’s best friend, Ruthie, had pressed what money they could into her mother’s hand as they hugged goodbye.

Her mother had made sure to impress upon Sarah that they must be very careful to take only those things that truly belonged to them and nothing more. Sarah nodded and looked through her small stash of things, acknowledging the cheap bracelet as one of her most precious treasures.

“We can’t have him thinkin’ we owe him anything. That could be dangerous. We don’t want him comin’ to find us,” she spoke in a serious, worried manner. It would be difficult to make it out on her own with a young child and another on the way. She had yet to tell anyone that she was once again with child, and she dreaded the extra strain the baby would put on her ability to feed and clothe them all.

Sarah watched as her mother groaned, held onto her big belly, and turned on her side. Very slowly and with much difficulty, she moved from the bed to squat on the floor. Leaning back against the side of the bed, her mother let her head tip backwards in her exhaustion and Sarah saw a vein in her throat pulsing in time to her labored breath.

“Baby, go and fetch me those clean cloths,” and she motioned to their one, lopsided cupboard.

“Yes ma’am.”

Sarah didn’t know why her mother needed clean cloths, didn’t understand anything of whatever was happening, but she loved her mother and would do anything for her. She came back and handed them over.

“Should I go get Ruthie?” She asked very quietly, afraid it was bad enough for her mother to say yes, but also not wanting to imply that they might need help. Her mother had always been adamant that she could take care of Sarah, and that they didn’t need anyone else’s interference. Her mother smiled at her, trying to reassure the child even through her pain.

“No child, we’ll be fine.” She ruffled Sarah’s hair the way she often did, and Sarah was comforted by the familiar gesture. Then the pain started again and her mother put her hands back under her belly. Sarah couldn’t understand why her mother gripped her belly so fiercely, but it seemed to be from where the pain emanated. Suddenly, water splashed onto the floor underneath her mother, and Sarah couldn’t figure out where it had come from. Her mother mopped it up with one of the cloths.

“Okay, baby, it’s about time to push, I think.”

But Sarah was no more enlightened than before. Push what, she wondered. She nodded at her mother, nonetheless. Her mother began to bear down, and Sarah thought it looked like when she was sitting in the outhouse. Then her mother would rest and catch her breath, closing her eyes as if she slept squatting there on the floor by the bed. These quiet intervals scared Sarah maybe more than all the noise had. She reached out at one point to rouse her mother, to see if she was okay. But before her hand met her mother’s arm, the laboring woman opened her eyes and her face turned a brighter red as she bore down and moaned with her efforts.

They heard the annoying neighbor next door bang on their connecting wall, demanding quiet in his loud, obnoxious voice. Her mother took one of the clean cloths and stuffed it in her mouth to dampen the sound, sinking her teeth into it. Sarah sat across from her mother and waited, worried.

This sequence continued for an unbearably long period. Sarah lost track of time. When next she looked over at their one grimy window, it was dark outside. Her mother had been doing this – whatever it was – all day. She looked absolutely exhausted. Sarah brought her a drink of water, but her mother refused it, too focused on the business of birthing a child. Sarah was afraid to ask again, but she was also afraid not to.

“Should I go get Ruthie, mama?” She was trying to remain calm, but it was becoming more and more difficult for her to manage. She was begging more than asking, and they both heard that in her voice.

“I think something’s wrong, baby,” her mother was gasping for air, and Sarah noticed that there was blood on the floor. She had shifted several times in the last few hours, from squatting to the bed and back to the floor – once on her hands and knees on top of the bed – trying to find something closer to comfort.

“There’s blood.”

“I know. Go get Ruthie, baby. I think we need her. Run back to ‘The Kitchen’ and bring her, please. Be careful!” She was out of breath from speaking and then got back to pushing.

When Sarah left, her mother was bearing down and moaning into the wet cloth in her mouth. Sarah ran as fast as possible and almost collapsed with relief to find Ruthie unoccupied and able to follow her back to their boarding room.

When they entered the room, Sarah knew something was terribly wrong. Her mother was silent and still and there was blood spread across the floor toward the door. Her mother sat flat on the floor in the blood, leaned back against the bed, her head fallen forward. But there was no movement, no sound. Ruthie rushed to Sarah’s mother and knelt in the blood, but her mother was already gone. There was nothing to be done. The baby had never emerged. Sarah began to quietly cry, even as Ruthie cursed and yelled loudly about how unfair it was and how God had no goddamned heart to kill such a sweetheart. The man next door began banging on the wall again, but they didn’t notice.

…

Kay opened her eyes and looked at her client, ready to give her information. She was in the client’s house, and they were sitting at the kitchen table across from each other.

“This house used to be a boarding house. Did you know that? In the mid-1800’s.”

The client nodded. A few months ago, when they’d contemplated buying the house, she had looked up its history. It was one of the oldest buildings in town. She was proud to be living in such a historical treasure. She wasn’t so satisfied with the ghost they often heard weeping, however. The crying was so desperate and it went on and on. It sounded like a child.

“There was a death here – on the second floor – in your daughter’s bedroom.”

“Okay,” the client exhaled audibly as if she’d been holding her breath, “I guess that explains a few things. My daughter won’t sleep in there anymore. She says the crying is too loud,” and she leaned closer as if imparting a secret, “and she says she sometimes sees a little girl sittin’ on the floor.”

“Most times when people die, they don’t know they’re dead.” The client laughed. “Don’t laugh,” Kay teased her, “you won’t know it either when you die. There’s a young girl’s ghost in there. She witnessed her mother die while giving birth. It happened sometime around 1860, I think. She was probably six or seven years old. When she died – and she died years later as an old lady – she must have come back to this house and to the time that troubled her the most, which was her mother’s death. She’s stuck in a loop.” The client looked confused, so Kay continued, “A loop is where a ghost is stuck in a place and/or time and is replaying a part of their life again and again – usually a traumatic part. The child doesn’t know she’s dead, and she doesn’t remember that she lived her entire life and died as an old lady. She also doesn’t know she’s in a loop watching her mother labor and die over and over.”

“Oh my God,” the client gasped, “how horrible. Can you help her? Can you fix this? We don’t want to sell our house – we’ve only been here a few months – but it’s gettin’ so bad that we don’t want to be here anymore. We don’t know what to do. Sometimes the crying is just so loud.”

“Loops are horrible, I agree. I see it a lot, however – so sad. But, thank God, it is fixable. It may take a while, though, because when ghosts are in a loop, they tend to ignore me when I go inside to bring them out. They are so focused on what’s happening in the loop, they can’t see anything else. Let me sit here and work on it, and I’ll let you know when I’m done. Feel free to wander off and do whatever you need to. It’ll be pretty boring to watch,” she laughed, “because I’m just gonna sit here with my eyes closed and go talk to her.” The client nodded and got up and left the room.

…

Kay closed her eyes and sent her mind out again. She stepped into the child’s loop and looked down at her sitting on the floor across from her laboring mother. Kay knew the child’s mother’s ghost was not present; she knew this was the child’s imagination at work, so she didn’t worry about distracting the mother.

“Hi,” she spoke softly, “my name is Kay. What’s yours?” She was surprised when the child immediately acknowledged her presence. It usually took a lot more work to get their attention. Sarah was startled to see Kay in their room – someone dressed so wrongly, so like a man.

“You’re wearing trousers,” in her shock, it was the first thing that came out. Kay was accustomed to the this. She did it on purpose to get their attention.

“I am. What’s your name? Mine is Kay.”

“Sarah,” the child eyed her warily. “I don’t know you. Go away. You don’t belong here.”

“That’s true, but neither do you, Sarah. I’m here to help. Let me take you Home.”

“I am home. You don’t belong here. Go away.”

The child’s mother continued to labor across from them. Kay had divined enough to know that at some point in the loop the child would leave to fetch a woman. She tried to use this to an advantage.

“Let’s go and get someone to help your mother, okay?”

“She said not to – said it’ll be over soon.”

“But she’s having some problems, isn’t she?” Kay spoke kindly, not wanting to start an argument. She’d learned the hard way that ghosts that had been stuck in a place for decades could be horribly stubborn – and rightly so – they didn’t know any better. They didn’t know they were dead, didn’t know they’d been stuck for years. The girl nodded, her eyes on her mother. Kay took this as a good sign.

“I can go with you, and we can go find the lady that you trust. What’s her name?”

“Ruthie.”

“Yes, that’s it. Ruthie. Let’s go get Ruthie, okay?”

“Mama said not to.” But Kay could tell she was wavering.

“We’ll be quick. Let’s go,” she let her voice lilt into a hopeful, matter-of-fact, let’s-get-going tone.

Kay watched as the young girl made her decision, saw it on her face. She got up from the floor and held out her hand to Kay. Kay took her hand and they turned to leave. The child looked back once, opened the door, and they walked through. Kay used this transition to exit the loop. And as she had hold of the child’s hand, the child was pulled out of the loop also. Kay knew the child was expecting to see the second-floor landing, and she felt Sarah’s surprise and confusion when it was not. The child stopped and pulled backward and tried to take her hand from Kay’s. But Kay held firmly.

“It’s okay. I know it doesn’t look right, but we can still find Ruthie.”

Kay closed her eyes and sent her mind out to Ruthie. After a few seconds, when she’d found her, she quickly apprised her of the situation. She knew Ruthie would be willing to come and help the child, because she already knew the entire loop – indeed, the entire lifetime of the child whose hand she held. She knew Ruthie had taken Sarah in and protected her and raised her as best she could. Ruthie loved the child as her own. She also knew Ruthie would look exactly as Sarah remembered her, just as she had looked when the girl had gone and found her that night decades ago. Kay felt the child relax when Ruthie appeared in the distance and began walking toward them.

Will you take her to meet her mother, Kay asked Ruthie from inside her mind. Ruthie indicated she would. Kay drew Sarah forward by the hand and propelled her toward Ruthie, who was smiling at them. Sarah walked into Ruthie’s hug and began crying. Kay smiled her gratitude over the child’s head and watched as Ruthie picked her up, turned, and began to walk away. Further in the distance, Kay saw Sarah’s mother. She was holding a tiny baby in her arms. 

“I call upon the Angels of Escort and ask that you take these souls Home, please. I ask that you remove any and all darkness from them – all distress and sadness, all illusions. I ask for their healing and wholeness. I ask that you remind them of who – and what – they truly are: bright, shiny, powerful beings of light. Thank you for your help. And Godspeed,” she whispered as she bowed her head in respect and gratitude.

She stayed and watched until all the souls disappeared together into the distance. She sighed. It was always the same. Kay didn’t know where or what “Home” truly was, she just knew it felt fantastic and was always in the distance. Never right here, she thought. The feeling of Home was so comforting, so welcoming, that she had many times been tempted to start walking and join the departing souls. Not my time, she thought with another sigh, and turned to go back.

…

Kay opened her eyes and looked at the clock. She’d been gone about an hour. Funny, she thought, time is so weird when you’re out and about. It seemed to her that she’d only been gone about five minutes. But she was long accustomed to the bendiness of time. It amused her. She smiled and called to the client.

written from a Reedsy prompt

As Much as I Can – An Adult Bedtime Short Story

I can’t sleep. It’s an ongoing problem. I have a pattern by this time. First of all, as I’m getting ready for bed, I wonder why I’m even bothering. I know the outcome. But I let myself complete those mindless tasks anyway. Then upon getting into bed, I immediately start phase one. Phase one is me lying here pretending to sleep. I close my eyes; I force my breath to slow and deepen. I lie still. I relax as much as I can – which always amuses the part of my brain that finds this entire exercise sarcastically humorous in its repetitive futility. It’s difficult to relax, because the chronic anxiety that takes up all my personal real estate these days demands that my entire body ache with a have-to-keep-it-all-together-and-not-let-anyone-see-me-sweat urgency that clenches my middle so painfully that sometimes I think I’ll pitch over into a hairpin shape and never be able to straighten back up again.

Phase one is where I tell myself I don’t need to have thoughts. I can clear my mind and have nothing there – blessed emptiness. During this phase, even when unwelcome thoughts present themselves, I ignore them. No need to inspect them. Certainly no need to dissect any of them. Instead, as much as I can, I focus on a thought that brings me joy – or that at least doesn’t make me sad or then (I keep lowering the bar) that doesn’t piss me the fuck off. But I don’t contain any of those categories anymore. Maybe one day I will possess those thoughts again, but tonight, once again, I do not. I make a mental note to not skip phase one tomorrow night, though, because one never knows when something resembling a good thought will step forward to present itself. Then, giving up on phase one, I open my eyes and get on with phase two.

Phase two involves staring at the ceiling and admitting to myself that I’m not getting to sleep anytime soon and then attempting to be okay with that. I try for a middle school basketball coach tone of voice. You know the one. He’s every kid’s coach, cheerleader, dad, and big brother – who also teaches history – all rolled into one cheesy, middle-aged, Ted Lasso of a guy with a beer gut and a comb-over. I let that tone of voice tell me that I’ll take a nap tomorrow to make up for it. I go on about how it’s just one more night of no sleep. Anyone can survive just one more night of not sleeping. I got this. I can handle this. This is no big deal. I imagine him doing a lot of energetic hand clapping like in the huddle on the sidelines of a game. Now get out there and win! On three! I continue the pep talk for as long as possible, but it usually fades quickly into phase three.

Phase three consists of making up excuses for why it’s okay to give up on phase two. That shit is too exhausting. It takes up way too much energy. And instead of being hard on myself about not being able to sustain the pep talk, I let myself off the proverbial hook by telling myself I’m reserving my energy. This is where I’m myself again: depressed, angry, anxious, conflicted, alternating between determined and totally defeated. I’m myself, but attempting to be kind instead of brutal. This is usually where Fear begins to rear his nasty-ass head. Jesus’ balls, Fear is a rat bastard. He is always looking for an opening. Even a teeny, tiny crack is enough for that octopus of an emotion to work his way through.

I’d like to have a phase four. I tell myself it would be better to cultivate a phase four rather than let the next usual thing happen. But so far, no phase four. I try and fake Fear out by continuing to make a mental outline of what might make up phase four if I could produce one. But Fear has taken up residence in the room and is making hostile advances into my mind.

My sleep problem is not a problem in and of itself. Rather, it’s a symptom. I wish I had a simple sleep problem. Then I could take a sleeping pill and be done with this shit. And I wish I had some other – much more exotic – reason for this symptom rather than the fact that my husband is having an affair with the next-door neighbor. And don’t think I’m being glib or using a tired metaphor when I say “the next-door neighbor,” because she is the literal next-door neighbor. We share a wall in this apartment complex.

It’s way too clichéd, isn’t it? Even I, in as much pain as I am, recognize how trite and boring it is. I always watched those movies where the wife is lying in bed like I am right now, sleep not even in the same hemisphere, her mind vomiting up images of her husband with the other woman, her self-confidence dead and buried, her pillow wet with the tears sliding down the sides of her face; and I’d think what an idiot she must have been to let herself get into such a stupid, clichéd situation. Surely she could have seen it coming. She should have simply paid more attention to her marriage instead of giving all of her energy and attention to her job/children/church/friends/insert an equally clichéd and tired distraction here.

A few weeks ago, when I already suspected my husband was having an affair but still didn’t know with whom, I actually confided my fear to her. We have mirror image apartments; the sliding glass doors that exit from the kitchen are so close together that we can both hear when someone in the other apartment opens and closes that door – even from inside our respective homes. I had come out to try and let my body maybe absorb enough heat to de-clench. Even back then, I ached from trying to hold off the confusion, fear, worry, shame, sadness. I sat in a patio chair facing the sun and closed my eyes. I heard her glass door open and close and knew she had come out also.

“It’s a nice day to be out,” she spoke softly, like you would if you came upon a person sitting in the sun with their eyes closed.

I grunted a reply and nodded my head, not opening my eyes. I heard her sit down in one of their patio chairs. Shit, I thought, she wants to talk. I had come out to try and relax. I didn’t want to be bothered. But I’m also not rude (or maybe I’m simply too co-dependent and can’t honor my own boundaries?), so I opened my eyes. She was looking at me.

“I think John is having an affair,” she jumped right in. 

I let myself look as shocked as I truly was, but probably not for the reason she thought. I was thinking something along the lines of, holy shit, it’s an epidemic. Is it in the water?

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry.” And I was, because I knew how very devastated she must have been. “That is so horrible. And I know for sure how horrible it is, because I suspect Dan is having one too.”

It was the first time I’d said those words out loud, and they sounded cruel and ugly out of my head and turned loose in the world. She never flinched. She never gave anything away. In fact, she got this sad, sympathetic look on her face, like she understood and empathized with me. We both cried some then. I was thinking how nice it was to talk to someone who understood. I wondered if she was feeling the same way.

“Do you know who she is?” I asked, because it was my worst fear to find out Dan was cheating with someone I knew, and I thought maybe that was her worst fear too. She shook her head.

“Do you?”

“No,” I said, wondering if I’d ever figure that out. “I can’t think who it would be. If you hear anything, will you let me know?” She nodded, still looking sad.

“Will you too?” She was acting like we were brothers-in-arms, and I took the bait.

I nodded in what I hoped looked like a sagely manner to indicate we were, indeed, in this together. We cried some more then, sitting there in the sun. I thought about that conversation a lot after I knew it was her, wondering how she could live with herself. Did she only initiate that conversation to see if I knew? Did she think I knew but that I was pretending I didn’t know? She was playing me. Did she suspect I was playing her too? God, what a fool I was. After several days of repeatedly pulling that conversation apart and putting it back together, I concluded that lying is really not that high of a hurdle in the ethics track field of life when you’re already having an affair with that person’s husband. So maybe it wasn’t that difficult for her to live with herself.

The story they had concocted was that he would tutor her in calculus. She had decided to go back to college, and he was being a good neighbor and friend by helping her out. Originally, it seemed plausible to me. We were couple-friends. We were close neighbors. We did stuff together all the time as couples, so why would it be weird that he would tutor her? He was studying to be an engineer, so he had the knowledge. I didn’t question it. I thought we were all good friends. I couldn’t count the times we’d grilled together and sat at the picnic table out there to eat and laugh and share time.

They began meeting in the rec center for a couple of hours after dinner several nights a week. I was stupidly relieved to have him occupied with her – someone I thought I could trust, one of our best friends – rather than having him sneak out to be with “the other woman.” And besides, hadn’t she and I confided in each other? Weren’t we, besides being couple-friends, on our way to becoming real girlfriends? Jesus fuck, I was so naïve.

Fear has a choke hold on my thoughts now, that sonofabitch. I should just start calling this phase four, I guess. It happens every time. I try to ward him off as much as I can, try to close my inner eyes to not see what he’s showing me. But he’s a master at his craft. In slow, painful detail, he shows me what they must be doing, how they are laughing and kissing and in a hurry. They are yanking at each other’s clothes, frantic in their desire and haste. They are laughing at how gullible and stupid I am, at how easy it was for her to play me. They probably came up with that idea together. I imagine them nervous and happy, afraid they’ll get caught in such a semi-public place. I imagine how that adds fuel to the sexual energy. Maybe they do it standing up against a wall with their clothes still on. Or maybe they decide, to hell with it, and take their time.

I am tempted, once again, to walk over and rap on the glass door of the rec center, and to stand there and knock and knock and knock and knock and knock until either they answer the door or my knuckles starts bleeding. I can’t get in. Each household gets one key to the rec center for their personal use. So of course, they have both keys. They obviously put some thought into their plan. I can’t simply walk in on them. And honestly, I’m not sure I want to. I think the pain and shock of that would easily and quickly override any self-righteous satisfaction I might feel at catching them with their literal pants down.

Her husband can’t walk in on them either, of course. I asked him one time what he thought about our spouses having an affair. He laughed at me and told me not to be ridiculous. He doesn’t seem concerned. But then he’s having an affair of his own. In fact, instead of sleepless, only the span of the shared studs, insulation, drywall, and paint separating us in our respective beds, he’s probably out with his other woman. Or maybe he’s already soundly sleeping, smug in his own right. He’s well-loved and well-fucked. Why would he be sleepless? Why would he care that his wife is having an affair? And why am I the only person in this farce of situation that isn’t getting laid? Everyone else involved has I’m-falling-in-love-and-might-get-caught-at-any-second adrenaline getting them through this (whatever “this” is). They are high. I am definitely not high.

Fear mutates into the defense attorney and begins to once again inspect the details of how I found out she was the other woman. Early in their tutoring pretense, I noticed how Dan always came home happy and smiling from their sessions together. When I jokingly questioned him about it, he stopped being so obvious. But I was already in the habit of covertly observing everything about him, so I knew he was happy and trying to hide it. Then one night he came home smiling and laughing – looking more like a conquering hero returning from battle than an engineering student coming from a tutoring session. He was actually strutting. I watched him strut the entire distance from the rec center to our backdoor, stupidly wondering the whole time what could possibly be so strut-worthy. He had on one of his favorite t-shirts. It has a very distinctive, goofy design on it, so it’s easy to remember.

Two days later, as I was sorting clothes for the laundry, I came across that same t-shirt. As I picked it up to throw it in the washer, I noticed it was crumpled and glued together. I pulled it apart, revealing the tell-tale clear, dried and crusty, aftermath of sex. They had used his shirt to wipe themselves afterward. I stood there holding up the t-shirt, turning numb and cold. My entire body began to shake. My ears began to ring. I felt stranded and alone in a frozen, high-pitched void. I don’t know how long I stood there looking at the evidence. Suddenly it sank in that I was in contact with their shared bodily fluids, and I dropped the shirt with a shutter of revulsion.

Finally, my brain wormed its way out of shock and began to almost function again. Thoughts began to float into consciousness. That must have been their first time having sex, I thought, explains the self-congratulatory strut. It’s always the laundry that gives men away when it comes to affairs, was my next thought. We wives understand laundry – know what to look/smell for. Men, obviously, do not.

I thought of not washing the evidence and using it to confront him. But he’d only do and say the same things he’d been doing and saying for weeks. He’d accuse me of being paranoid and crazy, making me feel guilty for asking him if he was having an affair. He always ended up smug and laughing with derision. I ended up crying and defeated again. As if handling a radioactive substance, I used a clothes hanger to pick up the shirt and drop it into the washer.

I look at the clock on his side of the bed. They are staying later and later at the rec center. Fear is clawing at my throat again, and he’s brought his good friend, Grief, this time.

I want to do more than merely shed some tears. I want to thrash and wail and break some expensive shit. I want to be the kind of person who doesn’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks. That person would open the window and haul all his crap over the sill and let it fall onto the patio below. He’d have to step over that pile to get into the apartment. He’d know I know. That person would lock the doors and not let him in – and then scream accusatory obscenities at him from the upstairs bedroom window until the entire apartment complex was awake and had come outside to see the show. That person would make a scene; she’d make some noise. She really would go over and knock until her knuckles bled. Or maybe she’d call the police and say she saw someone suspicious in the rec center and would they please come check it out. She wouldn’t lie in bed and stare at the clock. She’d cause a ruckus. She’d kick the other woman’s ass. She wouldn’t be here when he got back. She’d take their car, all her shit, his wad of cash he didn’t know she knew about, and get out and never have to look at his lying face ever again. That person would do something – anything.

I hear her sliding glass door open and close, and then the metallic click as she snaps the lock into place. I look at the clock and start counting. Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, I hear our sliding glass door open and close. I wait to hear the lock click on our door. Instead, I hear him coming up the stairs. I close my eyes, turn toward the wall, and pretend to be asleep, a new wave of anxiety blossoming in my middle. He goes into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He’s forgotten to lock the backdoor again, I think. Distracted much? I keep my eyes closed; I force my breath to slow and deepen. I lie still. I relax as much as I can. I start over with phase one.

written from a Reedsy prompt

RV Live as an Introvert – The View from Here – Tucson, AZ – Desert Trails RV Park.

We are in Tucson, Arizona, and we’re staying in one of our favorite areas. We love the area west of Tucson near Saguaro Nat’l Park and Tucson Mountain Park. In fact, Desert Trails RV Park, where we’re staying, is very close to Tucson Mtn. Park.

Every morning I walk to the trail head behind the RV park and enter desert heaven. I make my way through various cacti, creosote bushes, sand, rocks, and palo verde trees toward Tucson Mtn. Park. Sometimes I make it all the way to the park, sometimes I don’t go that far. It is seldom I see anyone on the trails, and that completely fills my little introverted heart with joy. LOL

I stole the photo at the top of this post off the Desert Trails RV Park website btw, b/c as hard as I’ve tried to take my phone and get photos of the trails I walk every day, I can’t bring myself to do it. I just can’t “ruin” the walk that way. Today, in anticipation of needing a photo for this post, I actually put the phone in my pocket and got out the door. But I couldn’t do it. I turned around, came back inside, and left my phone as usual. I did take this one (below), though, but only b/c it’s in our “yard” and right outside our door.

One of the main reasons we left Colorado was to escape to warmer weather and less snow. This is our first winter in this area, and the weather here is mild and sunny and just what the proverbial doctor ordered. We are finding that “cold” here means dipping down to the high 30’s at night and high 50’s during the day. But that is not the norm. Most days are in the low to mid-70’s and the nights are in the 40’s – just right, in other words. When it gets chilly and one of us complains about it, we both realize what we’ve done and we start laughing at ourselves.

We’ll head to Yuma, AZ (also great winter weather) in January and stay there for a month, then we’ll be back to the Tucson area for awhile. After that, we only know we’ll be back in northern Colorado for the month of May 2023. We continue to watch the housing market, and we continue to scout out places where we’d like to settle down for this last stretch of our lives.

And we both are ready for some more space. LOL. Living in an RV is fun. It is exciting. It is an adventure. And it is also tight – with little privacy. We are both looking forward to having our own separate offices again at some point in the future. However, if you are thinking of trying it, I totally recommend it. I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.

RV life has taught me a lot about myself. One of the main things it’s made me aware of is how few physical things I really need. To have his lifestyle, you have to pare down your life. And for me, that has been eye-opening. It has also forced me to always put things back where they go. You have no other option. It’s either that or there is no space to do life.

Once again, I have no wise, or even witty, summation for this rant. I just wanted to keep you informed about what we’re up to, b/c life got busy and I haven’t written in such a long time. And btw, I can recommend Desert Trails RV Park for introverts. B/c despite having lots of sites, it is mostly quiet. Plus, it has such great trails to explore at the back of the park that take you for miles. You can even go as far as Tucson Mountain Park and keep hiking into the park.

RV Life as an Introvert – San Felipe, Mexico – Pete’s Camp

yes, those are our sheets hanging out to dry – and that white building behind and on the hill is the restaurant where we watched the Golden State Warriors beat the Denver Nuggets in the first round of the conference finals – and that’s my extension cord from sitting outside typing all afternoon

We drove our RV, Gordito, into Mexico – to San Felipe. It was not an entirely pleasant experience, but at least we learned what to do and what not to do when driving an RV into Mexico.

Firstly, you must get your FMM (temporary visa) BEFORE you go through the Mexican customs line with your RV. This means that you can get it online well before you travel, or you must stop right before customs to go into the FMM office to get one. Don’t skip this step like we did. You’ll have to go back and get it anyway, so do it before you get into the country.

As of this posting (May 2022), the Mexican gov’t requires everyone who visits the country to have an FMM – even if you are only gonna be there for a few days. The FMM office is usually off to one side right before you have to stop and get your RV searched. Look hard, or you’ll miss it like we did. AND: It is not called the FMM office.

And yes, they will most likely stop you and want to walk through your RV (and look inside cabinets, etc.), your toad, your trailer, etc. after you go in and get your FMM, get back in your vehicle, and drive into the customs line. However, they were super nice and polite during the inspection, and it took hardly any time at all.

We drove the two hours to Pete’s Camp without incident on a quite decent road, even though it was really windy. We took Highway 5 south from Mexicali, which has one military check point along the way. Again, they were polite and nice, and after telling them our destination, they waved us through. Note that they did not require us to show our stamped FMMs, but we learned that they sometimes do.

that’s the sea right there on the other side of the wall – tide’s in

We did finally make it to San Felipe. And it was so worth it. We stayed at Pete’s Camp, which is just north of the town of San Felipe, and right on the Sea of Cortez. It was a bit spendy for our taste, but again, so worth it. Each site has its own canvas shade area and full hookups.

The beach is right there. And it was fabulous. Each day, the tide worked its way out and then back in. And when it went out, it went way out – almost a quarter of a mile. But that meant it left some excellent sand bars for walking and exploring. The beach was clean and smooth and beautiful.

driving from Highway 5 down to Pete’s Camp (just a short dirt/sandy road drive)

I got in at least one – usually two – long, solitary walks a day, as I made my way down the beach in either direction (beach for miles). Introvert heaven! Pete’s Camp was clean and well taken care of. It had the restaurant and gift shop up on the hill, and bathrooms (take your on TP each trip) down on the beach. They wanted payment in cash or pesos only.

I can highly recommend Pete’s Camp for introverts – with some caveats. Don’t go on weekends, Mexican (or American) holidays, Mexican spring break, or the “on” season (when it’ll be full of Americans escaping the winter in the U.S.).

During the week, it was heavenly and almost empty. We were there in late April and most of the time had the place almost to ourselves. However, when Friday evening rolled around, that completely changed. The place filled up with locals and other Americans.

And not only did it fill up, it got loud. The folks at each site turned up their music (loud, loud, loud!), so that we had to listen to competing music all weekend. There was the music coming at us from all directions, kids running everywhere (including through our site), loud sand toys (side-by-sides, ATVs, etc.) constantly creating more noise and dust, and even fireworks all weekend. It was not pleasant for this introvert.

However, come Sunday morning, nearly everyone but us left and it was all quiet again. So, lesson learned about Pete’s Camp. We heard it was pretty much the same at all the RV parks in the area. One RV camp manager told us, “It can get wild and loud on weekends, but we keep it under control,” whatever that meant. LOL

look at the sea – way out there when the tide was out

On our way back, and at the military checkpoint, they stopped us and wanted to walk through Gordito. We welcomed them in, as they were super nice – and so young. Just young boys in the military. And still, very polite.

We made it back to Mexicali, and then into Calexico, CA with no problems. However, this time, instead of making our way out via the West border crossing (where we came in), we opted for the East one. And if and when we go back to Mexico in that area, we will definitely choose to enter via the Calexico East border crossing. It was bigger, newer and more easy to navigate in an RV. Not only that, but it does not empty you out right into downtown Mexicali, which is tight, tight, tight for an RV with toad.

Another note about the Mexican customs crossing. They insisted we needed to have registration for our tow dolly. We readily showed them our (specially purchased Mexican) insurance and registration for the RV and Prius, but they also wanted the same for the dolly. They advised us to go back into the U.S. and go to the DMV and get it registered, b/c it might be asked for further on in our trip into Mexico by other officials. We explained that it did not need registration in the U.S., and therefore, we not only didn’t have it, but would be unable to go back and get it.

We tried to explain that even if we went to the DMV and asked for such a document, they wouldn’t administer one, b/c it’s not required in the U.S. Finally, they waved us on, telling us it might cause problems later. It did not. No one asked about it.

IMPORTANT: Even though cannabis is legal in many states in the U.S., it is illegal to cross the border (either direction) with cannabis products of any kind into Mexico – even CBD lotions, etc. Likewise with guns, ammo, and even pepper spray. Do your research before going. Keep in mind that they have the right to use drug- and weapon-sniffing dogs at the border.

Also: Remember to purchase your Mexican auto insurance before going. I used my own insurance agent in Colorado, and she emailed me the documents before we crossed over so I could print them. We had to get insurance for both car and RV.

And last, but certainly not least, our T-Mobile phone/service was all but useless once we crossed into Mexicali. Yes, we had our phones on “roam,” but it did no good. That meant we couldn’t use our GPS to get to Highway 5, to San Felipe, to find the FMM office, to call anyone to ask for help finding that office, or to do some translations (our Spanish is muy malo). Service was spotty to nonexistent. (Remember at the first of this post when I mentioned the unpleasant part?) It was super stressful.

What’s the remedy? Get a paper map. Study the route beforehand, etc. If your Spanish is not up to speed, look at online photos of the specific border crossing you plan to use and the lines you need to be in – both entering and exiting. Also look at photos of the signs pointing you to the office in which you get your FMM. Check out that office’s parking lot photos. Is it big enough for your RV? Have it all planned out before you get there, so you don’t stress yourself out like we did.

Even with the difficulties we had, I can still say it was worth the trip and stress – b/c the beach and sea were so excellent. If you decide to drive your RV into Mexico, prepare well and know it’ll be worth it.

RV Life as an Introvert – Kaibab Lake Campground in Williams, AZ (Grand Canyon)

Kaibab Lake Campground is just a few minutes north of Williams, Arizona, on your way to the Grand Canyon. Williams claims to be the “Gateway to the Grand Canyon.” It is a small and quaint little town that still has most everything you’d need if you decide to camp here awhile.

We chose this campground because it isn’t an RV park and also isn’t boondocking. It is somewhere in between the two. They don’t have any hookups, so it’s like boondocking, but all the roads are paved and the sites are marked and already set up, so it’s also quite orderly like an RV park.

It is situated in the forest and is quite beautiful. The sites are far apart, there’s a lake, they have vaults (bathrooms), trash cans, water faucets with drinking water, plus it’s only one hour south of the Grand Canyon. If you’ve ever visited the Grand Canyon, you know that the closer you get to the Grand Canyon, the more expensive everything gets. So it was nice to find this spot that wasn’t too expensive, but still gave us access to the park.

I can highly recommend this spot for introverts. It’s quiet, beautiful, close to – but not too close to – town, the sites are far apart, and it’s easily accessible for all. It has back-in sites, pull-throughs, and double pull-throughs for those traveling with a group. It is also great for tents, of course. We paid $26/night (cheap by RV park standards), and I think the double sites were $40/night. Even though there were quite a few campers while we were there, it was nice and quiet. We were there in early May, and it did get chilly at night but was great during the day.

Playing the Ball Where the Monkey Drops It

In colonial times, the British built golf courses in India to offer them the same recreation as back home. But they did not foresee the monkey problem. Monkeys loved to take the balls and run off with them. They tried all sorts of things to keep the monkeys from taking the golf balls – including building tall fences, luring them away, cutting back the jungle, trapping them (the list is long), etc. As time went on and they had tried dozens of cures, they finally concluded that there was nothing to be done to keep the monkeys from the golf courses.

So instead, the made a new rule for British golf courses (for in India only, of course): You must play the ball where the monkey drops it.

And that is what Kevin and I are doing now, I feel. We are playing the ball where the monkey drops it. We don’t know where he will drop it, when he will drop it, or if he will even drop it at all. He might chew on it first, or even swallow it. We just don’t know from minute to minute.

In other words, there are no guarantees. We are traveling and coping and learning and adapting. We had to stay in Yuma, AZ recently much longer than we wanted to for repairs to our RV, Gordito. We like full hookups, but don’t like to pay too much for sites. We like the amenities of RV parks, but not the noise and crowd. We are now trying to figure out how boondocking works for us. Our list is long too.



All this to say that there is a new flexibility requirement with this lifestyle that I, as a recovering control-freak, am attempting (most of the time, unsuccessfully) to navigate.

And I am certain that this part of our journey is just as important for me (us) as seeing the sights and traveling the land. It feels monumental for me to radically accept that I am not in control of pretty much anything except how I react and respond to what and who is around me, to realize that I want freedom more than I want to continue that fight.

So yesterday I danced with trees. We are now near Williams, AZ in Kaibab Lake Camp Ground, and it is beautiful here. And it has been hella windy (yes, I said hella). The tall, straight, pine trees protect us down below from the gusts, but we can hear the wind in the treetops. I can see them sway and hear them creak – which is one of my all-time fave things on our planet. So yesterday I grabbed onto a nearby tree and let it take me dancing.

It was like following a micro-blues lead on the dance floor – only a thousand times better. I could feel the subtle shifts and sway. I could hear the “music” (wind through the treetops). I had to focus and get quiet inside to be able to follow. I had to ground. I had to settle. I had to wait for the next gust of wind. I had to be patient and trust my lead. I had to let go of any judgements about anyone walking by and possibly seeing me hugging and dancing with a tree. I had to stop trying to control anything. I had to let go while still holding on.

And it was one of the most wondrous things I have ever allowed myself to do, one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever given myself. I highly recommend it. It’s a great lesson in following, in allowing, in just Being.

I have no profound end to this rant. Maybe it’s just about allowing – on the dance floor, in life, in our hearts, in our minds, in our dear bodies. I don’t really know. I am still learning, and we are simply doing our best to play the ball where the monkey drops it.

RV Life as an Introvert – Telephone Cove BLM near Laughlin, NV

After leaving the Yuma area, we traveled north to Laughlin, NV (Bullhead City, AZ) to meet Kevin’s brother for a late lunch. Then we made our way to Nevada Telephone Cove Dispersed Camping area, which is on the banks of the Mohave Lake. It is only about ten miles northwest of Laughlin and camping is free. It is my understanding that if you go to the Arizona side of Mohave Lake, you have to pay for camping, but please do your own research to make sure. I found it, once again, on FreeRoam.

That’s Gordito, looking all handsome and everything. LOL

While the site is only about 10 miles from Laughlin, be advised that 4.5 miles of that distance is on a sandy, gravel, washboard road with some twists and some steep grades (short though they are). So be prepared to have your gizzard jiggled out for 4.5 miles. We have a 27’ Class-C (who gets a bit cranky on washboard roads) with a toad, so had an issue with one steep hill. Gordito began to spin down into the sand. We did make it, though. On the way out the next day, we unloaded the car and I drove it out ahead of Gordito, and he made it just fine.

We are discovering that most BLM lands are accessible by gravel (usually washboard) roads, so if that is the price we have to pay for peace and quiet and privacy, then so be it. It is worth it.

Out our front door, away from the lake.

We arrived there late Friday evening, knowing it would probably be busy/crowed with weekenders. And we were correct. Telephone Cove (TC) is simply a stretch of beach on the shore of Mohave Lake where you can stop anywhere and camp. There wasn’t a place on the shore, so we circled around and got a primo spot on the opposite side among some shrubberies (you are required to say that with a British accent, ala Monty Python style – LOL). We put our door facing the mountains and not the lake, and so got privacy that way. The ground was level enough to not have to use levelers – for just one night, anyway.

We noticed rigs bigger than ours when we got there, so don’t worry about getting in. If we did it, and they did it, you are bound to succeed. There was one site right on the shore that was obviously un-manned but “saved.” Not sure of the rules on BLM land for that sort of thing, but we thought it was really bad form. We could have camped on the shore were it not for that.

See that unmanned “save” by the lake? Not cool.

The area offers a vault (bathroom), a huge dumpster for trash, a few trees and shrubs, and a boat launch. There were plenty of toys present: side-by-sides, jet skis, boats. Due to it being the weekend, we expected this. The sign there stated that you can stay up to seven days in a row.

The lake was cold, and the breeze was hot – nice combo. However, it was so hot that we had difficulty getting to sleep later, even with all the windows open and a (hot) breeze. It finally did cool down sometime later in the night. This is when we decided to invest in some smaller, rechargeable (maybe solar), clamp-on fans. We ran the generator for a bit so we could use the air conditioner to cool us down before going to bed, but we are hesitant to run it too much, because we know peeps want peace and quiet. However, we noticed several other rigs running theirs, and from our camp, we could not hear them. I think we just need to get used to running it more when we need to.

I would highly recommend TC BLM area for introverted boondocking – especially during the week, not on holidays, and not in summer (kids are out of school and on vaca with the fam). Please note that we were there in mid-May. On our way out the next morning, we saw LOTS more folks coming in with more toys for weekend fun, so introverts beware. LOL

What’s your fave rechargeable (maybe solar?), smaller, clamp-on fan for camping?

RV Life as an Introvert – VFW BLM North of Yuma for Boondocking

After several days of waiting on RV repairs in Yuma, we are FINALLY(!) on our way north (and hopefully to some place cooler). We could have gone ahead and driven Gordito as is, but he had a few things that needed to be done and now we can feel more confident about getting to where we want to go safely.

However, we only got as far as a few miles north of Yuma to the VFW Bureau of Land Management (BLM) camp because it was late when the shop finished with Gordito. But we were determined to leave and break the holding pattern we had been in for nearly a week. So around 6pm we pulled into the area. And after beginning to feel like we were being held hostage in a bad version of a low-budget horror film about being unable to exit a hot city with little to no T-Mobile cell coverage (even with our cell phone booster), we were happy to have made it even this short distance away. At least it’s progress, right?

Anyway.

I was surprised to find that I actually liked the VFW BLM land. Yes, it is right next to I-95 and a railroad track – so it is somewhat noisy. But hey, that’s what earplugs are for. We heard a few human voices, but not many, and nothing loud. The area is mostly flat with some native, shrubby plants scattered throughout. RVs and vans were parked at intervals – but not too many (remember, it’s hot as hell already in Yuma even though it’s only early May), because most everyone else has, wisely, bugged out.

At the back of the area are large trees, and we managed to snag a spot right against the trees, thus putting us in the shade (hard to come by in these parts!). We put our front door facing the trees instead of the camp area and have a lot of privacy that way. It’s so much nicer than the one photo I saw on FreeRoam. I took some photos the next morning to include here and on FreeRoam if it’ll let me add some. I’ve only used the app a few times so far, so I’m not sure of the possibilities.

The VFW BLM has no services, to include no dumpsters, no water, no dump station, no electricity. So, pack it in; pack it out. Anyone can stay; you don’t have to be a veteran or anything (even though I am a veteran). At the entrance, it said to register with the camp host, but we never figured out who or where that was. And considering the week we’d had (stressful!), we were exhausted, so drove in and parked. No one ever said anything to us about it, so…

The site was very level, so that no leveling blocks were needed. Although I’m not sure we would have bothered anyway, considering we would only be there for one night. The ground is mostly rough sand, so in high winds it might be dust-stormy around here, but it was good weather for us. I expect it would be hot as hell – even in the shade – during the day, but we got there late and left early, so it was mostly cool breezes through open windows for us.

Even with the highway right nearby, there was plenty of wildlife – birds, crickets, bunnies. And because there were so few folks here and everyone was parked with plenty of space between, this introvert felt quite comfortable. I didn’t like the lights at night, however. I like to sleep with no lights outside at night. People-made lights ruin the nighttime, IMO. There were a few lights near the entrance, around the VFW venue (building) there were really bright once we went to bed.

Google said VFW BLM was only 2. 6 miles (8 minutes) from Yuma, so if you stay here and need to shop or go see a movie, you’re well placed to do just that. It’s kind of the best of both – outside the city but with the city close enough for comfort.

I would tentatively recommend this place for introverts – probably dependent upon the season. Do some more research about other times of the year if you plan to make this a destination. Keep in mind how hot it is here, too, in the summer. In the winter, this would be a perfect stopping place, IMO.

As boondocking goes, this is only our third time trying it. Once was last year and in a Wal-Mart parking lot. So that one doesn’t really count for the introverted boondocking experiment. However, the other two times have been successful as far as this introvert is concerned. I could get to really like this.

What are your favorite boondocking (and good-for-introvert) places?

RV Life as an Introvert – Fortuna Pond (Lake) for Boondocking

If you’re an introvert and looking for paradise, it might just be Fortuna Pond (some places list it as “Lake”) outside of Fortuna and Yuma, Arizona. We spent one night there, and it was heavenly for this water, tree, and bird lover. And I think boondocking might be the answer to the introvert’s question of how to survive RV life.

I must admit that I have been sitting squarely on the struggle bus here lately due to having to be around too many people, too much noise, too many lights (you know, human stuff), etc. for too long without a significant break. Because while I love having full hookups, I do not like most RV parks. In fact, I have yet to meet one that totally works for me. My mental health has been suffering, therefore. I’m stressed out, easy to anger, easy to panic, prone to freak outs and panic attacks, impatient, jumpy, super sensitive to noise, movement, and lights.

To counteract this problem, I doubled up on my meditations each day and started being more mindful about practicing my mindful techniques (funny how that works, huh?). I began making a list simply titled, “What Do I Need?” All these measures are helping. I decided to try something else that might not only soothe my soul but that is also free; I suggested to my partner that we do more boondocking. I like the idea of being away from noise, lots of peeps, and lights for a day or two here and there to keep me in the functioning, contributing adult category (something that was slipping away from me).

So, last night we spent the night at Fortuna Lake. It is listed as a pond in some places. In others, it is listed as a lake. I’m not actually sure if there are two different areas, or if the naming of one area is the issue, but wherever we were (the signs there said “Fortuna Pond”), it was wonderful. It is about 15 minutes outside Yuma, Arizona. And it is an oasis, as far as I am concerned. It was a small body of water surrounded by unmanicured grasses, trees, and shrubs. It is listed as bureau of land management (BLM) land, so there is not a fee to stay there. And you can stay for up to 14 days in a row, according to the BLM rules.

In order to find BLM/boondocking possibilities, I downloaded a free app out of the playstore called FreeRoam (they’re a nonprofit) that I really like. You can set your filters for all kinds of stuff, and it will point out the areas that might work for you. It has info, reviews, and photos of each area. I haven’t tried it for regular RV parks, but I like what it’s showing me for free boondocking possibilities.

Fortuna Pond had all kinds of wildlife, very few peeps, and the only human-made noises were one train that passed, distantly, at night. I also heard approximately three vehicles while we were there. They passed by on the nearby dirt road. And the road to get there does need to be addressed. When you turn off the paved road to get to the pond, you must drive about 2.5 – 3 miles on a dirt and gravel road, most of which is washboard. I am not a fan of washboard roads, but I have to say that road was worth the jiggling to get to such a great spot.

We were there in early May, so it was hot, but that also means fewer peeps. I would recommend going during the week and avoiding weekends and holidays. Fishing is allowed and apparently the lake is stocked on a regular basis with trout, bass, sun perch, catfish, and carp. I have heard other folks have gone swimming in the lake, but we did not. I did see two snakes swimming at dusk, so stay alert. I am not sure of the type of snake (they were too far away to tell), but they were not small. Also, it is my experience from growing up in a hot place with lakes that dusk is a snake’s preferred swim time. So maybe swim but not late in the day? Don’t take my word for it though, do your research.

We have a 27-foot class-C with a toad, and we had no trouble finding several spots we could stay. We chose a spot right on the pond and it was great. I got to listen to birds and frogs – and very few peeps. Perfection. It was sandy, but we had little to no wind, so no dust in the air. And sand is to be expected because Yuma is in the desert. And it was hot that time of the year – again: desert. I have read that the pond can be very busy and crowded during weekends. Indeed, there were several locals there for the fishing as day-users even on a weekday.

We ran our generator for a short time when we first got there around 6pm to cool down the inside of Gordito, but it cooled down nicely outside after dusk. It was the first time on our trip that I got to sleep without my earplugs. I wanted to listen to the night as I slept, and I was not disappointed. We had a new moon, stars, water, bird song that turned into cricket song as it got dark, bats that came out a dusk, and a cool breeze.

It was somewhat buggy (it’s a lake area, after all), but I will let you in on my secret for repelling mosquitos. Take a high-quality garlic supplement. I take them year-round. The high-quality ones can’t be smelled by people, but it can by insects. And apparently, mosquitos don’t like peeps marinated in garlic, because I never have mosquito problems. It will not work if you take one or two before an outing. You have to have taken them for a while, so that you are nice and saturated.

I highly recommend this spot for introverts – and anyone who wants to fish, likes wildlife, and craves peace.

RV Life as an Introvert – Robert J. Moody Demonstration Garden.

Just take a look at those little sprouts of new spring growth – so cute!

I was at this sweet little garden in March 2022. It is tiny and so worth seeing. The best part for me was the fact that the cacti were just beginning to blossom. Although small, this garden packs in the delights. It has a gazebo, a kid’s area, several benches for sitting in the shade, an amphitheater, a vegetable garden, a herb garden, etc.

It is across from a high school, so introverts should choose their visit time/day carefully. I was there early on a Saturday morning and had the whole place to myself. Perfection! Because it has a kid’s area, be aware that families may show up later – especially on weekends. Also, it is located within the city and right on a city street, so there will be some traffic noise. When I was there, however, the noise was minimal.

Directly from the county extension’s website: “The Robert J Moody interactive demonstration garden is an ongoing project maintained by Master Gardeners and the Moody Garden Society. Their efforts benefit the entire community, as a plant resource and educational area. Moody Garden is comprised of many different gardens including cultivated plants, emblem, native plant, tropical, vegetable and xeriscape displaying the many different types of plants that can be grown in Yuma County.

“Plants are labeled for identification, and you can take a self-guided tour or have someone from the Master Gardener Program, Moody Garden Society, or University of Arizona do a tour. There are also numerous kiosks throughout the garden identifying each area and its purpose.

“It is located next to the U. of A. Yuma County Extension office at 2200 West 28th Street, Yuma, AZ.”

I highly recommend you visit this place – whether introvert or not. Take a book and some snacks, and enjoy the beauty, diversity, and education offered by this little sanctuary in the city of Yuma, AZ.