The Secret To Survival

Winter offers challenges for my nomadic lifestyle in my little van that make me question my sanity. By no means am I comparing my situation—one of choice, with resources and options—to my homeless sisters and brothers. I share these observations for my therapy, and because some of you might be curious.

A brief recap: for the past 10+ years I’ve lived in a relatively small motorhome, for 9 years in Tillie 1, a 27’ Gulfstream Class C, one of those unwieldy rigs with everything contained on a 6-wheel chassis. After over 200,000 miles I downsized to Tillie2, a 24’ Mercedes Benz Sprinter van, a sleek and efficient house on wheels. (FYI personal purchases.)

When I started my nonprofit HEAR US Inc., a unique effort to chronicle the plight and promise of homeless families and youth, I was a newbie at both filmmaking and RVing. That was then. I’m still at it, with much knowledge based on experience. I still am learning, often the hard way.

I was sensible back in the early days. I tried to stay warm during winter by hanging in parts of the country that typically could be counted on for above-freezing temps. I was filming and  giving talks in places like Florida, Louisiana, New Mexico, Arizona and California. My Own Four Walls, my first documentary, was a product of that first trip.

Now I sit in frickin’ freezin’ Pennsylvania. I’m plugged into the outlet of a kind (and anonymous) soul, as I’m sure living in a van is probably frowned upon in this and most communities. It’s the anti-homelessness thing for the most part. I try to maintain a low profile for all sorts of reasons, this being one of them.

I’ve been way out of my van’s suggested geographic range for many years now, asking for trouble, I guess.

My spartan lifestyle, while I have the basics for a reasonably comfortable existence, has a few vulnerable essentials. Water, for example. Already this month I’ve had my water supply freeze twice. Think of what you need water for…flushing, washing, dishes. Yeah. 

I work in my van, mostly on a computer. Sometimes I look like a pathetic Arctic traveler, wrapped in blankets and shrouded with a hood to hold body heat in. Hard to type, and think, when I get too cold. Yeah. 

I’ve also had a really gross issue. I won't go into details, but let me just say septic-related. Yeah. 

I don’t always have a place to plug in. The longer I sit, the quicker the above afflictions can take hold. So I’ve been honing techniques to avoid getting into trouble, which I can assure you is life disrupting. 

And, life lessons are screaming at me in these learning opportunities, if I pay attention. 

• Don’t let it get too bad before taking steps to avoid problems. 

Prevention won’t always work, but ignoring problems doesn’t make them go away, and can often make them worse. Facing my challenges is usually the only way to deal with them. Not always easy. 

• Know how to fix what will ail you if you’re going to persist at tempting fate. 

I learned electrical stuff decades ago and it has come in really handy. And I’m constantly learning about the workings of my rig. Learning, having tools, and being able to troubleshoot are vital.

• Do what you gotta do, but don’t do stupid, aka life-threatening, things. 

Risks are good to a certain level, and those levels are never clearly marked. Listen to one’s gut. 

• Ask for help, in whatever form is necessary.

Swallowing pride is not easy for me. And asking for help is something I’ve never done well. But sometimes ya need to. And sometimes people say no. Ouch!

• Be well-equipped given the limited space, having at least the basics. 

This requires thoughtfulness. What’s really important? Space is limited. 

• Be grateful for what you have. 

Taking things for granted is easy. Being grateful, mindful, not so much. But it helps reduce the angst for not having stuff.

• Share.

Not hanging onto things is a hard habit to overcome. But letting go makes room. And giving to someone who needs something makes the world a better place.

Would I trade what I do for anything? Well, truth be told, I’d love to be in warmer climes at times, but I would miss the opportunities that come my way to do my dream job, giving voice and visibility to homeless children and youth. 

Don’t feel sorry for me. I have the best of all worlds, and I get the deepest appreciation from those whose lives are impacted by having nowhere to call home. When I wimp out, as I do too often, I think of those who endure way worse. They give me courage and warm my heart. That makes it possible to survive. The least I can do is endure a modicum of discomfort. 

Beyond My Control--ARGH!

As those who’ve been following me on Facebook know, this past year with my new camper-van has been a tad vexing. With Tillie1, my Gulfstream Yellowstone motorhome that served as my home since Nov. 2005, I had minimal mechanical problems. Tillie2, my sleeker, upscale (MB Sprinter, for Pete’s sake!) van/home has presented a plethora of issues, most vexing the dismazingly ubiquitous CHECK ENGINE light.

Tillie2

Tillie1

Credit must be given to Tim, the Sprinter mechanic at Mercedes Benz in Kansas City. In May, my last stop here, he managed to actually fix this frequently reoccurring issue. We had a pleasant chat about what he did, an unusual occurrence to speak to the person doing the work at MB. 

Annoyed as I was to see the CE light pop up again this past Saturday, I was glad I was able to get into MBKC before I headed to North Carolina, my next destination. It’s become a regular stop for me; I’m more familiar with the MB parking lot than many of their customers are! Quiet place to sleep…but that’s another story.

Chris, the Sprinter Service Manager, squeezed me into the schedule. He brought me back to the service area and showed me the damage caused by the rats or mice that decided to chew on the wires. I had been parked at my friend Julia’s for the past 2 weeks, a place where I often spend time when I’m in KS. As I pulled out yesterday, she noticed the dead giveaway that I had unwanted visitors, discarded cocoa shells—from her landscaping next to T2’s parking spot—under the hood area.

I’m sure it could have been worse. But really, can’t vehicle manufacturers figure out a way to prevent varmints from gnawing on vehicles’ wiring and other parts? 

My only take-away from this unexpected delay can be summed up in one of my favorite quotes—I am where I should be, doing what I should be doing, otherwise I’d be somewhere else doing something else. (anon)

This delay allowed me to do an impromptu screening of my latest film, Worn Out Welcome Mat—Kansas, a look at doubled up homelessness, with staff at Kansas City KS School District 500. McKinney-Vento liaison Kerry Wrenick deftly assembled a small group in a conference room. I hooked up my computer and watched them watch this heartbreaking 20-min. video. (LINK to be posted when I get a strong signal for the upload)

I’m sitting in this well-appointed waiting room, big screen TV blaring the stuff I’m trying to ignore, as I work on my HEAR US homelessness work. Irony? Yup. But if my being here can cause at least 1 person with financial wherewithal to become aware of —and maybe do something to help— homelessness as experienced by families and youth, I’ll hire a team of gnawing rats! 

Check Engine Light: Stupid As Spam

For those of you following my travels on Facebook or through this blog, you might have picked up on some "issues" with my new Tillie2 that I acquired at the end of September 2014. Here's the latest...

Ironically, my previous vehicle, the venerable Tillie the Turtle, a 27' Gulfstream Class C motorhome,  my home/office/vehicle for 9 years (183,000 miles on it), despite the (ahem) sorta chintzy construction, was a pretty reliable vehicle, but gas mileage sucked wind (10 mpg).

Thanks to a small inheritance from my Mom's estate, I was able to (I thought) downsize/upgrade to the Sprinter van. At 24' it is smaller, especially narrower, lacking the abundant storage Tillie had. Diesel mileage exceeds 20 mpg on occasion! It drives like a dream. I've gotten used to the smaller footprint, inside and out. I've got to say my Mercedes-loving Mother is smiling upon me.

Sportsmobile in Austin, TX outfitted the Sprinter, and basically did a fine job, with a few unmentionable caveats that I think are fixed. The insides are cozy but efficient and solidly constructed. I was able to customize, based this time on experience, as opposed to Tillie's purchase when I was totally clueless.

The front end of the vehicle--the engine and dashboard--those are under the Mercedes-Benz warranty. And that's where I've been vexed.

The first sign of issues was back in October when Pat LaMarche and I were on our Babes of Wrath tour to Montana and surrounding states. I had just had T2 for weeks, and had read the manual but had not grasped the finer points. So when the dashboard lights lit up like a Christmas tree, with ominous warnings "Visit Workshop," and symbols that looked like nuclear weapon warnings flashing, well, I was dismayed.

The first time the light show occurred was in the middle of a reservation in South Dakota, far from a MB workshop or any vehicle service station. I kept driving as Pat scanned the owner's manual for clues. Since the vehicle seemed to be operating properly, I tried to not worry. Eventually, the lights went away. I don't know how. But I was happy they were gone.

I visited my first MB dealership for the 10k mile oil change/service thing. They were a tad not helpful, and other than doing the basic service, I didn't get any info about the problems I had encountered. But no lights were on, so I was happy.

But then, like Spam, lights returned. Intermittent. Ominous.  I visited another dealership. Sensor problems. Fixed them. The Check Engine (CE) light again blinked at me. Another dealer. Same routine.

By this time I'm annoyed. In one month I've spent more time in MB waiting rooms than I've spent in doctors offices for the past 40 years. I fired off a civil, but stern letter to the MB CEO. For credibility, I enclosed the mighty fine article the Naperville Magazine ran about me/HEAR US.

Within days I heard from Susan in the Customer Care department, addressing my concerns.  I will say I think she's sincere, and she offered ongoing assistance that makes me feel like I'm not the 2nd class citizen that some of the dealers seemed to convey (or at least I think they did). She volunteered to make a pre-visit call for my next service stop. I agreed. The dealership treated me royally. They addressed the issue properly.

But then (are you picking up on the theme?), the CE light reappeared. I'm en route to KS, so my possibilities were limited as was my time. Susan to the rescue. The dealership got me in and on the way within a reasonable amount of time.

Now I'm CE-light shy. I glance down, almost expecting my favorite little light to shine. I'd like to hide it under a bushel basket, but I worry that it won't be a benign sensor, so I pay begrudgingly attention like I do with my Spam folder, never knowing when the essential message might be lurking among the slime.

I think of Tillie, my gas-guzzling faithful "steed" of so many years. Nah, I'm not going to snatch her back, but it makes me appreciate the relatively trouble-free existence I took for granted (Thanks to Mike's Auto and Truck in DeKalb, IL for years of stellar, fairly-priced and hospitable service!)