RV Winter Rambling 2006-07

We’re Dreaming of a Sunny Christmas….
Christmas season is rife with so many emotions fuelled by nostalgia and unreasonable expectations. For myself, the wistfulness for days gone by waves over me when I hear a carol on the radio or smell turkey cooking in the oven.


I yearn for the childhood magic of being woken at 4am by an older brother who announced, “Father Christmas has been”. Our stockings were our own socks (holes usually darned) and we hung them on the bedpost at the foot (aptly named) of the bed. They bulged mostly with edible goodies. Always a plump tangerine and silver and gold wrapped chocolate coins. There was also a single unwrapped gift, which was always “exactly what I’d always wanted”. One year, I recall a beautiful blonde doll that I immediately named Dinah, with blue eyes that opened and closed depending on her position – things were simple in those days. The overwhelming excitement invariably meant I’d scurry into my parents’ bedroom, jump on their bed, gleefully shrieking, “Look what Father Christmas brought me. Bleary-eyed because they’d just got to bed, they’d try to feign surprise.

The enchantment of Christmas was rekindled when my young children made acquaintance with ‘Santa Claus’ (AKA Father Christmas). Now I was filling stockings – posh red felt ones – and there was always a mandarin orange in the toe. Canadian style meant stockings on the fireplace mantle and gifts under the tree and in the excessive fashion of the times, not just one but an abundance of presents. But the excitement early on Christmas morning echoed my young days. Now our children follow the traditions with our grandchildren – updated of course to 21st century morays.

My exhilaration would start on December 1st and each day I’d count down the interminable wait for the big event. Sometimes, I’d just bubble over with excitement unable to contain my frantic anticipation.

My mother was always at the stove when I got home from school. First, she’d make her Christmas puddings (plum pudding in Canada). I’d be relegated to assist her with the nut and fruit preparation. She’d wrap a couple of shiny coins and bury them deep in each pudding before putting them on to steam for hours and hours. On Christmas day, I was constantly amazed how I always got a piece of pudding with a coin deep inside it

Next would come the Christmas cakes, which when complete would be topped with marzipan and covered with a hard white icing. I was then allowed to decorate it with holly and other Christmas baubles. Lastly, she’d make my favourite – mince pies (known as tarts in Canada). They’d never last until Christmas day and Mum would always whip up a last minute batch on Christmas Eve before we headed out for midnight mass.

My social life as a child in South Wales was as one of a gang comprised of all the kids that lived on our street. They were mostly boys and my brother who was 4 ½ years older than I, kept an eye on me. Keynsham (pronounced ‘kane-sham’) Road was just one short block long and it terminated in T intersections at both ends and no other kids from around the corner dared to venture into our domain. On cold winter nights, we’d huddle around the lamppost and scheme. Sometimes when no special day loomed, we’d just go ‘knocking on doors and running away’. When Guy Fawkes Day approached, we’d discuss collecting old clothes and rags, door to door, to build our ‘Guy’ who’d be tossed on the huge bonfire on November 5th. But in December, we’d plot our Christmas carolling – to decide what carols to sing, whose houses to sing at and who’d knock the door at the end to gather the money. The carols never changed – we’d sing Silent Night, Away in a Manger, Good King Wenceslas and The First Noel. I was too shy to solicit money and generally hid in the back while one of my bolder friends would collect the loot, which we’d split up later – the only charity it went to was our greedy little hands. But we must have seemed cherubic with our squeaky little voices and angelic little faces peeping out under woollen hats, our cheeks ruddy from the frosty air.

These reveries don’t necessarily make me happy because they only live in my psyche and they can’t be repeated – but by sharing memories with this blog, I take pleasure in temporarily reliving them.


Enough maudlin reminiscences – it’s December, 2006 and Fernie and I are off once again searching for adventure in warmer climes than home. Our steed is Maggie, our trusty motorhome and our little canine chum, Caesar accompanies us.

A violent windstorm (one of many this autumn) followed by an overnight snowfall almost made us postpone our planned departure on December 16th, but the temperatures climbed, melted the snow and we were on our way by 1pm. We casino-hopped south with the intended initial destination, Yuma, Arizona.

We spent the first night at Tulalip Casino in Marysville, Washington where the temperature dipped well below freezing overnight. This impelled us to make haste for the south and not waste time. Next day we drove over 400 miles (for us, a long drive) to spend the night at Seven Feathers Casino in Canyonville, Oregon. The casino was ludicrously festooned with an overabundance of childlike Christmas decorations – in a venue not suitable for or catering to children. They gave us $5 of slot machine play and it turned into $15 so I cashed out - $15 richer. The Survivor finale on television took precedence that night and we snuggled cosily in our warm nomadic home and watched all three hours.

The Siskiyou Pass and the subsequent passes around Mount Shasta in California were all clear and we were able to drive right through to spend the third night at the Rolling Hills Casino in Corning, California. . Finally, it was warming up and we dewinterized our pipes – flushed out all that pink anti-freeze and filled up with fresh water. We hadn’t spent a penny in the casinos yet – Fernie not finding a poker room to suit him – but he squandered a bit on Texas Shoot Out and came back to Maggie saying that he prefers to play poker online.

No casino around so we spent the fourth night at a Walmart in Bakersfield – did some shopping and browsing but as we’d driven fairly long miles that day, we had an early night. It was a shorter and a pleasant drive the next morning to the Spotlight 29 Casino in Coachella, California and now the weather was glorious – t-shirt weather. Finally, we reached our target in Yuma, Arizona early on December 21. Our friends had saved a site for us next to theirs in the RV Park at the Cocopah Casino. We each had huge private areas assigned to us overlooking the desert at a cost of $5 for 3 days. I think we’ll stay a while. Fiscally, it was a very good run – almost no cost for campgrounds or meals out – really, the only cost was for gasoline.

After setting up Maggie, I put up my new colourfully lit fibre optic
Christmas tree in the front window and laid some flashing LED lights along the dash. A small deep red poinsettia that thrived through the cold nights all the way from Washington graced our dining table. If I hang a stocking on Christmas Eve, I wonder if it will be filled! Who says we can’t experience the wonder of Christmas in Arizona.