Daughter’s Day

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When was this invented? How did I miss it? And is there a sons’ day? And if there’s a sons day when is it, when does it occur during the year? I have four daughters that I am very proud of and it would be difficult to pick one as number one so I won’t but I’ll go in order of birth year putting Veronica at the, top followed by Christina Marie, Rebecca Dawn, and then Jessica Lynne. Over the past couple of years I would not have been able to make it after the passing my wife Monica. It is through their strength and support that I was able to function and continue. But they’ve always been strong women. They live a determined life, very goal oriented, strong mothers, health care workers, police officers, government workers, you name it they have being a part of it. And of course I cannot leave out two groups of strong women, one group would be my daughters-in-law Alison and Kayla and last but certainly not least my KET women that number in the hundreds all doing magnificent things for their families and for others. Hey what about my grand-daughters? Do they have a day or is this it? My adopted daughters like Hayley and Jackie? I know I will miss some women but suffice it to say I have surrounded myself with strong women my entire life. So happy Daughters Day to all the daughters out there, near and far, north and south, in this country and in others, I salute you and wish you all the best.

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Memorial Day 2021

Over the past few days I’ve been reflecting on memorial days past and fondly remember marching in parades down the main street in Mineola, NY.  There in my Cub Scout and later Boy Scout uniforms I proudly marched along the main street to the applause of the community.  My mom was a den leader so she marched with us and often when I caught sight of her face, she seemed the happiest I had ever seen her.  The parade always ended at a memorial park where speeches were made, flags waved and taps played at the conclusion.  Plenty of hot dogs and hamburgers, potato and noodle salads for everyone.  While we were happy for the day and all the fun, it was not a happy time for my father and grandfather, with memories of their dead comrades plagued them and often the reflection of those events was made harder still when my Dad saw how happy the day made his wife and son.

I was a young 20 year old when I made my first trip to South East Asia.  Even during the days-long journey over the Pacific Ocean in the belly of a C-130, the whole idea of a war zone, of death, of combat was something very foreign to me and my buddies as all we talked about was beer and food.  We lost our first colleague in sunny Hawaii, when his plane exploded on the runway.  Death became an all too commonplace event as time wore on and when I had to meet the wife of one of my buddies who had just been killed, she had just arrived to surprise him and was in a hotel in Korat Thailand.  Only then, when I met her, did the whole impact of the war hit me.  I think I cried as much as she did. He was 24 years old and she was 22 and along with her on this trip was their 2 year old daughter, Anne.  

While today’s holiday has been taken over by sales in stores and specials for vacationing people, and it marks the unofficial beginning off summer, for me I am still haunted by the eyes of that young woman who in the loss of her husband, as tragic an event as possible for any young person, she took extra time to comfort me.  To explain to me that this will pass and we will all be fine.  I helped escort his body onto the plane she was taking on her return home.  She told me she had a small apartment in St Louis and she gave me her address and told me to visit when this war was over, which I never did.  To this day I do not remember his name nor her name but Anne’s I cannot forget. As I grow older the weight of the memories is sometimes so depressing that I have to fight to try and forget and banish them from behind my eyes.

So on this day Dad and Pop, I want to tell you that I too do understand and remember, and as I salute the flag in my front yard and hear taps playing in my mind, I hope that Anne grew up proud of her dad and of all the fallen service men and women over the years.

Back

It has been almost three years since I last posted anything on Facebook, due mainly to the political insanity instigated by the white supremacist trump, but most importantly, the health fight my wife was dealing with and ultimately lost.  I remember when I first joined Facebook and recommended to the high school to jump on board, how shocked they were and demonized the whole platform, banning any use of Facebook.  I still own the high schools’ web page.  

Rebecca, Kayla and Braden, me and Meena at Christmas

I have been what they call “lurking”, seeing what others were doing, responding to some questions or comments but generally not many. In fact, to the hundreds of “Notifications” I’ve received, I apologize for not responding but it’s been a rough couple of years.  Monica and I were together 47 years, not a number to take lightly.

Latest Great Grand-baby Darcy Bauernfeind

I’m on the road currently, driving back from my sister’s place in upstate New York, Sandy Creek.  I’m on the way back to Lebanon for a family photograph and dinner and the graduation of one of my grandchildren Dakota, some doctors appointments, then back on the road.  I’m heading out west to check off a bucket list item both Monica and I had on our list, the last two states in the US we’ve never visited, Washington and Oregon.  Then this December my sister Pat and I are off to see the Christmas Markets of Germany touring through Munich, Innsbruck, and the Black Forest.

Travel and touring are in my blood, so while I still have my health which is, as I approach my 73’d birthday, is still good, I might was well travel as often as possible.  See you on the road.

Birds, Dogs, and Cats in my 2016 Jayco Pinnacle 5th Wheel

Pockets of Love

I found a pocket of your jacket that had not been opened since, forever.  I had difficulty trying to unzip the pocket.  It was as if it was trying to hide from me, a secret it was keeping.  Perhaps a message, a special note, a tissue?  It was one of those very tiny zippers that I was always hesitant to pull too hard on because I’m afraid of breaking the cord.  This is your old grey lightweight jacket you liked.  I’m keeping it for you.  I finally got the pocket zipper to loosen and open.  In I thrust my hand and found yours waiting.  I snuggled into the fabric of the jacket and looking into your eyes kissed you like I’ve never kissed you before.  Then the tears started.  The hurt, the agony of your loss, the painful past year all came together to push me back into the room.  I was confused, angry, wanting more than ever to hold you again.  To smell the wonder in your hair, to see the future through your eyes, to live my life as you had always planned.  Now, I am truly a rudderless ship.  I quickly zippered your jacket pocket closed so you cannot escape me again.  It’s hanging where you left it. And I’m where you left me.

Newfoundland 2019

 

Our journey, Pat’s and mine, actually began many years ago when we promised our mother that we’d get to Newfoundland and visit her homeland.  While she always insisted she was Irish, research does show the immigration from Ireland but this was several generations before her parents’ generation.  So while her roots may have been Irish, she was defiantly a Noofie.  So I arraigned the trip to Newfoundland, got in contact with what relatives we still have here, and worked it out for the end of September, beginning of October time frame.  The flights here were miserable, the seats very uncomfortable, and the fact that we had to take three separate flights each requiring a jog through airports only added to the misery.

Finally here at midnight on Thursday, we soon gathered our luggage and trekked the length of two parking lots to retrieve our rental car in weather in the low 30s with a very brisk wind.  Our room at the Sheraton is very nice and the hotel itself is wonderful.  We got a late breakfast on Friday morning and headed out to pick up a few clothing items like warm hats and gloves, plus some snacks for the room.  We went to Signal Hill, our first really touristy thing, and explored again in a brisk wind but it had warmed up to the high 40s.

Unfortunately with matching hats and jackets, we did look like recent escapees from the nuthouse as Warren K had suggested but at least we were warm and cozy. After exploring the gift shops we headed to town and went into a pub for a quick bite.  The quick bite turned into a meal way too big for either of us and we were sharing the meals!

I have not had a beer in a few years but I had one here in the Pub called an Iceberg that’s made locally from iceberg water and before we left the place I was feeling it.  Anyway, we found out that pot was legal here so we went into the local shop and bought a few joints and some oils and like an idiot I decided to light one up.

Pretty much the rest of the afternoon and evening was a blur😛

On Saturday morning we had arranged to meet with the Newfoundland cousins.  They wanted to show us not only where they lived with respect to St John’s but also a few of their favorite parts of the coastline.

So we headed North of St Johns along the coast and stopped at Torbay, Flatrock, Pouch Cove, and Bauline before heading back to the city.  Not that any of this was any great distance, but before setting off we had to stop in the farmers market where Pat bought some trinkets and the cousins shopped for vegetables.

Each and every stop along the way was stunning. We could not get over how clean and crisp the air was, the water looked so beautiful yet dangerous, and the countryside beautiful.

Pouch Cove

On the way back Pat had a hankering for ice cream so we stopped at one of their favorite ice cream parlors and had ice cream — I had an expresso and we took this picture.

After this, we went back to our hotel with plans to meet for dinner at Theresa’s house (lady in the middle) and church.

We went to the Saturday afternoon Mass fearing we’d not have enough time on Sunday morning plus the Saturday Masses are often a bit shorter … usually.  Well, this day the bishop was in town having attended some sort of priest meeting so he did the Mass, then there was a pair of identical twin boys (James and Joseph if you must know) at three weeks old being baptized!

Add to this a birthday celebration for a 90 year old complete with singing happy birthday and the blessing of this year’s group of religious teachers added up to just over an hour and a half.  Mamma.

Ont the side of the church is a convent where the Presentation Sisters have lived since the construction of the church.  They are educators and work in the Catholic School also on the grounds of this church.  Hosted by these nuns is a most magnificent bust of the Virgin Mary made entirely out of marble, even the lace covering the “Veiled Virgin”.  I believe there are only two of these in the world, the other inside the Vatican.

We spent a lovely evening with the cousins having dinner at Theresa’s home and meeting the spouses of Theresa and Anne before returning to the hotel and sleep.

Sunday we took off for Western Bay, the ancestral home of our branch of the Fitzgerald family. We stopped and had a great lunch at The Stone Jug where interestingly Willie Nelson will appear in a few weeks.

The original house, barn, and root cellar are still there and waiting to meet us were some more relatives who in fact use the house during the summer (Tuesday July 12)

That’s Tony in the middle, the handsome feller on the end making moves on Pat (who for some reason has her purse with her) is Jimmy, and next to me is Tony’s sister Madonna.  Here’s a short video of Pat, Theresa, Anne, and Tony.

 

 

While we were viewing the house and visiting with relatives Mark and Gerry were off berry picking.  Now I don’t want to say they take berry picking seriously but —apparently, life is planned around opportunities to go out and pick the most delicious blueberries that populate the landscape all over this area.

Monday rolled along and Pat and I were picked up by Susan, the youngest sister of the cousins, around 11 and we were off to Cape Spear, the Easternmost point in North America.

We had another beautiful day and when we got to the point we were very glad for the sunshine and warm weather because it was windy!

Besides the waves in the background, you can tell by Pat’s hair and my 2 hairs that the wind she was a blowing!

It was a great tour of Cape Spear with all the information we could possibly need about the place from Susan who, besides being a local writer and soon to be published novelist, she is also a registered tour guide!

For example, this cannon below was placed here at Cape Spear to get the German U-boats.  They were hidden in the rocks while across the bay stood more cannons that were just there as a lure, they were fakes to allow the guns on the cape to have a better opportunity to shoot and destroy the submarines.  They supposedly had a range of 6 miles!

But the part that got me was the waves and the coastline, just gorgeous!

 

 

After our Cape Spear fun, we were off to Chafes Landing in a quaint fishing village for some Fish and Chips!

Chafes Landing was in this small village next to a quaint harbor hosting several fishing vessels.  While fishing is no longer the primary occupation of Newfoundland, there are many of the small villages that still rely on it for their livelihood.

We finally made it to see our Great Aunt Theresa who would have been our mother’s aunt (I think — I’m such a shmutz when it comes to who’s who in the relatives’ department) and time with her was wonderful!  She’s sharp as a tack!

We ended our stay in Newfoundland with a “Jiggs Dinner”.  It’s a family affair and we loved it!

 

As Pat and I were driving to the hotel after that dinner, I must say that usually leaving a place we’ve visited does not affect me in the way driving away this night did.  It was an emotional response, a physical hurt in the pit of my stomach and I know Pat felt the same way.  Strange, we had only just met these cousins but the way we were received and the amazing Newfoundland family made such a lasting impression that I don’t believe that one visit will ever be enough!

Apologies

It has been more than a year since I’ve posted anything, anywhere. I am certainly remiss in thanking everyone who came to my 70th birthday celebration a year ago because I had been occupied with my wife’s health issues for the past two years and anything other than tending to her needs just got sidelined. To all of you who paid your respects at Monica’s funeral, all the cards and letters, quite frankly for all that you have done for me and Monica I am truly humbled and I want to thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart.

We had been married for 47 years and I cannot explain to you how much my life has changed and how utterly and completely lost I now feel. I am truly waiting for it all to end so I no longer have to suffer the debilitating effects of this loss of my best friend. I find it almost impossible to just do some regular things like pay bills on time, call to schedule appointments, regular ordinary things leave me immobilized. Even writing this apology, you can witness from the paragraph below, my attempt at just saying something back in December.

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I’ve not posted to, read, forwarded anything on Facebook or Twitter since I turned 70 half a year ago. Part of this is certainly the illness that has taken over every part of Monica and my life, the illness that continues to beat her down with every passing day. I’m writing this in fact in the hospital room at Summit where Monica is currently occupying in the most recent bout with this illness. The “illness” is not exactly easy to define but I do know the primary cause of this issue and it is her Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus. To be honest I am not sure it is the diseases that have caused the illnesses she’s been suffering from these past months but rather the cure for the RA/Lupus combo that has placed her so precariously on the edge of life that is the culprit. Unfortunately, in the fight against these diseases medical pharmaceutical corporations have been the leading edge of research into the cure but in the meantime, the medicines available, every one of which Monica has had, seem to cause her more problems than help.

The life I now live and have been these past few months has me many times walking around in a fog. I ache in places that have never bothered me, my sleep is fretful, I often can’t seem to put a clear thought together and I’ve completely lost the days. I’m sure it is in part my advancing age but probably more so the worry about my life partner. There are few couples that have lived our kind of life. The sacrifices made all in service to our country and our state. The death of a son who’s life still touches ours daily. The financial losses from ever-changing assignments across the world and even as a servant of the state as a public school teacher, the costs incurred and not reimbursed. Monica always handled the money issues with aplomb. 

With four living children to assist me with the hospital stays and the in-home health care have certainly been a blessing but they have their lives too. I remember my sister Mary Ellen helping my parents all those years with me nowhere around and my older sister only in town about half the time and usually there around events surrounding her children and grandchildren the burden was immense. The guilt one feels never goes away and I’ve always been most grateful to both my sisters for everything they and their husbands did to help my parents pass.

This whole aging process is difficult enough without the added burden of illness especially one as crippling and painful as Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus. We all have Osteoarthritis, a natural process of the wearing down the joints, but Rheumatoid is a rare beast all its own causing the body to attack its’ own tissue.

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I am writing this from my sister Pat’s place in upstate NY where I can say that in the past week I have seen close to a grand total of six cars go down her street, witnessed the most beautiful deer in the back pasture, and have more than enjoyed my daily conversations with Monica. My sister Pat is currently on Long Island leaving me all alone with just my two dogs and the sounds the wind makes as it passes through a giant blue spruce right on my back window. I daily grapple with the one question that plagues me, “What’s the point?” With Monica, we always had a goal we shared, things to do or at least wish to do. There was daily interaction that has now all completely ceased: It is like I now live in a vacuum. Many of us I am sure have experienced this feeling but until you live it there is no way to explain the totality of the emotion.

While I hope to reengage again with life, in general, I just want you to know that we were very appreciative of all the love and support you showered on us during my 70th and of course everything you have done for me personally in the months since I lost Monica Lynne.

Jim

Birthdays

 

On the front page of today’s major newspaper here in Tennessee, The Tennessean, is a story about the remains of a WWII veteran being returned to Nashville and the National Cemetery after a 74 year wait. The news is covering the latest word war between arguably the most controversial president we’ve ever had a leaders of several countries with which we are either allies or friends.  Fellow military members are still immersed in an ongoing war in the Middle and Far East where there is neither a victory nor an end in sight.  In this same newspaper and on television the talk and dispute about statues of former confederate white men again heats up.

My dad entered WWII a young man along with his brothers and all of them returned deeply affected in ways I will never know; but I do know how I changed from my experience in the Vietnam War.  It’s so unfortunate that throughout my 69 years, human life on this planet has yet to find a lasting peace due mostly through diverging ideological  or religious beliefs.  The simple idea of living a full life inside one’s own borders is apparently something the leaders of the world cannot realize.

So we look for hope and victory with peace in our own families and in our own homes and that in itself is not often achievable.  While once a happy and vibrant family unit, my own children fight amongst themselves as adults because of petty issues.  Someday however, much like some nations come to realize, they will see the foolishness of their arguments and regret the loss of time as loving siblings they once were.

I have the same birthday wish I’ve had for as many years I can remember and that is for my own family to find a lasting peace with each other.  I know they individually love me and often tell me, but I miss them dearly as a unit.  I cannot put these words together without tears.  To reconcile and rekindle the love that they shared as a family unit when they were younger is my prayer.  Until families can learn to love one another, there is little hope for countries to achieve the same.

I have the love of my own siblings Pat and Mary Ellen to rely on and the anchor and love of my life Monica without whom I’m afraid I’d be lost.

Father’s Day

Every time Father’s day rolls around, I never think of myself as a father but rather always think about my own dad.  He passed away almost 17 years ago but I can still hear him when I’m talking to my kids and see him in the mirror as I shave.  A few years back I decided to grow a mustache an idea quickly voted down by my family as “creepy”.  My Dad’s mustache, obviously grown after the picture above, I believe he grew it originally to hide the scar that ran across his cheek, a souvenir from WW II.

He worked what seemed to me to be all the time.  I remember when the food stores he worked for,  A&P, changed their hours and days of operation to meet the competition on Long Island.  I can remember closing the store with him at night, being at his store early and receiving bread deliveries that to this very day I can smell the fresh bread and feel the warmth from the packaging.  When the A&P decided to extend its operating hours and amount of days open, my dad’s presence in my daily life became almost non-existent.  When I was up he was at work, weekdays and weekends.

I can remember many times him coming to my rescue in his Rambler station wagon as I trudged the streets of Mineola in the winter in the snow delivering the daily newspaper.  I’d pickup my papers every afternoon after school and despite the weather, we’d be out delivering the LI Press in rain, snow, sleet or hail.  Most of the main streets had been plowed and as a young teenager I was pretty good navigating my bike despite the giant basket filled with newspapers over the front fender on those icy roads, but the unplowed side streets were an issue.  My dad would often show up and we’d toss the bike in the open back of the station wagon along with the papers and he’d drive slowly with all the windows down and snow blowing into his car along the street while I’d run up to each door and place the paper inside the screen doors: there were no plastic bags for newspapers nor sidewalk boxes back then.

He was a good man an honest man.  He served his country, was wounded several times, and worked for more than 40 years in an organization that he believed would take care of him and his family because of his loyal service.  It does not matter what the company did what’s more important is his belief in what they should do.  How people should behave toward each other.  If you borrow something return it cleaner, better than when you received it — everything in its place. I believe that my values, this moral code that I live by, has been formed by my father by his actions and deeds.

So on this Father’s Day, a day that I rarely had the chance to spend with my father because I was stationed in another state or country, my wish especially for the new fathers out there like my son-in-law Shane my nephew Ryan, is that it’s a good time to look back on the examples set many years ago by hardworking men and women.  Pride in work, devotion to family, always always set the example.  The concept of selflessness,  remember you eat last – you serve everyone before yourself, and that in the end no matter what decision has been made you are responsible for that decision.  You have a leadership responsibility; accept that role and lead your family to greater things giving your children a better opportunity at life than you had and in doing so you will have succeeded in becoming a good dad maybe even a great one.

Happy Father’s Day Dad!

Mornings With Meena

Mornings with Meena

My life as a dad is  completely different from my life as a grandfather – Opa – to my grandchildren. I’ve been a dad several times and similarly an Opa and even a Great-Grandfather! What an honor! I have been blessed. But as a dad I had very different responsibilities. Today’s dads of course have things different than my dad had it and then myself and other boomer dads, but I saw being a dad as a responsibility for supervisory care, family directional leadership, manager of resources. In other words I was the father to my children but my most important mission was the direction and safety of the family I was entrusted with. Not to say I didn’t have my moments with my children as a loving and caring parent I did; but there was this element of supervision and leadership that always was at the back of my mind. I would venture a guess that most dads my age would agree that our relationship with our children was not as intimate as the relationship our wives have/had with the children.

Then Meena happened.

I have several grandchildren but I have not had the opportunity to spend as much time with them as I have Meena. A couple of the grandkids stayed for many months while Monica took care of them and our oldest daughter worked, but I was working too at the time and rarely saw them. Besides as the grandfather my role is usually that of the typical grandfather, holding the child for a short time while being supervised and laughed at and with, as my apparent ineptitude with small children is on display.

Meena gave me the opportunity to demonstrate my capacity to care for a small human and to relive the small opportunities of life with a baby that I’d experienced as a dad with my own children. And it all happened as a fluke.

 

As full-timers we spend all our time in our RV traveling or visiting our home-base in and around Nashville TN. Until a few months ago we would generally either stay at local state parks or a KOA in Nashville while in town. But we were able to add a 50amp connection for our camper next to Jessica and Shane’s house in Mt Juliet, the same type connection we added to my sister Pat’s place in upstate NY, so we could connect and stay right next to their homes. On our last trip earlier this year we were out west for a few months and needed some repairs done to the RV. We took it in and a series of problems occurred at the dealership causing us to stay with Jessica, Shane, and Meena for more than three weeks while our RV was in for repairs.

I’m and early riser. Meena is as well. I like to have a cup of coffee and watch the morning news as I check my email, read the NY Times, and generally enjoy the peace that the early morning brings. Meena sleeps in a rocker like gizmo for babies and as I sat on the couch in their living room the first few mornings I let Shane or Jessica care for Meena when she awoke. But after a few days I walked over to where she was sleeping and watched in awe as her small clear blue eyes soaked into my soul. I was entranced as I watched and she cooed and “talked” to me so I started getting her out of bed each day.

 

I’d change her nighttime diaper and get her out of this amazing sleep suit they call a “fat suit” that cocoons her in softness and warmth. Her slow morning movements matched my early morning speed perfectly and I’d hold her to my chest and talk to her about the new day. She of course, would wisper talk and tell me about her night and her hopes and dreams and her plans for the day as well, along with glomming my reading glasses and hamming it up for the camera on my cell phone.

Sometimes I’d lay next to her on the couch and allow her to explore what hair I have left on my head, and pull and tug at my face as her brain processed all the information storing it in places she will soon forget. I do the same as I soak in her beauty and store it in places I will never forget.

Sometimes I’d break out the cornucopia bowl of baby toys and watch her dig through them, every time discovering a new toy or sound and watching her light up with delight. But every time I’d sit and hold her, I’d find myself reliving the same feelings of pure love I had when my children we young.

One morning I took her outside to sit in the grass, listen to the wind, feel the sun. I had forgotten a baby’s need for visual stimulus, their brains growing so fast as mine slowly goes away. With those soft perfect fingers she would ever so delicately pick at a single blade of grass. In wonder she would let the grass slip between her fingers always studying it with an intense focus. She would push those strong legs into the dirt and rest herself against me, a reassuring feeling for her and a warm peaceful feeling for me. The wind would stir the new leaves in the trees that surrounded us and she would look at them with eyes so bright and would smile at the simple pleasure it gave her.

I’m sure all of my grandchildren are as wonderful as Meena, but she’s the one I have had this chance to experience this new life and growth with as never before. Many years ago on a very cold day in Missouri while camping with our son James, he could not have been 6 months old, the night got very cold and Monica and I cocooned him with our bodies to keep him warm. He spent most of the night in a deep sleep and in the morning we awoke to his soft sounds of a baby warm as toast, all wrapped up and protected by his parents, gazing out through the door of our small tent at the trees swaying in the wind. It was a wonderful feeling, as wonderful as my mornings have been with Meena. These mornings have allowed me to feel and experience some of the emotions that I know mothers must feel with their children. That maternal visceral feeling of a love that is almost tangible.

I know I can’t ask for more time or longer mornings just as I know that her wish is to grow as fast as she can so she can play and do things that big girls do; but I don’t want her to. In a very selfish way I’d like to spend the rest of my mornings in the sun and under the trees with Meena. She feels more like a daughter to me than a granddaughter, although both are more precious than anything on earth.

I love you Meena. Opa

Promises

I watch as we all do, the infinite amount of promises advertised on television. Medicine guaranteeing to improve your life completely. Diets that run the gamut of eating everything to almost nothing. New cooking items that will make your life easier. Cleaners that will remove any stain. Cars that will transform your life into a more virile man or beautiful woman. The problem with all of these of course is that there’s little recourse to the consumer when, after making the purchase, problems arise with the item.

Take a new car for example. There’s a marked difference between all the attention you receive during the initial purchase of a vehicle and when something is wrong with the vehicle. You go from stardom to just another clog in the wheel. Worse is when the problem is a recurring item that the dealership is unable to repair.

We purchased a new Jayco Pinnacle just a year ago and so far we are out about 20 days of use of the 5th wheel due to a combination of factory installed issues and dealership inability to repair an item. For instance, there are usually two to three slides on these RVs and for the most part with proper maintenance, they last a long time. We however, started out with problems. The main slide would not retract or extend without several stops. The dealership, Dunlap RV, told us it was the circuit breaker resetting each time. OK, so how do you fix it? That was the first reason for them to keep it several days while they cut through the bottom of the RV, worked the wiring, adjusted the slide several times, reset circuit breakers, etc., all in an effort to uncover the “why” it was happening. Giving up, having reached the limit of their expertise, I was referred to the factory. To make a longer story shorter, twice we’ve been to the factory to find out they could not get to the repair “that week” (what do you think I’m in Indiana every month)? And this last time after numerous emails and calls back and forth were told they would definitely repair it in March. They never called me back.

Now I understand the brand they sold to us, Jayco, had been in business “forever” was “family owned” that they “they really care”; that company was sold about two months after we purchased our RV. Now, they are part of an even bigger RV empire of Thor RV products. Fine. I’ve still a warranty; I’m still a customer. Well, this is where things start to slow down no matter if it’s your bricks and sticks mansion on the hill with a leaky faucet or the Fiat you purchased last week, the longer the problem takes to diagnose and repair the less likely it will ever be fixed. You start getting sideways glances from other dealership employees. People talk in hushed tones around you. The order for your parts takes longer or it’s no longer available. The service department parts girl goes on maternity leave, come back when the kid graduates.

I was at a Ford dealer in Louisiana not too long ago and in the service waiting area was a young family that had purchased a new vehicle just weeks before and they stated they’ve spent more time in the waiting room than driving the car. They felt ignored despite the service department manager keeping them updated, it never seemed like their repair was getting priority. They discovered through a friend of theirs who worked there, that the setup, cleanup, and delivery of new vehicles was the number one priority and often times people working on other vehicles were taken from those jobs to insure the new product was delivered on time. It’s just business.

We changed from a motorized large RV called a Class A to this 5th wheel last year, simply for the room. The difference is remarkable and the creature comforts are excellent. This is not an indictment on RVs at all, because there does not seem to be an industry out there where taking care of the customer is truly a core concern of most large businesses. Don’t even start me on cell phone companies. Now many people knock Camping World and it is the big box store of RVs granted. My experience with them however has been better than most I’d say, perhaps because I never went in there expecting to be treated like the king, I just wanted quality work completed for a fair price in a reasonable amount of time. And for the most part, that’s what I’ve received.

It’s different when you purchase new and buy into the hype about how great their business is and they’ll always stand behind what they sell: well maybe they do but they failed to say how far behind they stand. So today is day 7 without the camper this time. It seems Lippert systems, the manufacturer of the leveling system, the axles, the slides, did not have a leveling jack in stock. According to the parts department at Dunlap RV, nobody anywhere had one in stock. Do I believe them? To be honest I don’t anymore. I don’t believe them because the caring the pride the concern for the consumer, is just not there anymore. I’m sure there are plenty of caring service technicians and parts people out there who care but are hamstrung by the system they work for.

I just hope that when the part is finally available, installation will follow in a timely manner. But I’ll not hold my breath.