March 14 - Tuesday
I ended up camping, anyway. We slept in the van. It was way better than sleeping in a tent, but still not as good as a bed.
The best thing about camping is that it makes you appreciate your house more. The second best thing is that you can look at cool gift shops and junk yards on the way over and fantasize about going to them instead of to the boat ramp. The third best thing is that you get a chance to read. The fourth best thing is that you get to eat junk food from Diamond Shamrock. That's camping in a nutshell, to me.
On the way home we got a tiny bit lost and drove around for a bit in a neighborhood called Paradise Point. It was the most fabulous neighborhood I've ever seen. Most of the houses were from the '50s. I saw at least three mint-green ones, and a couple of white ones with teal trim. The few other houses were tiny shacks or two-story retirement dream homes made of what looked like wood panelling. It was a weekday, and yet many of the inhabitants of Paradise Point were out working in their yards. They all had lush grass, huge oleanders, tons of wisteria, and various fruit trees in bloom, because they lived near the river, I guess, and not on a dry mound of limestone like us. I guess everyone there was retired. They waved to us as we drove by once, twice, and then a third time. They seemed very friendly... or at least polite.
I set down my copy of Jane Eyre (which is a bit better this time, now that I'm older and have read more trashy romances,) and gawked out the window at everything. I exclaimed over every little thing. Paul was intent on trying to remember landmarks and street names. I didn't mind being lost because this was the best part of the trip so far.
I asked Paul how much he thought the houses costed. He hazarded a guess. I said that we should sell our trailer and our land and buy a house in Paradise Point. At first he thought I was kidding. "I know why I'd wanna live here, but why would you wanna live here?" he asked. I reminded him that it was my long-time fantasy to live in a little green '50s house with a patio and green grass near some water where we could swim and boat, with a bunch of cool old people for neighbors. Paul continued to act like he didn't know what I was talking about. He couldn't understand why I was joking at those old people's expense. I became indignant. Didn't he remember that time on the boat last year, when we rode down Town Lake past all the mansions, and I pointed out a tiny green lake house and told him I'd rather live there than in the huge pink house with the rose garden? And I told him how I'd have parties on the deck for my friends and I'd wear a pink and green sundress and serve cocktail weenies in puff pastry? And I told him about the shabby chic furniture I'd buy, and the mellow CDs, and the tiny green swimming pool with leaves floating on top? And I'd have a little dog, maybe. And our boat dock would be shaded by trellises with big monster trumpet vines so that no one could see us sitting on our rusty lawn chairs drinking our lemonade unless they were passing quickly in their boat. And we'd leave our shoes on the screened porch all the time so everything would stay clean inside, and the sheets would be soft white muslin with cross-stitched flower baskets and ladies with umbrellas. Our elderly neighbors would come over and we'd have coffee at the wrought-iron table near the birdbath, and we'd complain about all the new people and the summer people and the squirrels eating our bulbs and everything else. Our children would become tanned and serene. We would become tender and serene. No one would guess that we were just as fabulously wealthy as the people in the pink mansion, because we'd be satisfied with what we had.
Later I remembered that I'd never told Paul any of that stuff. I'd just thought it, right before I fell asleep in the cabin, rocked to sleep by the wakes of all the other boats on the lake that day.
Paul said that we couldn't sell our trailer or land until we'd finished paying for them. Then he said he wanted to move to Colorado.
I told him to shut the fuck up. We argued lazily for a while, and then the road got boring so I leaned back my seat and went back to my book.