Daisy pulled into\nthe park, easing under a towering rainbow-colored arch wrapped in\nChristmas lights, just as rain subsided. The gray everywhere was\nturning black. She saw a blinking red OPEN sign in a window of what\nappeared to be an office. The office window was framed by candle\nlights with flickering orange flames. The building housing the office\nwas covered in white lights twinkling with machine gun speed. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How did one check\ninto an RV park? Particularly one decorated for Christmas. Well, you\njust walk right up!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As Daisy inched the\nVolvo to the office, she noticed a row of RVs lined up on either side\nof the gravel driveway. They were older models, decades older, a bit\nweary-looking. She read their odd names. She’d never read RV names\nbefore. Who does? (Perhaps we should. There might be something in\ntheir oddity that explains the current malaise gripping much of our\nnation.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Spirit of America<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Nomad<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Adventurer<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Ambassador<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Flair<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Pioneer<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Escape<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Reflection<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Bounder<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Freedom<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Rambler<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brave<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Searcher<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Swinger<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Observer<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Seeker<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Endeavor<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What were these names trying to\nsuggest? Inspire? Aspirations? Lies? Blatant contradictions in\ncontemporary American life? Isn’t every American a walking,\nsleep-walking contradiction between the ideals of America’s\nfoundation and the reality of American reality? <\/em>\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Daisy noticed a few\nof the rigs sported holiday lighting. There was even one gigantic\ndisplay that featured a classic life-size plastic Santa in sleigh\npulled by four life-size plastic reindeer, Daisy smiled when she saw\nit. How refreshing to see something old school and not those cheap\ninflatable monstrosities that invariably deflate, and deflate as well\nthe Christmas spirit of everyone who saw them dead yet writhing on\nthe lawn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Never, ever,\nunderestimate the saving power of an outdoor holiday lighting display\non a beleaguered, suffering soul. One glowing angel in an upstairs\nwindow might prevent a hanging in the basement or taking a dump under\nthe Christmas tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She parked the\nVolvo near a small cinderblock building with a sign that read Laundry\nRoom and Lending Library. <\/em>At least 50 crab floats hung from its\nfacade and front gutter. Each float was wrapped in blue and red\nlights. Two demonic elves twisted themselves around the downspout. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Daisy got out of\nthe car and walked to the office door. She knocked in the center of a\nlacquered pine cone and sea shell wreath and went inside. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n An elderly\nbespectacled man stood behind the counter. Overhead, a black and\nwhite version of A Christmas Carol <\/em>played silently on\ntelevision. The man introduced himself as Bruce and asked how he\ncould help. In due course, Daisy plucked down $20 for one night, got\nthe lowdown on park facilities, a candy cane, the Wi-fi password, and\nwhere to drive to the tent camping area. Bruce told her the store\nclosed in 20 minutes if she needed anything. Daisy thanked him, used\nthe restroom, and then got in the Volvo. She sat there for a moment\nto collect her thoughts. She checked her phone but there was zero\nreception. She put in the password to connect to the larger world.\nShe connected and scanned various communication channels and\nabsolutely none of it mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The tent camping\narea was in a separate, wooded part of the park. Surrounding it were\nabout a dozen or so RVs slightly more disheveled than the ones Daisy\nseen upon her arrival. Daisy parked in the grass, exited the car, and\nhustled to the store. There, she bought a bottle of Chianti and a can\nof spaghetti and meatballs, As she was leaving the store, she saw a\nflier advertising a locally-produced podcast called Secret Coast\nRadio<\/em>. She made note of it. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ten minutes later,\nDaisy had rigged up the Volvo as a crash pad, snuggled herself inside\nthe sleeping bag, cracked open the spaghetti, guzzled wine from the\nbottle, lit a cigarette, and tuned into the latest episode of the\npodcast. It was a special holiday show. She heard a story set to\nfreaky instrumental music about a Scrooge chipmunk eating magic\nmushrooms and changing his miserly ways, She heard poems about the\nhomeless, beavers and whales. She heard another tale about a kid who\nstole a dog chained to a pole on Christmas Eve. She listened to an\ninstructional on how to build a driftwood fort Christmas tree. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n What is this\nplace?<\/em> thought Daisy. What am I doing here? What am I going to\ndo tomorrow? <\/em>\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n She fell asleep\naround midnight and dreamed of the snowy egret flying above a river. \n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Daisy pulled into the park, easing under a towering rainbow-colored arch wrapped in Christmas lights, just as rain subsided. The gray everywhere was turning black. She saw a blinking red OPEN sign in a window of what appeared to be an office. The office window was framed by candle lights with flickering orange flames. 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