live. work. dream.

It’s time for the annual NuRVers Gathering of Friends!

NuRVers is a group of young, non-retired RVers living the dream life now, instead of waiting for a someday that may never happen. We come from a variety of backgrounds but all share one thing in common; the desire to live an adventurous life on the open road.

Come join us in Gonzales, Texas in April for good times and great people! Last year’s inaugural  gathering was a blast, we know this year’s will be even better.

Space is limited. Sign up today!

The cold desert winds here at Anza Borrego Park in Southern California are making us stir crazy and insane, but we’re sticking around until our mail arrives by general delivery at the post office.

We also want to visit the Borrego Springs Friday Farmer’s Market one more time.

The local farmers have the most luscious selection of produce, including this weird, local Cherimoya fruit that I’ve never seen before (which is odd because I’m a SoCal native!). I think I’ll crack open my wallet and try it. It must be good if it’s that spendy, right? 

I also want to stock up on the local Fuerte avocados. They only appear in wintertime, and you can’t get them anywhere else because they don’t ship well. You’ve never had a great avocado until you’ve had a Fuerte.

If there’s one thing I miss about SoCal besides my family, it’s the buttery, yummy flavor of the Fuerte. My parents have a tree in their L.A. yard that blossoms during wintertime. Growing up, I had enough guacamole to bathe in.

Jim, meanwhile, is having fantasies about the locally grown tri-tip he saw last week. Maybe he can share it with Wyatt. Anyone else care to indulge in carnivore ecstasy, feel free to stop by.

We’ve been in Southern California longer than we anticipated, but even I, a recovering Angeleno, will admit that the  south end of the state has great winter weather and the best produce in America.

Borrego Springs is a funky, neat little town. I told Jim that maybe we should consider buying a cheap piece of land here to winter in. But then he reminded me; this is California. Nothing’s cheap. And with Moonbeam running for governor, the State’s really in trouble now! We’d better get out soon before we get taxed for breathing.

Slab City: love it or hate it.

Lovers are tolerant individuals who respect the many different lifestyle choices here. Haters just can’t seem to turn away from the trash heaps and shiftless drifters, and usually depart within 24 hours.

One might assume that Slab City Lovers are younger folks on the fringes of society, but as our neighbor Bernie demonstrates, that just ain’t so.

Bernie and his wife are snowbirds, spending summers in Washington and winters here at the Slabs.

He built this RV himself, handles all of his own rig maintenance, and is building a new cottage by hand back in Washington. A former HVAC repair man, he spends his afternoons lounging and riding his ATV around the desert. He and his wife have been vegan for the last 40 years.

Bernie is 80 years old. His wife is 75. They’re just one example of the many reasons why we love staying at kooky places like Slab City.

Because you just never know who’s going to rock your world here, like Don the musician.

Jim likes to tell people “Stop shoulding all over yourself!” Shouldding is unproductive and creates misery. Shouldding keeps you from doing what you really want to do.

It’s not easy to eliminate it from your vocabulary. We’re conditioned to take on obligations that “should” lead to happiness (I should go to school. . . should make lots of money. . . should start a family. . . should buy a house). Meanwhile, all this shouldding all over ourselves creates huge demands on our time, and brings our youthful dreams to a screeching halt. Then one day we wake up and realize we are trapped in the “Someday Syndrome.”

We can all use some help finding our way back to our dreams, and Alex Fayle’s new book, “Someday I’ll Get Around To It” is the perfect place to start.

Alex is a “Someday-busting Coach.” He helps people dust off their dreams, sort them out, and create a plan for obtaining the life they really want. His new e-book, “Someday I’ll Get Around To It” shares his strategies for someday-busting.

In this 100-page workbook style format, we learn how to make conscious choices to create happier lives that more closely reflect our dreams. Alex walks us through ways to overcome inertia and understand our limitations and obstacles. We learn how letting go of control will free up time and enable us to achieve our goals. And finally, his useful worksheets in the back of the book will help us draft simple, doable plans to help achieve our dreams in step-by-step increments.

Life is short. Live your dreams. And remember, you can’t justify putting your dreams on hold, by listing all of your obligations.

Because like Alex says, “In not pursuing your dreams, recognize that you are choosing not to pursue your dreams.”

If you are at all doubtful that Alex can help, just read about his life here. You can also read his interview with Jim and I.

Don’t wait for Someday.

Sell your crap. Pay off your debt. Do what you love.

Angelenos are getting all worked up over the rain that’s been falling on Southern California. Yesterday, a tornado warning was announced, and minutes later a small “tornadic-like” formation touched down and blew over a car. The hills are sliding and freeways are a mess. Parents are keeping their kids home from school.

Even though this kind of weather action is mild in comparison to our old stomping grounds of rainy, wet Humboldt County, we’re still glad to be staying in a stick house while riding this episode out.

The Los Angeles area hasn’t seen rain since Christmas. I was hoping we wouldn’t see any bad weather this winter, but it is January after all. When the rain started falling, I had to dig our rain jackets out of storage in the RV. Even funnel clouds and heavy rain won’t stop us from going outside every day. That’s because Wyatt Ray just won’t cut us any slack. If our one year-old puppy doesn’t get three walks a day, he will eat the furniture. Morning, noon and night, he begs to go outside for a walk, and we comply. Dogs are great at getting you to break away from work and into the great outdoors.

One morning, as Wyatt led me on a walk during a heavy downpour, my soaking wet clothes were an unpleasant reminder that the Gore-tex water-resistance on my gear is fading away.

Gear lust started whispering in my ear again; I want . . . I want . . . I want. . .

Time to start looking for something else, like maybe a new Berghaus jacket?

Since childhood I have always had a taste for the finer things in life. I remember being about 11 years old when my parents would take us out for dinner at a favorite Italian restaurant, I would order the prawn scampi. Fresh lobster is another all time favorite. I will never forget my mother telling me, on many more than one occasion, that I have Champagne tastes on a beer budget.

Believe me, I still yearn for the taste of those finer things. But my budget is more suited for sparkling water now, and I do not mean Perrier either. After stretching our one-year roadtrip budget to last nearly three years, and making frequent reality checks on the savings we are still spending, I have become quite good at letting those tastes linger on my palate praetendere.

In years past we have enjoyed Moët & Chandon on New Year’s eve, though Cristal was my favorite. But in past years, we used to actually make money too! This year, it was Trader Joe’s finest. And that’s OK. Long ago, I came to terms with getting what you pay for, and paying for what you get. Yes, those finer things in life taste good, but they never last long enough. There was even a time when spending over $100 on a bottle of bubbly made me feel good, but that was when we could afford such things. Now I know what matters most is the memories.

Friendship, good health and good times. Happiness, well being, comfort and prosperity.

These are the things we toasted to ring in the new year with our good friends Martha and Ralph and the Oaktown pack. And these things are what we wish upon all our friends and family. Keeping in mind, that is, to prosper need not necessarily require being wealthy.

I for one, will take my debt-free lifestyle with a sip of California sparkling wine over an upside down mortgage and French Champagne any day. Cheers!

Jim and I have soft spots in our hearts for rescued animals. At one time we thought that our next business endeavor would be starting up a home for old dogs. We said we would call it “Jerry’s Kids.”

But in November 2007, we got a good dose of reality during our volunteer stint at Safe Harbor Animal Rescue in Maysville, North Carolina. Working there opened our eyes to the grueling work involved in running an animal sanctuary, and we quickly came to the conclusion that we just aren’t cut from the same cloth as those who give up their lives for animal rescue advocacy.

Last fall while we were still in Fort Collins, we stopped at Petco and met up with Karen Straight, executive director of Kindness Ranch, a rescue home for former lab research animals. I learned about them through my friend Lilla, who volunteered at their ranch in Hartville, Wyoming last year.

Kindness Ranch takes in animals who are released from research labs where they were subjected to product testing. Karen finds loving homes for those who are adoptable and ready for their first real homes. And for animals who are too challenging to adopt out because of issues resulting from their cruel imprisonment, Kindness Ranch is a sanctuary, and their last chance for happiness.

Karen was at Petco with a few dogs who are ready for homes, including Jack, pictured above.

Please help Kindness Ranch any way you can. This is a great organization with a heart of gold, and they need all of the assistance they can get for the animals.

Our rig has been parked on the streets of L.A. for the last few weeks, while we catch up on the chisme with family and friends. Life here is as hectic and noisy as it gets, and every day Jim and I are reminded of why we chose to leave urban living behind.

We started 2009 with one goal; find Jerry’s Acres. Seven months into it, we did. Our Colorado retreat now sits underneath several feet of snow, waiting for our return.

With that behind us, we’re getting the other big part of our life in order, namely, making a real income again.

Our defnition of “real income” is different from most people’s. While we would love to be able to spend money on the finer things in life (like picking up a $20 bottle of wine instead of our old standard, Two Buck Chuck), we also aren’t willing to surrender our freedom in order to do so. My very short gig at Satan’s Castle was a good reminder about that.

People wonder, what do we do. How do we make any money? Well, we don’t do any one particular thing anymore. We don’t want to have one business again. And we don’t want to rely on one job to bring in money. We believe that putting all of your eggs in one basket is risky business, much moreso than varying your skills and finding multiple ways to generate income.

For us now, tiny bits of money trickle in from various web-based outlets that utilize our technical, design and writing skills. In 2010, we’ll work on building up our income revenue streams in these areas.

The money is iffy, the hours are long and uncertainty always looms over our heads, but we are much happier than we ever were in our previous lives. While we are still officially in the red and dipping into savings, I know that 2010 will be the year we are back in black, finally. It would be great if we could actually contribute to our retirement accounts once more. When that happens, I’ll know that we’ve truly been successful these last two and a half years.

On that note, I’ll say “Adios!” to 2009, and give 2010 a great big welcome. May this year bring the prosperity, joy and peace that we all need more of in our lives.

And many thanks to all of you for being a part of our world. Life would be pretty boring without you!

It wasn’t the work that did me in. It was the fact that I cannot be part of an organization that does not value the Individual.

From high school to my first office job at an insurance company, large impersonal institutions and I just never got along. Had I remembered this before I decided to work at Satan’s Castle, I could have spared myself some grief (and been in a warmer climate by now).

Last week we were supposed to start 12 hour shifts, but instead, almost every day, we got sent home after just a few hours of work. “The volume isn’t there,” said the outbound shipping department manager. Soon it became clear that the long hours and overtime Satan used as bait wasn’t going to materialize. His cheerleaders have been hitting the airwaves on NPR and CNBC, yet things have been very, very slow for us here at the Nevada warehouse.

With each shift cut short, I wondered if I was going to be able to cover the cost of December’s rent at the RV park. My patience was wearing thin.

Even more frustrating was that I just learned via Workamper that the lower-paid cogs in Kansas are getting more hours than we are. My theory is that Satan is cutting costs by shifting the bulk of the work to locations that pay less.

The Final Ingredients

Sunday morning, one of Satan’s minions walked up to me with a clipboard in hand. She was one of the nicer ones, who actually tried to remember workers’ names. The first thing she said when she saw me was “Rene, you’re going to hate me.”

She put her clipboard on my workstation, and showed me a warning notice that said I wasn’t “making the numbers,” one week into another outbound shipping job I was put on. The warning was based on the volume I processed, just two days into the new job.

I was stunned, because the Agency’s rules state that we have four weeks to get numbers up to that level. Yeah, I knew I was slow during my first few days, but for the last three days, I had consistently “made the numbers.” I couldn’t understand why I was getting a warning based on week-old volume.

The notice stated it was a “Final Warning,” but this was technically my second, because I had been kicked out of my first job for not being a “team player.” Every employee is supposed to receive three warnings before getting fired.

As a final insult, my name was misspelled on the warning.

Satan’s Minion was asking for my signature to acknowledge the warning. But I didn’t, and instead I said to her “They’re full of crap. This is only my second warning, and I was told I have four weeks to get to that production level. Why aren’t they following their own rules?”

The Minion got a distressed look on her face, and then out of nowhere, she started crying.

“I’m so sorry Rene! I hate this job! This is all I do all day long, and I only get fifty cents an hour more than you do! Yesterday I had to fire a 70 year old lady with Parkinson’s because she couldn’t make the numbers. They’re having me fire people after just a few days into training. This place is horrible! I just put in my two week notice because I can’t take it anymore!”

She stood there crying, while I looked on, stunned. She was very pregnant, and said she really needed the money, but she just couldn’t work for a place that treated people like crap.

I felt badly for her, but I was going to stand my ground.

I refused to sign it. I told her “I’m sorry, but I want them to tell me why this is a ‘Final Warning,’ and why I’m being expected to meet Week Four quotas. They’re ignoring their own rules. I won’t sign it, I can’t.”

She agreed it was wrong, and she said she would look into it, but couldn’t promise anything. Then she left, and five minutes later, another minion came by to announce that we all had to go home, two hours into our shift. There wasn’t enough work. “Come back tomorrow,” she yelled to us.

What’s It Worth?

As I clocked out and walked through the metal detector exit, my head was spinning. Could I stand working there for just four more weeks? Could I live with the uncertainty of the hours I was getting, or of being fired any minute without just cause? What if all this agony doesn’t even cover the $400 in rent I had just paid for December?

On my way home, I remembered that the RV park owner had said that if things didn’t work out during the first four days of the month, she would refund the rent and charge me a daily rate. That’s when I knew what I had to do.

I pulled into the park and stopped at the office. I asked the manager if I could take her up on that offer. Thankfully, she did.

I went to the rig, and told Jim what happened.

I won’t work for a company that relies on fear tactics and bullying. Maybe some people can tolerate that kind of environment, but I won’t. I have my self-respect, and cash-crunch or not, know I am worthy of better treatment. Life is too short.

Then I picked up the phone, and made my stand. I called Satan’s Agency to tell them I quit.

Jim is thrilled, and now I feel like a huge anvil has been lifted off my head.

Looking back, I realize that I took this job because I was letting fear rule my life. Almost three years into our sabbatical, our dwindling savings account is telling me that we have to get serious about making money. But instead of buckling down and earnestly working to make our new business venture happen, I opted for what I thought was the quick and easy way out; the false sense of security one gets with a paycheck. What a sham.

Instead of following our dream, I took the paved road to hell, and paid dearly for it.

I’m proud of my little warehouse worker. Just yesterday she vowed not to let it get to her, that she would just do her job the best she could and punch her clock like a good worker bee would.

This morning she apparently stood her ground and told them something completely different, and was then sent home early yet again. We got to walk Wyatt together, and now she’s taking a much deserved nap. It’s good to have Margie home again, but I’ll let her tell the rest of the story.

It sure would be nice to know what happened to all those lucrative overtime hours we heard about though. But then again, I also heard that consumer sales for this Black Friday weekend were up a whopping 0.5% from last year too.