Symbols for Sale.

For those of you who know me well, once upon a time I drove a monster truck. And had a kick-ass camper that slid into the back of said truck, making me look part gypsy, part very cool world-traveller (and some might say, uh, part red-neck). But I scoff at these naysayers. Scoff, I tell you. The camper was cool. Ask Michele. Ask her where she was when it was pouring down rain and the winds were blowing and the nights were long and cold, and, ummm, Fort Stevens had deer running through tents. On second thought, given that Michele was in a tent and I was nice and warm and dry, maybe we'd best NOT ask her. 'Kay? She might get cranky.

Suffice to say, I loved my camper.

And this week, I realized that the camper was also, on some weird pop-psychology level, a symbol. The camper allowed me to believe, however convolutedly, that I could pick up and go, turtle-like, with everything I need, right there on my back - well, the truck's back...okay okay, the truck's bed, factoring in $3.00 plus per gallon for diesel, it would be moderately more expensive than your average turtle, but I digress. The camper and I went to some marvelous places, saw some marvelous things and it played a part in some great memories. We have, history, you know?

Given that the camper also spent some time in my parents' garage, I believe it symbolized something for them, too. Perhaps - though I'm no psychologist - the fact that their children will never stop using their home as a storage unit.

And there's where the crux of the matter lies. The camper has been living in my garage now for a year (yes, getting it from my parents' home to our house was an adventure unto itself - a story for another time), and as my garage also happens to be, umm "co-owned", shall we say, by my lovely husband, it was beginning to pose a bit of a problem. It turns out that said husband did not see the beauty of the camper, did not see the limitless (ok, limited by how much diesel one could afford) possibilities inherent in said camper. The freedom, the adventure, the get-up-and-just-go. No, my husband saw only that the camper TOOK UP SPACE.
Space that he would rather have used for something wildly esoteric, like, say, a car.
Hrmph.
After a year of wearing me down with subtle suggestion, like, "Gee, if I had space in the garage, I could build you that new bed you saw in the Pottery Barn catalog" and other helpful notions, it dawned on me that some day soon, the camper and I would have to part ways. Sentimental attachments aside, I was beginning to have a hard time visualizing where my three toddlers would sleep in the camper, given that there is really only one - very small but comfortable - bed. Even if the three babies and I were to sleep in the one - very small but comfortable - bed, where would dear husband sleep? Hmmmm. And the refrigerator in the camper? Very Very Small. Great for holding the necessities of life for one (cream for my coffee, butter, and umm, a few goodies from Trader Joes), it was far too small to accommodate a monster jar of formula, baby yogurts, toddler string cheese and the myriad other weird foods demanded by my offspring. Reality was knocking. I was trying hard not to answer...

So the camper went on Craigslist.
For Sale. To the highest bidder.

And yesterday, the camper became the property of a cute boy graduating this fall from university, who will be celebrating said graduation by driving/camping across the country and down to Baja.

So the camper? Still a symbol. But sadly, no longer in my garage.