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When we were little children, an event took place that was monumental in our development. Paula was alone one day, inspecting the old ceramic figure brought from Germany that our great grandfather used to keep cigars in. This was in a forbidden area for children: the living room glass display case with other valuable mementos. She was fascinated with the details of the robust woman’s figure and the period garb that lifted to reveal the contents. I saw my sister in passing. Although I knew that wasn’t a good idea, I was just as curious about what she had found. John came bounding along and recognized the breach.  

“Put that back!” he attempted control. 

“No,” Paula chimed, “You can’t make me.” 

He became bossy and told her to put it back, “I’m gonna tell.” 

This only promoted resistance to his demands. When he reached for the container, Paula drew back and it fell, breaking into a thousand pieces.     

  When mother discovered the three of us and the broken heirloom, we were sent to our rooms, to await the wrath of dad when he got home. The task of doling out discipline with a spanking was his to deliver. 

When dad got home and learned that we had broken this valuable item, he headed up to our rooms where we waited. After climbing the stairs, he reprimanded my older brother first. I heard screaming and crying as his bare bottom was spanked. I was terrified at what was coming. My dad came into my room and even before it was my turn, I screamed and yelled in terror. Then I cried as my backside received punishment.  

When it became Paula’s turn, not a peep was heard. She received the same punishment but didn’t react. I learned later, as an act of defiance, she made the decision to not to feel anything. She felt that the punishment was not deserved because she blamed our brother for the breakage. From that point on, I saw my sister go through life cautious about others and her feelings. She was always reluctant, avoiding any emotional extreme, whether it be happiness or refusing to cry when sad. She essentially maintained a flat line emotionally, for the rest of her life. 

I grew and excelled on my tricycle. John’s handicap pronounced his awkward nature. As the other kids noticed his clumsy efforts, they teased him mercilessly. This was my first exposure to ridicule in the outside world. I became cautious around the other kids in the neighborhood. They were cruel. 

That didn’t change the desire in John’s heart to attempt join in on the play he saw. Perhaps the missing social cog in his brain was a blessing. Instead of being affected by the mob mentality of the kids on our block, he seemed to remain in his own little world. 

As I grew, I graduated to a bicycle. I developed a fearless nature on two wheels and explored our neighborhood. John still rode his tricycle. You could see he still wanted to take part in the fun he saw taking place around him.  

In an effort to speed things up, he stood on the platform between the rear wheels of his tricycle and pushed with one foot. That way he could keep up with the gaggle. But what about when he needed to stop. He had no brakes. John figured out that by dragging one foot, toe down, against the sidewalk, he could slow himself down. The system worked fine until the leather of his shoe wore through and his toes were exposed. As he continued with this system, he had to curl his toes up more and more inside what was left of his shoe. When dad got home and saw the front of one of his shoes worn off, he exploded.  

Such was life with John. Observing what we considered to be his uncoordinated, awkward and less than brilliant mishaps, I unconsciously joined the others in criticizing my older brother. Yet, in spite of the growing separation of the fabric of our family, John developed an uncanny intellect. He began to compose rebuttal to all of our taunting.  

John’s response to the teasing fueled rage and transformed into hatred. As his brother, just trying to find my way, I observed these senseless, ugly social interactions. Virtually overnight all the people on the planet appeared to me to be cruel and that prompted my decision; I will be better off alone. I became determined to figure out how to do everything by myself. This decision set the stage for my reclusive, driven desire to create, and became the pattern for my life. 

With three infants at home, opportunity knocked. Father took a job in Springfield, Ohio, and moved the family. Dad’s role in Ohio became public relations advocate for Wittenberg College. While there he continued as a supply pastor for the Lutheran synod, and later, a fund raiser for the Osterlein Home for Children. Dad created slide show presentations, had meetings with influential patrons and produced sermons in churches he traveled to across the Midwest. This path capitalized on his talents as spokesman and problem solver and took him on the adventures across the Midwest he loved. Taking to the highway in his Pontiac, the wanderlust that filled his imagination became a trait he eventually passed on to me. As the wife of a pastor, mother coped with dad’s frequent travel by becoming the choir director for the Fourth Lutheran Church just a few blocks away. Also, during her eleven years with the Civic Opera in Springfield, Ohio, she sang the leading roles in at least three operas including “Samantha Southwick” and “the Old Maid and the Thief,” and supporting roles in many others. She also taught piano as the head of the Junior Piano Department at Wittenberg University for eleven years. Dad’s work with the university and the Lutheran synod took him across Ohio and Indiana. When I was a child, dad was gone during much of the week. Mother managed with three children and her career with the help of a live-in student of Wittenberg University. Due to her active career in the Opera and with singing groups, mom never developed cooking skills. My father actually taught her how to cook an egg.  In addition to all the duties of family and career, mother did the meal planning in advance so Sue Feidler, our nanny, could simply place the stuff in the oven when she got out of class and have dinner ready at the right time. Mother’s values and personality were formed during the depression when her family occasionally went without food. We were taught to have regard for every morsel on our plate. Dad appreciated her thrifty nature. They shared a special moment with each other when dad brought pastry home, something she considered pure luxury. We ate at a properly set table. All the plates sat in front of father who, after the blessing, served what mother had prepared and passed them to us. We were taught to sit up straight, how to use our utensils properly and use good manners at the table. To encourage us to appreciate her cooking, dad enrolled us with exuberant patter to get us to eat whatever was left in the serving dishes.  “Help finish this off,” he would say, as another serving of something was placed on our plates, “Here, have another bite.” Eager to please my dad, I learned to eat everything on my plate. I did my part to finish that extra spoonful, but my sister had a different response. She too, was encouraged to eat everything. Yet, once having eaten it all, rather that receiving accolades, she heard, “here, help finish this off,” and an extra portion of mashed potatoes were plopped onto her plate. In disbelief, she became really disappointed. The inner thought “this is not fair,” welled up inside her. She became silently rebellious. Unknown to us, defiance became the foundational force that drove her personality.

           “What’cha doing?” I asked innocently in an effort to start the phone conversation.

“Oh, David,” My mother bubbled, “I’ve been having the most wonderful time.” 

She went on to explain that during a recent visit, my sister bagged up a bunch of clutter from the attic but before the bags were carted off to the dumpster, my mother wanted to have a look inside. If her enthusiasm was any clue, the discovery she made was significant.  Next came the announcement that she had found all the sheet music from when she was in the quartet “The Melodears” back in Chicago in the mid-forties, before she met my dad. Walking on air, she leafed through the cherished musical scores, relived memories of her youth and sang those wonderful songs. 

           “What timing,” I thought as I listened to her happy story.  She went on to tell me she also found a music professor at a nearby university interested in having the antique sheet music for their collection.  

            “That,” she said, “is much better than all this wonderful music landing in a dumpster.” 

The pleasant surprise of finding my mother elated heightened my gratitude.  I am fortunate to have a sweet, joy-filled mother. She looked for the beauty that surrounded her every day. Since my father’s passing, I knew she was lonely.  I began to call her twice a week. My intention was to provide comfort. Each conversation revealed more to love. As the months went by, we became good friends.  

My interest piqued, after a moment I asked when her love for music began and about memorable achievements along the way. She perused the thought, giggled and began to tell me a story. 

The first official announcement of her career intention occurred in homeroom class during the height of the great depression. The fifth-grade teacher went around the room and asked each student what he or she wanted to do with their life.  

When Arleen’s turn came, she stood and said “I want to sing” and the whole class burst out laughing. 

She started with voice lessons. Soon she was in both chorus at school, choir at church and sang occasional solos. Soon with Amy, who became her longtime friend, she became part of a duet.  

After High School she received a scholarship to attend the Sherwood Music School. During WWII at the first FM radio station in Chicago she became the program director. She selected peppy, vocal-free music for her program ‘Music for War Workers’ from a library of 78rpm records and even larger commercial discs.  

While working at the radio station she also sang in a trio at church. Encouraged by one of her friends, an audition downtown secured a position for a rigorous season with the Municipal Opera of St Louis, where the company performed a new operetta every week. The following year a tour with the Chicago Popular Opera Company took her all over the country and to Denver where the company fizzled out.  

Back in Chicago, an audition with an agent started a tour of state fairs and school assembly programs with the ‘Charm Quartet,’ a trio of vocalists with piano. 

Becoming independent, the group became the ‘Melodears.’ At a church mortgage burning celebration she met the student intern assistant to the pastor who ended up also being invited to the choir party later on, but he needed a ride. Since my mom had a car, the girls went to pick him up and the rest was history. 

Our regular telephone conversations covered a variety of topics. My life on the road provided plenty of news to share with my mother. Plus, many aspects of my path of recovery from alcoholism found similarities with the spiritual path mother was on.  I found new fascination with this woman I have known my entire life. I continued with the interview style of call she enjoyed and I learned more. 

As the wife of a pastor, my mother became choir director for the church. During thirteen years with the Civic opera in Springfield, Ohio, she sang lead roles in two operas; ‘Samantha Southwick’ and ‘Old Maid and the Thief’ and supporting roles in all the others.  

My favorite memory as a child was waking to the sweet melody that drifted upstairs and into my consciousness every morning. Mom rose early to practice singing her scales at the piano. This early imprint established my enthusiasm for the morning and for all the new day brings.  

She taught piano as head of the junior piano department at Wittenberg University for eleven years and later when we moved to Bloomington, Indiana she taught piano and voice as well as when we lived in Arlington Heights, Illinois. 

When my folks built their retirement home in the Ozarks of Arkansas, her piano playing and singing continued. At age sixty-six she began as a paid soloist at the Christian Science church and continued singing in that role for twenty years. As a testimony of the joy in her heart, she was still singing professionally at eighty-six. During one of our conversations she laughed.  

She shared something with me that her voice teacher back in Chicago told her during her early teens; “if you take good care of yourself, you will still be singing at sixty-five.” 

My mother’s example made me think back to the sequence of events that molded my career. As the years went by, I grew artistically, spiritually, emotionally, and my motive changed.  At one time I was ego driven to be the greatest I could be. Now I realize that true satisfaction is the byproduct of being of service to others. My passion for painting is evidenced by the amount of completed work that continues to this day.   

With each passing year, the amount of old time pinstripers and airbrush artists diminishes. This leaves a larger market to a few artisans who thrive creating in the century’s old tradition. One decade at a time my mother’s career was revealed. Like her, the sequence of events that take place continues to reveal new direction in mine. 

My mother’s relentless optimism, singing and efforts to inspire others provide me with clarity. My goal is similar; to be a blessing to others, to have fun while interacting with them and to share the gifts I have received. This in turn creates memories for other people to cherish and enjoy.  

As I pause this day to appreciate the beauty I am surrounded with and the wonderful people I am of service to, the peace inside increases the level of joy in my heart and I feel like singing a happy tune, just like my mother.  

            I am glad I called.

During the years I lived in the compact quarters in the front of my horse trailer, I learned to discard something every time I acquired something new.  My routine changed from being on the road all over the country into commuting each day to Lazydays from Gee Gee’s elephant farm. I was successful, yet I guessed I would always just be living in a trailer.  

I recalled my friend Terry in Indiana. He encouraged me to have a home someday. My mother hoped along with my growing circle of friends that someday I would find contemporary stability. I planned to settle in Sarasota someday but with this opportunity at Lazydays I did not want a long commute. I liked being close to a big town but wanted a home in the country with zero restrictions. Again, Jack proved helpful. 

I had no experience with the home buying process. Jack helped me put together the criteria of what I wanted: a horse property, room for vehicles, remote but close to a big town etc. I did not want to be in the traffic close to Tampa. By looking east, Plant City became my target. I began a search for a home of my own.  I looked at several places while riding along with a real estate agent. One stood out from the rest.   

A two-and-a-half-acre property was loaded with big beautiful Live Oak trees. The ranch style home was long and low with sturdy block construction and a stucco exterior made to look like brick. The two-stall barn out back was perfect for Sir and Betty and the outside perimeter was already fenced in.  I fell in love with the place. 

My friend at Overcomer’s was also interested in what I found. Lee accompanied me to see the place I favored. While there, Lee offered to lift this quest up to God. We knelt in prayer. He started by thanking God for his power at work in our lives. After he asked for guidance in regard to the purchase of this place, I added to the prayer. I affirmed that if in fact this place was meant for me, I would dedicate it to friendship. The real estate transaction flowed to a sweet end. 

At one point my mother asked me what my new address was so she could send me something. When I recited to her the street name El Shaddiai she gasped.  

“Do you know what that means?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“It’s Hebrew and one of the names for God,” she revealed, “God the provider.” 

That fact provided clarity about my new home. 

Before I could pull my rig onto the property, I had to have several loads of dirt dumped in a low area and have gravel spread to make a big driveway. During my years on the road, I camped in other people’s driveways. I wanted others to have the same opportunity here. A long and wide driveway also provided Jack a place to park his motorhome.  

The next few years saw tremendous growth on this slice of heaven. I began building and improving.  Priority was a round pen. The real estate lady’s son-in-law was available to work and knew how to trim trees. We also improved the fencing with railroad ties. 

I erected a large pole barn in the rear corner of the property with the help of River Ranch Gene when he visited in his motorhome. Building this workspace was the result of learning a lesson long ago about counting on a single major account. In addition to creating a place to park the rig, this pole barn – dubbed the hanger – provided an alternative place for paint work.  

Another friend at Overcomer’s had remnants of a nursery landscaping company among his property maintenance and cleaning services empire. Mike brought over three loads of plants, his sprinkler system installation crew and everything needed to transform the areas underneath the trees into lush garden areas.  

I began to bring home scrap marble from a regional granite yard where counter tops were made. I arranged those pieces like assembling a puzzle. They became nice garden pathways. I found a wooden swing to hang from a branch out front and created a secret place to sit and meditate. 

When I traveled through towns during my circus years, I became smug when I saw someone mow their lawn. I thought ‘what a waste of time.’ Now with rich black dirt, a head start with landscaping and encouragement from others, I developed a new addiction. I became obsessed with plants. Soon ornamental trees, hedges and flower beds transformed this slice of heaven into fodder that would have been perfect for the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.   

My mother came to visit each winter. Having a home was a big improvement to my digs at River Ranch or at Gee Gee’s farm. While decorating the interior of the house I gave the guest bedroom a musical manuscript theme just for her. Christmas became special with mother here. We went to the big Methodist church each year to enjoy a traditional holiday eve service.  

Jack arrived from Colorado about that time too. We had a campfire in the backyard when weather permitted. Our holiday was filled with laughter. The dedication of this place to friendship worked. 

Barry joined me occasionally at Lazydays and visited at my house. I thought since I now had stability our relationship would move into the next phase of commitment. For years we saw each other about a half-dozen times annually. One day she had an announcement. 

“I will never live with you in Plant City.” 

I was finding out more about this woman I loved. Apparently, a man coming in and out of her life was all she knew being raised by her aunt and grandmother. She never had a contemporary father or mother relationship modeled to her as a child. She raised her children the same way she had grown up – without a father in the house. There was a mysterious dynamic with that wonderful woman. One day she called. 

“There is someone I want you to meet,” she said over the phone.  

The mystery deepened. Then she prophesied, “I know you will like her.”  

I thought this was a trick. I proceeded to attempt to unravel the conundrum. I found out Barry had met a married man and wanted me out of the picture. I was devastated. 

The years went by. Jack became a fixture at Lazydays each winter. He helped me market and sell murals and gave the seminars. Those were busy times. I never saw my home in the daylight. The frenzy of motorhome buying was underway. I produced an endless stream of custom airbrushed images of all kinds for the couples who flocked to Lazydays.   

I began to get connected with the staff at Lazydays. I received phone calls from salesmen with referrals. One sunshiny day, I received a request to come to the front of the dealership to meet a couple who were buying a brand-new American Tradition motorhome.  

I walked from my painting pavilion down the sidewalk and into the main building. I went through corridors between office cubicles and up to the front door. In front of the dealership the salesman who called waved at me. He introduced me to Gary and Sharon who were interested in a mural.  

“Welcome to Lazydays,” I recited lingo we were all encouraged to use, “congratulations on your new motorhome.” 

  “I understand you want to personalize your coach with a one-of-a-kind airbrushed mural on the back.” 

As my interview progressed, I found out they wanted to portray their interests with both Husky show dogs and their Harley-Davidson motorcycle.  

From their request I began to visualize a snow-covered mountain background with two dogs that flanked the Harley in the center. I also found out when the coach was available for me to begin and scheduled the work to begin upon completion of the current project. 

When I started the work, I found out more about my guests. Gary and Sharon were from Raleigh, North Carolina. They had a large landscaping company. Sharon competed at dog shows across the country. The living room coach was removed to make room for all the dog cages stacked along one side.  

In addition to the motorhome, they also wanted a mural on the side of the trailer that carried their Mustang and the motorcycle. They wanted a sled dog team depicted on the sides with the likeness of seven of their dogs. I created a composition sketch with dramatic perspective to make the lead dog appear larger than all the rest coming toward the viewer. Each succeeding dog was depicted a little smaller with the sled driver standing on the runners in the background. Gary and Sharon became good friends and purchased several other motorhomes and many more murals over the years. 

Another couple from Pennsylvania wanted a mural of a pastoral meadow scene with wildflowers and a deer. As with many of these mural projects, while I painted, they sat and watched. This couple appreciated every little stroke I made. While I painted, they talked. I found out where they were from, how they met, how many grandchildren they had and that the husband always cried at weddings.  

I became especially good at creating custom images. Another couple brought their coach over from service where a large antenna had been installed on the back. He was a ham radio operator. He wanted an image of the world that would depict his ability to talk to anyone. My imagination went to work. I created an image that placed an antenna on a globe of the earth near his home with lightning bolts emanating in all directions.  

Another couple wanted the large military aircraft C-27 depicted on their coach. He had been a pilot and had numerous stories he told the admirers who came to watch the painting underway. The slang for this aircraft was ‘trash hauler.’ One story was about a mission where the aircraft was accompanied by several fighter jets.  

He made an announcement over the radio to all the pilots, “I bet I can do something that you guys can’t.” 

“Watch this.” 

The formation of aircraft continued on their course for several minutes.  

He got back on the radio, “did you see that?” 

“I got up and went to the bathroom.”   

Lots of activity took place here at Lazydays. One of the must-see places the staff mentioned to the guests was my mural art pavilion. When the salesmen gave a tour of the place in a golf cart on the way to show their guests some RV’s, they stopped and pointed out my creative activity. There was plenty to see at this place.   

After lunch, many of our guests walked out the main building along the flower lined sidewalk that threaded through the oak trees past the luxury motorhomes parked in clumps outside to go to the art pavilion to see what was going on.  

My being in the midst of the luxury motorhomes was a coupe. The folks who were here to look at the upper end coaches couldn’t help but notice Letterfly.  

Jack was the self-appointed greeter and endorsed my product. He had an American Tradition coach with a mural on the back. He confided to all our admirers all about the experience of having a mural and gave them an idea to consider about how they could get one free.  

“When you get to the point where the salesman slides the contract to buy across the table for you to sign,” he confided, “just push the contract back across the table and say “I’ll only go for this deal if you throw in a Letterfly mural for the back.” 

Because he gave two seminars a week, Jack met a lot of RV folks. Even if they weren’t buying a mural, these folks enjoyed his banter. 

Sometimes when he returned from a seminar, Jack commanded me to take him in the bus to a particular site on the property. I knew he had given the prize of free lettering to one of the guests. We jumped into the VW bus as if on an emergency run and drove over to where our guest waited. The job was usually names on the entrance door; Ron & Dora Smith, Emmitsburg, Pennsylvania etc. That sort of job could be done on the spot in under an hour and was an appreciated gesture that created good will.  

Many times, I had to modify my schedule to accommodate the customer. While underway with George and Gladys Thompson’s mural, I was told they had to leave first thing in the morning. In addition to having to stay on the job until complete, I had to finish the job in a service bay where the coach was moved to get another issue fixed. George was a pleasant man and appreciated everything we did to get him on his way. As evening turned into night, a fog settled into the area. By midnight I was ready to clear coat. Due to his need to leave in the morning I could not wait. I began to spray.  

The moisture in the air affected my clear urethane. I looked at the finish and saw the normally clear layer was milky. My heart sank. I thought to get my heat gun and discovered that I could heat the wet paint and get the blush to burn out leaving a crystal-clear finish. I was able to finish. We got the Thompson’s on their way. From that point on I never worry about humidity or how it can affect my paint because I know what to do.  

One day, while up on my stretch plank lettering on a coach, the wife came out to ask me a question. 

“Would the artist like a little bit of tibuli?” 

I recognized the name of the Mediterranean dish.  

“No,” I responded flat, “The artist would like a lot of tibuli!”    

She perked up at my surprise answer and we had a famous time. She even gave me her recipe. I was becoming a people person with my customers. My customers were couples I admired. 

In spite of being reluctant around the personnel at this place, I found a few pockets of safety with special people.  

When Jack left for Colorado, I did the seminars. While hanging around the classroom waiting for my crowd, I discovered a friend. Aditi answered the phone for the service department. Her office was next to the classroom where my seminar took place. I could visit with her while I waited for my crowd to show up.  

Between her calls, we talked and laughed about a variety of topics. Aditi was of Indian descent and introduced me to some of her culture and spiritual beliefs. One time I returned from a trip where I had enjoyed a middle eastern restaurant. I told her some of the names of the dishes I liked but she didn’t seem to recognize them. After the next time I went, I brought her the menu. 

“You idiot, this isn’t Indian,” she laughed, “this is Lebanese.” 

  One Christmas I had a special treat. My customers from Illinois were going to camp in my driveway and join me for the holidays. I met Lloyd and Norma McVey at River Ranch years ago. I painted something on everything they owned since. Their first mural was an image of one of their dump trucks on the back of their mauve colored motorhome. Norma was especially fond of pink. All their vehicles had some of this color somewhere in the exterior paint scheme.    

After a severe winter challenged their operation of a fleet of forty trucks, they made the decision to move to a warmer climate. They had a big auction and moved to Florida. Lloyd couldn’t sit still. He discovered a need for material to be delivered at specific times on golf courses and started another fleet of trucks. He only took jobs that could be delivered on time. He built a reputation for being on time and dependable. This became another successful business and a few years later he sold another fleet of forty trucks. Several times, they brought their newest RV to me at Lazydays for another mural.  

When he spec’d out a new Western-Star semi-tractor he wanted the Liberty Lady airbrushed on either side with fireworks explosions in the background. We became good friends the result of all these projects taking place at a regular pace over the years. So, the excursion to my place for Christmas was a natural. 

My friend Tom Gonder also planned to drive down from Michigan for Christmas while the Ford plant shut down for the holidays. I met Tom years ago at the county fair while he hung around and watched me paint T-shirts. He introduced himself as a sign guy. His timing for becoming a sign-maker coincided with the advent of new computer vinyl letter cutting machines that took the bread and butter away from the painters of signs. At first, I was somewhat reluctant with this friendly guy when I realized he was the enemy.  

We became friends and even figured out how to work together using vinyl with some of the carnival ride decoration projects I had underway the next summer. Tom was also an avid fan of drag racing and the tractor pulling contests at the county fairs.  

When I mentioned having guests in their RV at my home over the holidays, I also mentioned their names. 

Tom became excited, “you mean the Lloyd McVey?”    

Tom knew all about my friend. 

“Did you know that Lloyd was the first of the tractor pullers to put multiple engines on his tractor?” he rattled on, “Lloyd had three Mopar engines hooked together in a yellow super-modified tractor named the Super Banana” 

“He’s my hero.” 

At Christmas time my driveway was full of RVs. We gathered around the dining room table. I heard a story about a rival who hooked four Chevrolet engines together in a pulling tractor but still couldn’t beat McVey. I was in awe as Lloyd and Tom traded stories of drag racing and tractor pulling. I couldn’t keep up with them. These two talked about pulling tractors until the wee hours of the night. That Christmas stands out from all the rest when I recollect and compare fond times with good friends. 

Back at Lazydays the mural painting resumed. The pace was relentless. I enjoyed interacting with the endless stream of new couples. Each couple had a story.  One couple from Seattle wanted a mural of their famous skyline made distinct with the Space Needle. They also wanted Mount Rainier in the background. Because of the actual proximity of those features, I used artistic license to create an image with these features appearing together. 

Although social reluctance promoted my withdrawal into the creative realm, as my talent grew, people were attracted to me and I thrived. Through that series of people, I found benefit, emerged from my shell and grew. My life had come full circle. The lessons learned on the road brought me to a special place that also introduced me to the concept of home.  

Transformation had begun as the result of AA. I became interested in others. My customers pursued a dream. They launched themselves onto the road of adventure. I found that road as a teen. Now I was an example to them and a source of encouragement for their aspiration. I found new purpose. I started to see the beauty in others. This was behavior that my mother modeled.  

I found the solution was to see beauty and uplift others. I became a people person. The solution was taking a risk and becoming connected to my community. The reflected love returned me to my roots. My mother became my friend. We talked on a regular basis. 

Through our ongoing intimacy I was blessed again. My eyes were opened. I found magic all around me. I realized I have much to be thankful for. A miracle occurred. A whole series of people had blessed me on this long uphill climb. I had surrounded myself with people who were interested in my success.  Sure, I went through a lot of grief and unfortunate circumstances but my playful spirit came to the surface too. Others were why I succeeded. I have others to thank for getting me here.  I realized that life wasn’t good or bad; life is a blend of good and bad. 

When the summer was over, the time came to head south. I couldn’t wait to see how the RV dealership construction had progressed. I loaded the stock and headed south.  

The demand for high quality airbrushed murals placed me in an earning position that made the pursuit of opportunities to perform with the circus pointless. The remainder of the summer that led up to the Blue Bird rally in October became a blur of motorhome murals. The Blue Bird rally was on the way south.  

The Luce family had sold the company and the dynamic at Wanderlodge changed. I had learned a lot through this stepping stone of my career. I was grateful for the boost received and the opportunities I had found. I enjoyed what became my last Blue Bird rally. Then I made haste to return to Lazydays. 

  With those rallies complete, I returned to Gee Gee’s farm in Florida. At Lazydays I resumed my busy schedule of making murals, giving seminars and treated every situation with reverence. 

I continued to live in my horse trailer. I found out about a large horse barn a mile from Lazydays. Boarding my horse would free me up to work late. Souveran summed up his performing career in a single moment when I led him into that big comfortable barn filled with working cow and pleasure horses – he breathed one big sigh of relief. 

George Aldridge was the tall, strapping cowboy who ran this barn. His specialty was reining horses though he came from a lineage of meat cutters. The seventeen-acre property was once a destination for cattle to get cut up. The building where that activity took place was razed to make room as urban sprawl required the road out front to become eight lanes.  

George had a valuable piece of property. He knew someday the corner would fetch a handsome sum. For now, the large arenas and riding areas were utilized by cowboys who came to not only learn something from George but to put their horses in training with this gifted horseman. George began preparing a place in Ocala for his eventual home.  

My horse became my hobby. After work, I took a break from the rigors of painting on motorhomes. I spent time in the evenings perfecting trot work, canter work and the flexibility of horse and rider. This work began over two decades ago. I started with a 4-H horse in Clarklake and over the years utilized an impressive series of mentors.  

I started taking dressage lessons with an attractive dark-haired product of the sixties with a tired voice. Sharon was from Michigan and knew many of the dressage people I knew. Sharon had a precise way of sharing what she saw with a command of language with which to get her observation across.  

Our lessons were mostly recreational, as now my role as the resident artist at Lazydays took priority. I had no desire to beat myself up on the road with other opportunities to perform. I enjoyed the shift in my horsemanship focus. Perhaps to sharpen my skills as dressage rider for some other purpose would be practical, but the reality remained that this was now my hobby.    

While I lived in my horse trailer at Gee Gee’s, I resigned to the fact that I would probably always be living in a horse trailer. A circus family from Russia camped there too. I learned some of their language and enjoyed their food.  

One of the first men I met at Lazydays was also an AA member. Lee went out of his way to welcome me to the company. He also told me about a healing ministry called Overcomers at a nearby church. With my permanent painting situation, I got plugged into weekly social activities. I began to regularly attend this evening gathering.  

Overcomer’s was a blend of the twelve steps mixed with gospel. I became an avid member and progressed into facilitator at my men’s group. I remained dedicated to this ministry for several years.  

Being an artist in a permanent situation also provided me with the ability to see Barry on a regular basis. The drive to Anna Maria Island became a welcome respite. Barry and I attended local plays, orchestra concerts and the Opera at Sarasota.  

I learned that Tom Selleck had purchased a home on the island. One sunny afternoon I made myself busy. I picked up sticks and tidied up Barry’s yard. A week later I talked to her on the phone. Barry couldn’t contain her laughter. She reported getting a phone call from one of her curious neighbors.  

“What was Tom Selleck doing in your yard?” 

I attended the Lazydays monthly company meetings that occurred early before work where the entire staff of four hundred employees assembled in the cafeteria. I watched as new employees were welcomed into the company and salesmen received awards for selling large amounts of motorhomes. I was amazed to be part of this large company but also noticed social dynamics that reminded me of the playground of my youth.  

I felt awkward in that setting. There were too many people. I wanted to fit in. I attended the company meetings but never did receive the welcome gesture the new employees received. 

I arrived at Lazydays before sunrise and often worked past sunset. The rigorous pace of mural production remained steady throughout the year. Out at my studio, in the peaceful setting beneath old growth trees I had a safe place. This was my think tank for ideas. With a steady stream of customers, I stayed in production mode, I was happy.  

I attended the weekly CSI class, taught by Don Wallace. He introduced us to the foundation principles that built this company. He encouraged the use of common sense and introduced the hospitality mindset. Keeping these success principles foremost in my mind mixed with healing perceptions acquired at Overcomer’s. These learning opportunities lifted my attitude and perception. As I remained intentional with my attitude and regard for others I was lifted into a new realm of gratitude.  

One concept stressed by Mister Wallace was to reach out to another department head whenever a problem occurred that was out of our league. There were times when this happened to me. My entire career I handled everything myself. Here with this large company when I had such a problem, I entered into the scary realm of interacting with others. 

  Moving into these exchanges gave me an opportunity to grow. Sometimes I experienced the desired result but other times I witnessed behavior that actually ran counter to what Mister Wallace taught. Many personal agendas were the opposite of what would benefit the company and our clients. 

Fortunately, I had Jack. He was familiar with corporate insanity and coached me on how to go about getting things done in this environment. Regardless, these lessons on how to get along with others augmented the healing work started years ago with AA. These new lessons rocketed me into another chapter of my life.  

I found an ally in the marketing department. Tony was helpful with adding Letterfly to the amenities in all the Lazydays marketing. I continued with the marketing strategies started at River Ranch that got me here. I generated special brochures, photo books with examples of RV art for the customers waiting lounge and the sales staff. Jack helped me with selling concepts like providing a cash spiff to a salesman whose referral purchased a mural. I wrote, published (again with the help of the Ridge Printing company) and mailed out a printed newsletter to my client base all the news of this incredible situation at Lazydays. 

I discovered many reasons to become relational in this setting. New friendships blossomed as I tried new ways of connecting. A little at a time, I became a company man. Letterfly and Lazydays would grow together for many years to come.