Frenzied, feverish, frightened & flailing foolishly

I hadn’t been feeling well for over a week but I didn’t want to delay our departure, so stayed quiet about it – I didn’t whine as much as I would usually. This was probably a mistake, as I became really ill enroute – somewhere south of Weed, I thought that ‘This is it – my life will soon be over’. I remembered that the doctor (back home) had said it was a virus – but I’d had the flu shot and didn’t really believe him. In my mind, my symptoms were telling me that my heart was giving out. So many times I’ve read that women’s heart attack symptoms are different than men’s – no crushing chest pain but instead pain in the arms, jaw, neck, shoulders & back, dizziness, tingling and numbness in the extremities, extreme fatigue. Yup, I experienced them all - - but I didn’t have a shortness of breath – a key signal. I was waiting for that – but it never came. Amazingly, by the time Fernie drove me down to Redding, I started to feel a bit better and by Corning I figured that 2008 was not my time to depart. I guess my temperature had soared and made me delirious! Anywayz, enough of the hypochondria – I think now the doctor was right – it was a flu; one not covered by the shot (he mentioned ‘Osaka’). All that remained were a few muscle aches.

Oops! Relapse. Bakersfield. Up in the morning and my head was swimming. “We’re turning around and going home” warned Fernie as I grabbed the wall to stay on my feet. My heart was pounding arhythmically. I checked my blood pressure and it was plummeting down ridiculously low. What does that mean? But I didn’t want to go home. They have doctors here and we have out-of-country medical. I climbed down out of the motorhome headed back to the car to put it through it’s pre-towing ritual and the world spun out of control, down I sunk to the curb hugging an adjacent palm tree as I went. “That’s it, we’re heading home” cried Fernie, when he found me there a minute later, head between my knees – not a pretty sight. Maybe I need some sugar – and I sucked on a Tropical Sour candy as I sat beside Fernie while he did the pre-towing ritual. I managed to convince him that it was just low morning blood sugar and we should carry on and by the time we arrived in Indio, our destination for the day I had lost the yellow pallor and was starting to look human again. So fingers crossed for no more relapses.

Five days later: slowly the muscle pains are diminishing, the dizziness has lessened and I’m feeling pretty good – crossing my fingers though.

Fleeing frigid frosts to find friends & fun
Jan 12 to 18, 2008
Maggie flew down Interstate 5 towards the sunshine – for us that meant travelling between 200 and 300 miles a day; I guess that’s not a lot by most standards.

First night we flopped at a Walmart in Chehalis, Washington. Fernie treated me to dinner at an adjacent Applebee’s – out of his poker winnings. It’s a strange restaurant; all the staff are aging – no teenage servers. The hostess is a little hunched over gnome of a woman who must be about 75; she’s the manager’s Mom, we found out. Our chubby apple-cheeked waiter, one of the youngest, was 35 years old and had five children. He had a day job as well and didn’t want his wife to have to leave the children and go out to work. Hence, his job at Applebee’s. Anyway, the story earned him a really good tip.

Second night we hunkered down at Seven Feathers Casino in Canyonville, Oregon. We were settled in comfortably watching more and more RV’s arrive and squeeze into every available slot. An old fairly battered truck and trailer pulled through a tight space between two snappier-looking 5th wheels, whose slides and stairs encroached into his spot. Dissatisfied with his initial parking, he pulled ahead and then reversed his trailer ineptly, creasing the fender of the shiny new pickup truck beside him and then hit the steps of the 5th wheel, almost ripping them off and ended up lodged on them – he couldn’t move forward or backwards. This happened just two spaces over from us, and we had a view of the goings on. We sat with our wine and watched the proceedings – the arguments, security arrived, then the owner of the 5th Wheel had to move his unit back to detach the trailer from his steps, more arguments, more security. It was quite entertaining in a nasty peeping-Tom sort of way.

Third night we nested at Rolling Hills Casino in Corning, California, the Olive Capital of the USA. I was feeling cruddy but forced myself out for a walk – after all, we’re back to sunshine, which is what we’ve been craving, and it’s shirtsleeve weather.

Fourth night – another town, another Walmart – this time Turlock, just south of Sacramento. We had stopped in Sacramento to pick up some special tire valve extensions that Fernie had ordered and then went to Les Schwab Tires to have them installed. Wouildn’t you know it, they wouldn’t work with our wheels, so we had to return them. Two hours wasted. Oh well, we’re retired so we have all the time in the world.

Fifth night was spent at the Bakersfield Walmart. There are lots of shops in the vicinity so we browsed through some electronic stores, and did some grocery shopping. It was sunny and warm and the row of palm trees lining the driveway put us in a tropical mood.

Sixth night – Spotlight 29 Casino, Coachella, California (just east of Indio). They have a new rule ‘one overnight parking only and do not unhook tow units’. I guess Rvers have been settling in for a week at a time and sightseeing with this as their base. Can’t blame the Casino for clamping down on that. It was a sea of snowbirding Rvers. Jim and Lynn from Sacramento pulled in beside us in their Class C motorhome towing their car. They were very concerned because a sign stated “No RV overnight parking during construction”. We assured them that we had permission to stay one overnight and pointed out that there were at least 50 other RVs there so not to worry. Lynn was at least 100 lbs overweight and found it hard to move while Jim wheezed asthmatically as if he wouldn’t catch another breath. Lynn clumsily and slowly hauled her huge body into their motorhome while Jim had to sit down on the steps for a while. They wouldn’t take the chance on being kicked out and drove out. Life must be hard for them.

Seventh night – We’re here! Quartzsite, Arizona, our home for the next two weeks. It was a day of chores: rewatering, dumping, gassing up, grocery shopping, searching for wifi. But now, with Maggie settled into the desert, two sets of friends around us, we’re content. The sunset was phenomenal.

Dynamic, dulcet diva daringly dazzles…….

She pranced onto the stage, 63 years young, in a mauve brocade, scoop-necked mini-dress – ending about six inches above her knees. The hem of the skirt was stiffly wired and black crinolines, which we’d catch an occasional glance of, pouffed it out a little like a ballet tutu but it showed off amazingly firm and well-shaped legs – a la Tina Turner. Six-inch sparkling stilettos, a size too large titillated her audience, which was comprised of drag queens, and gay men as usually dominate a diva’s concert. Before the night was over, she’d go through about five or six pairs of shoes, kicking them off across the stage when she could no longer tolerate the pain. This has become a Patti Labelle signature.

She burst right into belting out ‘A New Attitude’ spanning octaves with ease making me fear for any delicate crystal in the vicinity as she hit those amazing high notes. I know my eardrums pulsated. Our seats, in the front row of the River Rock Theatre made us ‘up close and personal’ as Patti launched into a tale of her tribulations at the airport earlier that day. Not only did one of her suitcases get lost but tragically, the bag containing all of her stage makeup didn’t arrive.
”So, I told my girl to call up the black drag queens in Vancouver and get me some - - - and one of them came right over and left a whole case for me”. She primped as she talked and re-settled her kissy-curl wig.
“Is the drag queen in the audience?” she asked – and a large pleasant-faced broad-smiling black man jumped up almost directly behind us. He was not in drag but dressed conservatively in casual pants and a dark loose shirt. Patti thanked him profusely and asked his name.
“Willy - - Willy Taylor” he replied.
“….and what do you do in Vancouver?” she questioned further.
“I do you!” said Willy to the audience’s uproarious laughter.
“Are you a Patti Labelle impersonator?” she shrieked with delight - - and sure enough, he was. I overheard later from a large group of gay men that he does regular shows at the ‘Majestic’ in Vancouver. Now, I don’t have a clue where it is but I’d love to see Willy ‘do’ Patti.
“I’ll talk to you later” Patti said and broke back into song, covering her old standards and others but I felt as if she relied a bit too much on her backup, who were very talented but I wanted to hear her. I guess at 63, she needs some help.

She never left the stage. No costume changes but lots of dabbing at her ‘glowing’ face, checking makeup in a hand held mirror, re-alignment of her wig and of course the many shoe changes and even bare feet when she just couldn’t bear the pain. She lapped up the “I love you Patti’s” that revolved through the theatre and seemed to treasure the flowers, stuffed animal and even a book (in a Border’s Books plastic bag) that were presented to her, taking time to thank each donor. She was always willing to touch a hand when an avid fan approached the stage. Now that’s something I don’t understand – what is it that makes someone want to touch a star? I do remember when I was 15 my passionate desire to touch Elvis…….but for gawd’s sake, I was 15.

Lots of talk – folksy tales about her life. She spoke openly about her diabetes and about all the friends she’s lost to cancer and other diseases; tears rolled freely and she choked back sobs as she relayed the stories. And depression - hers….another subject shared. I don’t think she’ll ever be able to retire – she’s far too needy of her audience.

“I need four men” she announced, as the band struck up Lady Marmalade “four men who can sing and dance”. She pointed to Willy “You’re one” she said. She also gestured to a man two seats over from us. He was a huge guy – 350 lbs or more, I’d guess. “I like the way you look” she cajoled, as he fought his embarrassment. Luckily for him, a fourth guy bounded onto the stage. There was a flight attendant, a Patti impersonator, a businessman and one who didn’t do much at all. In turn they sang “Voulez vous coucher avec moi – ce soir?” right to Patti and danced on command. All were pretty good – some better at singing and some at dancing – all were gay.

As she left the stage for the final time, she lingered, her arms full of the flowers and gifts, her little finger trailing the plastic book bag and she stared at her audience with love as the thundering stamping and applause begged her for just one more. A poignant moment.

You might wonder what this has to do with our travels ------ well, I’ve wanted to see Patti Labelle live for many years and she’s never performed in Vancouver before nor in Las Vegas while we’ve visited which is on a fairly regular basis. She often appears in the Toronto area – the eastern venues are her favourite, I guess – and I figured that I’d have to time a future visit to Toronto with a Patti concert. But when suddenly I heard she was coming to town, we delayed our journey south by a couple of weeks. Strangely, this worked out well as we missed the blizzards in Southern Oregon and Northern California and squeezed through the mountain passes in a window of mild weather.