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I’m home.  I slept in my own bed!   It was a restorative sleep.  Funny how one’s own bed, no matter how lumpy or dumpy it may be, will right a traveler’s wrongs.  This is how motorhomes came into being. Take your bed along with you where you go and you will always be home.

The Ingalls’ family crossed wild country from Wisconsin’s Big Woods to the Little House on the Prairie in Walnut Grove, Minnesota in a motorhome of sorts.  I always loved that show.  Now I know why.

It was my sister, Anita, and her husband, Dick, that planted the notion of motorhome living in my heart.  I was in high school when they bought their first coach back in the 80’s.  It might even have been one just like the one we live in now, only older come to think of it. My Motorhome rolled off the factory floor in October of 1987. It was a General.  Brand spanking new, it was probably a beauty.  Then so was I in 1987.

1987 was a long time ago.  We Walked Like an Egyptian back then.  Whitney Huston was still trying to Dance with Somebody and The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band was gone Fishing in the Dark.  Those Three Men (and the Baby) were competing with Fatal Attraction (and won at the box office).  Robin Williams said Good Morning from Vietnam and Dirty Dancing corrupted our minds. Bill Cosby held prime time in 1987.   It was the Year of Jump Street and Dallas and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  And The Enterprise reentered our Solar System with The Next Generation of Trekies.   It was a very good year.

Les Misérables opened on Broadway in 1987.

I was twenty-one. That was the year I met Dan. It was a very good year for me.

We were pretty cute back then!

Until 1987, there were no women in The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  Aretha Franklin was the first to get her Respect.  In ‘87 we had the Iran-Contra Affair and the Jim Bakker-Jessica Hahn Affair too.  Chrysler bought American Motors, Bart Simpson was just a skit on The Tracy Ullman Show, and the Unibomber held us captive.  The first Heart-Lung transplant helped to bring in a world population of 5 billion people.

June 10th, 1987, President Ronald Reagan declaimed “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”  The next day, Margaret Thatcher was elected Prime Minister of The United Kingdom.   Jessica McClure fell down a well and Prozac hit the shelves. All in 1987.

We saw the end of unbiased media in 1987 when the FCC rescinded the “Fairness Doctrine.”  Radio and television stations no longer had to fairly present controversial issues.  (I wondered when that happened.)

Black Monday came a month later in October.  It was the same month my Motorhome rolled off the Fleetwood assembly line in Riverside, California.

Mario’s grandson, Marco Andretti raced into the world in 1987. Born also that year was Hilary Duff, Jessie McCartney, and Aaron Carter. Shad Gregory Moss wasn’t even “Lil Bow Wow” yet.

The same year those biggies of tomorrow were born, we lost too many “Greats of the Past.”  Danny Kaye, Dean Martin, Buddy Rich, Rita Hayworth, Fred Astaire and Jackie Gleason all died in 1987.

When I was in 1987, I had a different future in mind.  I was in Orlando, Florida, studying Tae Kwon Do; working at Y.K. Kim’s.   I had no kids, no husband, no cancer.   I had no idea my motorhome was on a dealership lot across the country in Oregon.

Brand Spanking New.

Go figure.

1987 doesn’t seem that long ago.  The older I get the faster time flies.  I have only one week left of the radiation treatment I fought so hard to get.  Before long, I will be able to say “Day 1825” and five years will have passed since the day I was diagnosed with Cancer.  What will life be like for me in five years?  Will Kelli be Married with Children?  Brandi and Jaymi will be teenagers.  Robbie will be stealing hearts at twelve.  Will I be a walker or will I have to use one?

It really doesn’t matter.

I will be happy just to be five years older.