No Pressure

Monday, July 28, Granby, Quebec

Water pressure. Now here’s something we can all agree on. When you have it, you take it for granted. When you don’t, it makes you crazy. That being the case, commit me now. Every drop of the precious stuff comes from the hose we are tethered to in the campground. (Except for the bottled water I insist on making coffee with, much to John’s consternation. But hey, hose water for coffee?)

Hose water means, as you know, low water pressure. When it’s direct hose, you can put your finger over the opening and make it squirt at one of the other kids. When it’s RV hose, it is by nature indirect, and you can’t put your finger over anything to make it squirt. It simply wanders, a lot like a little stream occurring in nature.

And that means your hair stays soapy. Your dishes stay soapy. Your dog stays soapy, if you are silly enough to give him a bath in the middle of a muddy campground and should have your head examined.

This morning, a good hard squirt would have taken that coffee stain out of your pajamas right away. Instead, you have to wash them, dry them, fold them and put them away. Now I ask you. What kind of vacation is that?
Betty