Queen of the Road: The True Tale of 47 States, 22,000 Miles, 200 Shoes, 2 Cats, 1 Poodle, a Husband, and a Bus with a Will of Its Own - Softcover

Orion, Doreen

 
9780767928533: Queen of the Road: The True Tale of 47 States, 22,000 Miles, 200 Shoes, 2 Cats, 1 Poodle, a Husband, and a Bus with a Will of Its Own
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0767928539 ISBN 13: 9780767928533
Verlag: Crown, 2008

Inhaltsangabe

A pampered Long Island princess hits the road in a converted bus with her wilderness-loving husband, travels the country for one year, and brings it all hilariously to life in this offbeat and romantic memoir.

Doreen and Tim are married psychiatrists with a twist: She’s a self-proclaimed Long Island princess, grouchy couch potato, and shoe addict. He's an affable, though driven, outdoorsman. When Tim suggests “chucking it all” to travel cross-country in a converted bus, Doreen asks, “Why can’t you be like a normal husband in a midlife crisis and have an affair or buy a Corvette?” But she soon shocks them both, agreeing to set forth with their sixty-pound dog, two querulous cats—and no agenda—in a 340-square-foot bus.

Queen of the Road is Doreen’s offbeat and romantic tale about refusing to settle; about choosing the unconventional road with all the misadventures it brings (fire, flood, armed robbery, and finding themselves in a nudist RV park, to name just a few). The marvelous places they visit and delightful people they encounter have a life-changing effect on all the travelers, as Doreen grows to appreciate the simple life, Tim mellows, and even the pets pull together. Best of all, readers get to go along for the ride through forty-seven states in this often hilarious and always entertaining memoir, in which a boisterous marriage of polar opposites becomes stronger than ever.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

DOREEN ORION is a triple-boarded psychiatrist on the faculty of the University of Colorado Health Science Center. She is an award-winning author, has lectured throughout the U.S., and has appeared on major national media such as Larry King Live, 48 Hours, Good Morning America and been interviewed by the New York Times, People Magazine and many others. Still, she considers her greatest accomplishment that her bus was the centerfold for Bus Conversions magazine (which she is the travel writer for), thus fulfilling a life-long ambition of being a Miss September.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One
DETHRONED

When my long-dreaded thirtieth birthday arrived, I really wasn't as upset as I imagined I'd be, for I had achieved a much more important milestone: my sartorial centennial. I owned one hundred pairs of shoes. Then, at age forty-four, I found myself trying to cram a mere half that number into a living space of 340 square feet.

The whole thing was Tim's fault.

When he announced he wanted to travel around the country in a converted bus for a year, I gave this profound and potentially life-altering notion all the thoughtful consideration it deserved.

"Why can't you be like a normal husband with a midlife crisis and have an affair or buy a Corvette?" I demanded, adding, "I will never, ever, EVER, not in a million years, live on a bus."

Something less than a million years later, as we prepared to roll down the road in our fully outfitted, luxury bus, it occurred to me that Tim had already owned a Corvette, long ago when he was far too young for a midlife crisis. While I pondered who he might be seeing on the side (and whether his having an affair might prove less taxing than living in a metallic phallus on wheels), I wedged and stuffed--and, oh my GOD! bent--the cutest little Prada mules you've ever seen into my "closet," which was really not a closet at all, but much more resembled the cubbyhole I'd been assigned many pre-shoe-obsession years ago at Camp Cejwin. How had I let myself go from "never ever" to_._._._this? Both Tim and I are shrinks, but he's obviously the better one. It took him five years, yet he whittled down my resolve, no doubt with some fancy, newfangled brainwashing technique ripped out of one of our medical journals before I could get to it.

That wouldn't have been the first time my sneaky husband tricked me into doing something I didn't want to do. Well, OK. It was only the second time (that I know of), but the first was a doozy: Almost twenty years before, Tim lied to get me to go on our first date.

We met in 1984 when we were both married to other people. I was a fourth-year medical student living in D.C., but doing as many rotations in Tucson as I could, because that's where my first husband had just moved for graduate school. (He wanted to be an archeologist and put his studies on hold so I could finish my medical training. In return, I told him I'd do my residency wherever he wanted to get his Ph.D., not for one moment thinking he'd pick a city with no Nordstrom.) Tim was a second-year psychiatry resident in the Tucson program, and I was assigned to his team.

Although he was terribly nice and we got along well, I was, after all, happily married and didn't give him a second thought when the rotation was over. As for Tim, his marriage to Diane (or D1; I'm D2. There'd better not be another upgrade) was already crumbling. Two years later, I was the second-year resident, Tim was about to graduate, and we were both divorced.

Tim and D1 had been high school sweethearts and their marriage was more a function of inevitability than compatibility. As for my ex and me, we just got married too young. Shortly after I graduated from medical school, I could see that our two-year union had been a mistake and vowed not to marry again for a long, long while.

Seven months later, I ran into Tim.

I was at a bar with a group of friends, drinking, dancing, and having a grand ole time. Tim walked in with a friend of his. Since we hadn't seen each other in nearly a year, we chatted briefly, but apparently enough for him to realize I was no longer married. Again, I didn't give him another thought-until he called a few days later.

"Hey, Doreen. It's Tim." What is this guy calling me for?

"A bunch of us from my class are getting together Saturday night to go back to the bar. You know, me, Mike, Walt, Ann…Dave. I wondered if you'd be interested in coming?" Did he say Dave?

"Uh…sure! See you then." Seems innocuous, right? But, you see, Tim had dangled Dave in front of me because he knew I was attracted to him. How did he know? Because every woman with a pulse was attracted to Dave. And I snapped up the bait with no more thought than the many times I'd gone home with a designer dress that didn't fit, just because it was on sale. Tim hadn't dated much since his marriage had broken up and was not in a place where he wanted to risk rejection. So, you might ask, what's wrong with arranging to go out in a group? Determine if we're compatible? Have an out if…? See how good that man is at deception? There was never a group going out. It was always just going to be me and Tim.

That Saturday night, a few hours before we were to meet, the phone rang.

"Hey, Doreen. It's Tim." What is this guy calling me for?

"I'm really, really sorry, but everybody's flaked out. Nobody can come tonight. I thought I'd show up anyway, hang out, have a beer. You're welcome to join me…if you're not doing anything."

"Uh, sure. See you, then." I couldn't make other plans that late on a Saturday evening. Guess I might as well go. And that's exactly what Tim knew I'd be thinking when he'd concocted his evil plan.

We met at the bar (aptly named "The Bum Steer"), where we talked, laughed, ate, talked, laughed, drank, and talked and laughed some more. Hey. This guy's kinda…wonderful. Of course, I didn't know that he'd hoodwinked me, yet. He waited a few weeks to tell me. By then, I was so smitten, I was actually flattered he'd gone to all that trouble. If only I'd realized it was the start of a pattern--sure, one that recurs only once every twenty years, but a pattern nonetheless. I shudder to think what he'll make me do in another twenty.

That first night, I found myself falling. What is going on here? Then I remembered my vow. I don't want to get involved with anyone. So I strengthened my resolve. I can't get involved with him. But, all too soon, there it was: How…can…I…not? That first "date," which wasn't even supposed to be a date, lasted eight hours. We've been together ever since, progressing through the all-important M's-Monogamy, Moving in, Mortgage, and Matrimony.

And then, unfortunately, motor home.


As a pampered Princess from the Island of Long, I have always been smug in my position as role model for my friends. They marvel at how I get Tim to do:

1.      all the ironing (by exiting the house in horribly wrinkled clothes);

2.      all the laundry (by washing everything together, so his favorite baseball shirt turned pink);

3.      all the dishes (by being incapable of stacking the dishwasher in an energy-efficient manner).


He also walks the dog (I'm a cat person), cleans the house (I'm a pig, but in fairness to me, the first time he suggested we split chores on a weekly basis, I said, "That's fine, honey, but on my week, I'll write a check"), and takes out the garbage (are there really any married women who still do this?). But once we announced we were doing the "bus thing," as we came to call it, my friends started viewing me with disgust. They insisted I'd let them down. As their husbands eyed mine with envy and tried to get him to divulge his secret recipe for spousal capitulation, the wives shunned me as if the decision to chuck everything and live in a glorified tin can was a symptom of some contagious insanity.

The most curious reaction from our married friends, however, was incredulity--not about the bus, but about the amount of togetherness the bus would require.

"How in the world can you spend twenty-four/seven with each other? We could NEVER...

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Verlag
Crown
Erscheinungsdatum
2008
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0767928539
ISBN 13 
9780767928533
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
304
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

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