A Series of Nice Enough Things

 

Chapter 91: Curtain Chaos & The Legend of Charles

I spent the week transforming our van from “shower-curtain-chic” to “actual adults live here.” For months we’d been using the black outdoor shower curtain as a privacy divider, which is effective, but with the styling sensibility of a garbage bag taped to a doorway. Crawling into the cab at dawn felt like sneaking out of a tent in a shame cloak.

After

Before

I researched obsessively, stalked the Solis Facebook group, and finally bought house curtains to modify like a Victorian seamstress with a YouTube addiction. Then came three straight days of hand-sewing velcro, ribbons, and snap buttons, nearly destroying my fingers and half-dissolving my thread with nail-polish remover. (Velcro glue on a needle is basically superglue with attitude.)




Velcro velcro on the wall, who is the stickiest of them all!

The final piece of the puzzle was a pair of 3D-printed “pizza oven hooks” (yes, that is really what the space above the cab is called). I ordered them on Etsy… and discovered I had ordered one hook. One. What kind of fool orders a single curtain hook?!



But destiny intervened: the maker, Charles, lived in Bella Vista. He even offered to deliver the hooks to our campground like some sort of Solis-themed Santa. Nelson helped me install everything, and the curtains looked amazing. Beige and blackout grey, temperature-boosting, stealth-enhancing, genuinely homey... my first big DIY win.




Warmth difference measured later: 5°C.
Finger integrity: questionable, but recovering.




Chapter 92: A Cozy, Quirky Return to Eureka Springs

We returned to Eureka Springs like people revisiting a favorite café and hoping the vibes hadn’t changed. We set up at Kettle Campground again.  On Friday, Nelson worked while I journaled at the picnic table like a forest novelist.


Uncle Gary, the campground’s resident 78-year-old adventurer, swung by with stories ranging from early-days Amazon to Walmart overnighting secrets. He will be driving to Texas for Thanksgiving with his girlfriend. I hope I’m that cool at 78.

I attempted chicken biryani with a spice list so long it should have come with footnotes. The rice turned out starchy, the spice level barely kindergarten-friendly, and I accidentally made the rare dish known as “not enough chicken biryani.” But hey... cooking experiments count as adventure.



Cold and gloomy Saturday didn’t stop us. We took the trolley into town for the Historical Museum, where I alone bravely volunteered to climb into the vintage steam cabinet like an idiot doing period-piece cosplay. We listened to old phone switchboard recordings, admired quirky town signs, and rode up to the Crescent Hotel, which was festive instead of haunted.





We walked back through hilly neighborhoods full of cute houses and “shrine’d” springs. We visited the library.  Nelson read; I inspected teen fiction like a undercover school librarian. Then we trolley-hopped our way back before nightfall. With the trolley shutting down for winter, we were glad we squeezed in one last ride on Eureka Springs’ curly streets.





Sunday we detoured to the tiny “Golden Gate Bridge” in Beaver, where confusingly low clearance signs made us question physics. A local assured us we’d fit, and we did, despite the posted numbers lying through their bright yellow teeth.


Nelson capped his weekend with mandatory fishing, hooking a newly stocked trout while I fed my duck friend who now swims over when I call him. (Yes, I am now a duck auntie.)

I think this is a boy duck... I think?


Chapter 93: Dinner With Paul & Kathy (and the Dogs Who Own the Cul-de-Sac)

We drove to Paul and Kathy’s new Bella Vista home for dinner, a chance to see the house that was under construction when we first met them at the campground back in Summer. Their adult daughter whose family live across the street, their son visiting with them, plus two golden retrievers (Buddy and Penny) and Coco, an elderly tiny dog with heavy “I’ll allow it” energy.

I promptly mixed up Isaac (the human son) and Buddy (the dog) and asked Isaac, “So how old is Isaac?”
He handled it with grace: “I’m 26… but I think you meant Buddy.”

Buddy is 7!


Kathy served bruschetta so good I’m convinced the tomatoes were grown in some secret non-Walmart dimension. We ate roast chicken, veggies, salad, their first meal cooked in the brand-new kitchen; and talked about moving states, starting over, and making friends as adults.





It’s rare to instantly click with people, and rarer still when everyone is nomadic or new in town. Nights like this feel like little gifts.



The best part? After all the warmth, food, and dog cuddles, we simply walked back to our van, put on pajamas, brushed our teeth, and crawled into bed... no driving home, no formalities. Paul and Kathy even offered us a guest room, but honestly? Nothing competes with a level driveway and your own cozy rolling home.



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