What the Faithful Witness Sees
When our footsteps fade, the moonlight remembers our journey.
April 11, 2025
After seven months of sweat, sawdust, and emotional meltdowns, CamperVan Beethoven 2.0 is finally done. Our 2014 Sprinter is officially, though not perfectly, converted to a mobile home for two. Version 1 took two weeks. This one took seven months. Every cabinet, table, drawer, hinge, and screw—custom built in our driveway, then disassembled, reassembled, disassembled, reassembled...you get the idea.
Today’s final push included installing paper towel holders, initializing the AC system, and adjusting various hinges and doo-dads—those tiny details that make the whole thing feel complete. There is another round to go as numerous components need staining and painting.
But, it is considered done and ready for the road—and just in time, since we leave in 24 hours. We have an event tomorrow night, then Westward ho! To explore, sleep, read, write, draw and experience new.
The thing I know we’ll want more of: storage. Vans just don’t have much to offer in the way of storage. Sleek and squared away for now—but I know once we load it with the detritus of living, it’ll look more like a cluttered mind than a showroom floor.
Today, though, was more than just packing and prepping—it brought its own emotional weather.
Missus Wolf woke earlier than usual and with much less sleep than usual. That never bodes well for the sunshine and butterflies. She had an appointment with her sister and they spent most of the day doing the Lord's work while I toiled in the sweet spring sunshine.
A nap helped, but she still couldn't shake that funk and anger. We are different, she and I. When I am foul, I tend to want to be alone. With her... she tends to want to destroy something beautiful. Like a happy lupine mood.
Still, the day had a sweetness that even sour notes couldn’t fully ruin. I stayed mostly unmoved by the assaults—though only mostly.
By sunset, we found ourselves celebrating our new mobile home and in the quiet dark of the couches she had just finished covering, talk turned to serious things. We drifted into heavier territory. She voiced concern about my mental state—a conversation that’s been waiting in the wings.
“I don't know. Since last September, you seem like you're in a haze,” she said.
Sigh.
She's right. Hazy. Fuzzy. Bleary. All good words to describe me. Also lacking in motivation. General malaise.
Funk.
I know it's hitting her harder because of the two deaths—they aren't helping either of us. But today, it seems to be an especially dense weight. We should have been gone a week ago. Two weeks ago. A month ago. I believe a break of more than a day or two will be good for us both.
Those in our social circles seem confused by the shift in our demeanor. We are usually the bright couple that initiates social events, hosts game night and those kinds of gatherings. But it's been a long time since we had any enthusiasm. We still manage to host the occasional gathering at our home. Entertaining has its undeniable charm and we know our friends (and we) need it.
The Whürl family endures, but there's a performative aspect versus our usual genuine desire for human company.
Before the night is over, Mrs Whürl will launch some savage verbal attacks that finally tarnish my shine. This happens a lot lately. Not unearned attacks, but painful nonetheless.
As I said, she just wanted to destroy something beautiful.
But before we can linger too long in reflection, we’re pulled back to the ticking clock—there’s an anniversary dinner in 30 minutes. For our niece, TBV, and nephew, CDV. The same couple we entertained at our home two days ago. We thought we would be on the road tonight, so two days ago we had a quiet send-off: fresh fruit, fried chicken, and a festival of weird indie films. CDV is a filmmaker, so it's fun to analyze together.
Dinner tonight is at Red Lobster with the wife's family. There is laughter at the eight-year mark—but also a quiet pall. I am acutely aware of my wife's mother, a new widow, sitting quietly where she would normally be grinning and making little snide remarks.
Then there is the absence of my beloved sister, DLW. Her widower husband, RLW, is also missing. In hour 12 of a 18 hour day he is cycling down the highway in the panhandle of Texas doing 85mph to get home tonight. He will.
In spite of the absences, dinner stays lighthearted. We share stories of the couple's life together and how they have changed and grown in the last decade. They are both very wrapped up in work and possessions currently. We get details about their home-office setups, what new cameras he is using and his newly acquired 1993 Corvette. Two incomes and no children mean they put their energies into the self.
We have a ROBUST conversation about the best comedy ever made. There are many opinions:
Raising Arizona
Dumb and Dumber
Some Like it Hot
Dr Strangelove
Blazing Saddles
Holy Grail
Young Frankenstein
Legally Blond
Groundhog Day
The Princes Bride (You MOCK my pain!)
Nacho Libre
Napoleon Dynamite
Galaxy Quest
It went on for a while.
We arrvived late, so I end up at the end of the table with an odd young woman. A friend of the family. I find conversations with her challenging. She likes to be a know-it-all. Not the kind that has general knowledge and so offers commentary on a wide range of matters. The kind that hears a topic, fires up her phone, hunches in and by the time the conversation has moved on, suddenly wants to rubber-band it back so she can interject her thoughts on matters.
This happens A LOT tonight. 🙄
I do my best to stay present.
Across the table, Missus Wolf is studying our niece’s dining habits with amused detachment.
“She didn't care at all for my snatching of her chips.” She grins, relishing the idea of having caused some discomfort. Still in the mood to cripple attractive things.
“Did you notice? She eats like she is playing a theremin!” This visual amuses me as I think about her waiving her hands invisibly over her food without explanation. It's the kind of insane thing my brain-damaged sister would do. But this young woman doesn't have that affliction. I can't explain the motions.
The party skips desert and retires to the matriarch’s home for cake and gifts. The family always enjoys this part of these goings-on. We laugh and talk about the young couple and how they met. My nephew has an embarrassing story of getting dumped a few months before he was slated to marry a girl. He did not take it well. But, looking back, he is glad to have slipped those fingers to be caught by his life-partner.
I hurt my wife’s feelings when I have only a sliver of cake. Having enjoy some VERY rich cookies earlier, it seems prudent to exercise moderation here. I tipped to 199 last week and feel thrilled by the goal. This is 60lbs lower than my top weight a few years ago.
Her snide remarks hurt my feelings. I am a petulant child at heart. Like a petulant child, I exact my revenge by slicing off a massive chunk of cake (very good cake). That will show her!!
It does, a little, but it also makes me feel like crap. My body has accustomed to eating much less sugar than it used too. This is an assault.
My scheme bears strange fruit. A few hours later, her darkness lifts, and she gently apologizes for the day and in particular, the cake.
I find the sweetness of my day returns right at the end. This is good. Let not the sun set upon a foul mood.
I wind down with a delightful book—The Royal Road to Romance by Richard Halliburton. It was recommended by a friend. At first blush, it sounded like a Harlequin novel (romance). My mother was a massive consumer of the romance genre when I was a child. So the name 'Road to Romance' and 'Halliburton' trigger an assumption.
I couldn't have been more wrong. So far it’s wonderfully archaic prose about a man’s thirst for and journey to adventure.
I’m just getting into it. Richard, the author and main character, has finished school, signed on as a merchant marine, and is currently riding across Europe. What a voyage!!
And I love the language:
‘How could one be so expected to moil over such dullness when the perfume and the moon and all the demoralizing allure of a May evening were seething in one’s brain!’
‘What futility it all was—stuffing themselves with profitless facts and figures, when the vital and beautiful things of life—the moonlight, the apple orchards, the out of door sirens—were calling and pleading for recognition.’
😳😍
Travel reveals the true self. I am looking forward to seeing just who Richard Halliburton is.
Later, under a nearly full moon, I sit in quiet awe. Brilliant, creating a graphic shadow behind me. The air is cool and crisp inspiring the frogs at the lake down the hill to chirp a chorus. The out of door sirens. Wolves love nights like this. In spite of the late hour, it makes one feel alive and thrilled.
The ‘haze’ is gone and I feel alive and excited again. The tension of the day is melted away by these photons from our day star, captured and redirected to my face tonight by the faithful witness.
But, I’ll have to let my friend finish their journey without me. The morning won’t last long and I need sleep before tomorrow’s business.
And there’s LOTS of that tomorrow!
#essay #travel #family #memoir #100DaysToOffload #Writing
Luke 22:7-13
The day of the Unleavened Bread now arrived, on which the Passover sacrifice must be offered; 8 so Jesus sent Peter and John, saying: “Go and get the Passover ready for us to eat.” 9 They said to him: “Where do you want us to get it ready?”10 He said to them: “Look! When you enter into the city, a man carrying an earthenware water jar will meet you. Follow him into the house that he enters. 11 And say to the landlord of the house, ‘The Teacher says to you: “Where is the guest room where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ 12 And that man will show you a large, furnished upper room. Get it ready there.” 13 So they left and found it just as he had told them, and they prepared for the Passover.
Mark 14:12-16
12 Now on the first day of the Unleavened Bread, when they customarily offered up the Passover sacrifice, his disciples said to him: “Where do you want us to go and prepare for you to eat the Passover?” 13 With that he sent two of his disciples and said to them: “Go into the city, and a man carrying an earthenware water jar will meet you. Follow him, 14 and wherever he goes inside, say to the master of the house, ‘The Teacher says: “Where is the guest room where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ 15 And he will show you a large upper room, furnished and ready. Prepare it for us there.” 16 So the disciples went out, and they entered the city and found it just as he said to them, and they prepared for the Passover.
WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe
Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
— Go back home and read MORE by Wolf Inwool
— Visit the archive
I welcome feedback at my inbox
