Grandpa Cratchet - On the Road in Our Motorhome

I'll never forget that day in 1989 when Bill came home from school and said, "We're going to Kokomo, Indiana." 

My eyebrows scrunched up, "What do you mean? Are you quitting school?" 

We were currently living in Virginia Beach, Virginia, where Bill had just completed his first year of a master's degree program in photojournalism after a medical retirement from the Delaware State Police as a helicopter pilot. 

"No, of course not. We're simply going a different direction for the summer."

A different direction was an understatement! I soon learned that Bill had taken a summer job as an assistant to Sam Bowman who owned Grandpa Crachet's traveling entertainment show. Sam had several teams that traveled the U.S. doing puppet shows at fairs, malls, rodeos, and churches. Bill would be building stages & sets, learning to operate the puppets, traveling to different venues, setting up the stage, and putting on the shows. 

"We're going to be roadies!" My kids exclaimed. The thought running through my mind was, "What has Bill gotten us into?"

As soon as his classes ended for the semester, we packed up our 33' motorhome, left Virginia Beach, and headed to Indiana.

The first few weeks in Kokomo consisted of the same routine for me and the kids. We continued to homeschool while Bill worked with Sam on the sets. But that would soon change.

Gradually, I learned that the kids and I were "considered part of the team" as well. Before long, Wil was working on sound equipment, Shelly was designing costumes, and I was writing puppet skits. And, of course, all of us became puppeteers as well.

Our show consisted of a schoolhouse built on a 16' trailer that we would tow behind our motorhome. The schoolhouse was also the travel container for Grandpa Cratchet's farm truck which was built on a golf cart chassis. 

The driver (Bill) would manipulate Grandpa using his left hand and drive the truck with his right hand. A cloth scrim hung between the puppet and Bill so that he could see ahead to drive, but the audience could not see Bill working the puppet. It actually looked like Grandpa Cratchet was driving the truck! 

Soon, the stage was built, the trailer was loaded with Grandpa's truck tucked inside, we had rehearsed our parts, and it was time to go. Bill drove the motorhome and trailer; I followed behind in our Dodge Caravan. 

Our first stop was a fair held at the Yonkers Racetrack in Yonkers, New York. Other than waking up to find my pet cat dead in the stairwell of the motorhome, the show went off without a hitch. There was not a blade of grass or mound of dirt to be found in Yonkers, so our precious cat now resides under the pounding feet of racehorses. 

Our next stop was the Buffalo Mall, in Buffalo, New York. All was going as planned until Bill, while attempting to position the school bell on the roof of the schoolhouse, lost his balance and fell. A visit to the ER confirmed he had broken his left leg. Because of the cast and the small amount of space for the driver, he was now unable to drive the motorhome or Grandpa's truck. So, guess who got those jobs? You guessed it - me!

Here's where things took another surprising turn. On my first day of driving Grandpa, I began the ride down the middle of the mall chatting with the kids. Wil and Shelly were walking next to truck trying to keep the young mall-goers from poking their hands into the truck to grab Grandpa. All of a sudden, the truck sped up and took off down the mall. When I tried to brake, I discovered the gas pedal had fallen to the floor! 

Leaving everyone else behind, the truck and I sped down the center of the mall with shoppers running this way and that to get away from us. A mall cop came screaming up, yelling, "Stop that truck! Stop that truck! You can't drive that fast in the mall!"

Like I didn't know that! 

By now, I'm totally panicked. I yank my hand out of Grandpa's head and begin to feel around all over the floor, desperately trying to locate the gas pedal, while trying to keep my head up so I could see where I was driving. Finally, I found the pedal and pulled it up. The truck came to a stop. 

Luckily, I didn't get arrested, and we finished the event without further excitement. But, before we could head to our next destination, Sam sent us to a welding shop for some repair work on the truck. 

"You'll have to back the motorhome and trailer into the garage," the shop owner ordered when I arrived.

"Back it up? In there?" I said, pointing to the microscopic opening that was the door of the garage. "This is my first day driving this thing. I can't back into that garage with the trailer on! Can't you do it?"

"Sorry, liability issues."

So, I grabbed the steering wheel, looked through the mirrors at everyone trying to tell me which way to the turn the wheel, and, in one try, I backed it in! 

We continued our tour in the northeast and then traveled the Midwest, through Chicago and Detroit, without any mishaps, other than a hubcap flung off a car going 80 mph and hit our front grill. Thankfully no one was hurt other than our grill.

After Detroit, we were traveling down 13-Mile Road towards our next destination in Wisconsin. It was not a major highway and nor in the best of shape. Bill, driving behind me in the Caravan, suddenly shouted in our 2-way radio, "Stop! Stop! You've lost the trailer!"

I stopped the motorhome, pulled it to the side of the road, and got out. Sure enough, the trailer was in the ditch! And it was in bad shape.

After a call to Sam, another employee came our way to trade out the equipment so we could continue the tour. In the meantime, we had to spend the night behind the repair shop which was in front of a railroad track. It was a not a good night's sleep! 

Eventually, we finished the summer tour, Bill's leg healed, and he drove us back to Virginia. Bill returned to school, and I breathed a sigh of relief. That escapade was over. Now, I can go back to being a homeschool mom.

But that's not the end of the story! 

The next summer, Bill made the decision to "go on the road" for Sam again. This time we lost the trailer on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. The repair shop informed us that the reason this kept happening was that the trailer was too heavy for our motorhome and hitch. 

This didn't end our adventures, but it changed the show. Our stage went back to Indiana; and now, we had just Grandpa Cratchet and his farm truck. And Bill ran the whole thing by himself! Yeah!

    Grandpa getting stopped by police (publicity photo)

Finally, the kids and I had time to explore the towns and cities where we stopped. We even took a very short, day trip into Canada. 

The rest of the summer was peaceful and uneventful, meaning no more broken legs or trailer accidents. 

The following summer, Bill came home one day and said, "Sam wants us to do the summer tour again." 

"No," I said. "You'll have to go without me."

And that was the end of our Grandpa Cratchet adventures.

I do wish I could remember more about those two summers, but time has erased most of the details. I do remember we had fun when things weren't hectic. We met interesting people. We learned about our country. And the kids acquired some essential work skills.

Would I do it again? Hmmmm. . . 

You can watch Grandpa Crachet here on YouTube. He's still going strong, but a more modern version than we had in the 1980s.

Homeschooling Part 1 and Homeschooling Part 2 begin this series of Memoirs

Downsizing relates the many moves I made during my adult years, including our homeschooling years. 

Homeschooling - Part 2

Homeschooling Part 1 covers the "why" I homeschooled.

At the beginning of our homeschool journey, I tried to run things identical to a traditional classroom. That's all I knew.

Every morning started with the flag salute, prayer, and Bible reading. Then we dove into the “three R’s”—reading, writing, and arithmetic.

Shelly was easy. I handed her a workbook, gave her some short instructions, and she was off and running. Independent and focused.

Wil was a different story. We started with phonics.

“Bat,” I said, pointing to the colorful pictures in the workbook. “Buh, as in ball. Ah, as in apple. Tuh, as in turtle. Now put it together—B-a-t. Bat.”

Over and over, I had him repeat the sounds and try to form the word. But it wasn’t clicking. His eyes clouded with frustration. Mine too.

On to writing. . . but writing brought its own battles. Wil struggled to form the letters. His hand cramped from gripping the pencil. His letters were sometimes written backwards. After a few shaky attempts and many tears, we gave up and moved on to math.

That was the hardest yet. Even the first page of the workbook left him overwhelmed. By late morning, both of us were exhausted. I had tried everything I knew, but nothing worked.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” I said, forcing a smile. “Right now, let’s do something fun.”

Fun, for me, meant nature walks and fresh air. But going outside during school hours felt risky. We lived in a quiet development—large, one-acre lots, but with good visibility. I worried someone would notice the kids the kids in the yard playing, instead of in school, and report us. So, we stayed inside until 3:00 p.m.

We had plenty to do indoors. We read together, created art, did science experiments, and played music. During "after hours" and on weekends, we could venture outside, join neighborhood friends for playtimes, and participate in church activities. 

Thus began our first week of school.

It didn’t take long to realize I was repeating the same mistakes school had made with Wil. He was still struggling—and I wasn’t helping.

“If you keep doing the same things, you’ll keep getting the same results,” a friend once told me. She was right. I needed to try something new.

So, I began researching alternative teaching methods - Montessori. Classical education. Charlotte Mason. Unit studies. Even something called “unschooling.” I had no idea there were so many ways to educate a child!

However, the biggest breakthrough came when I read about learning styles.

I discovered that Shelly and I are visual learners—we learn by seeing. Wil, on the other hand, is an auditory and kinesthetic learner. He needs to hear things, and physically interact with them, to truly understand. 

Now, I had a new plan. I created a more flexible routine – one that blended different curriculum styles and emphasized hands-on, multi-sensory learning. We didn't simply read our lessons; we listened, touched, and explored.

I found cassette tapes that taught phonics through song. We sang, “Ah-ah-apple, buh-buh-ball, cuh-cuh-cat, and duh, duh, dog.” The catchy tune made the consonant sounds memorable.

Reading became a shared experience, with each of us taking turns as able. We’d read aloud from biographies, poetry, and the classics, as well as books about science, history and math. I would read first, then Shelly would take a turn; and, when we came to words Wil could sound out, he’d give it a try. Our old 1828 Webster’s Dictionary became a fixture on the table as we learned new vocabulary together.

Through our reading times, we learned how math developed, what made up the ocean, and how people lived in ancient times. We read about different countries and spun the globe to find them, then created our own paper and plaster maps. Eventually, we could name every U.S. state, the capitols, and many of the world’s nations.

Reading time shifted—from struggle to adventure.

Writing remained a problem for Wil. He did learn to print, albeit slowly and carefully. Teaching him cursive helped his speed a little. Then one day, he found a book on Spencerian penmanship at the library and became obsessed with mastering its elegant swirls and decorative flourishes. Oddly, that motivated him.

Still, handwriting took time—and time was precious.

Around age eight or nine, I taught both kids keyboarding. Free from the tedious physical effort of handwriting, Wil’s creativity and curiosity flourished. 

We next tackled grammar, spelling, punctuation, and composition - every day, both fiction and nonfiction, serious and silly.  

In the car, we told “chain stories”—one person started a tale, the next added a twist, and so on. The kids became masters of surprise endings.

Arithmetic became something Wil could hold in his hands, whether it was marbles, candy, or buttons. By having something tangible to stand in for numbers, he could sort them, count them, move them around, and understand why math worked. He wasn't just learning math-he was doing math.

Once we finished the basics for the day, we moved into the "electives." We learned to draw, blend with colored pencils, and paint with watercolor and acrylics. We studied the master's and tried to imitate their techniques. 

Music time meant dancing on the hardwood floor of our rec room. We spun in circles to the tempo of a waltz, sang the latest pop songs, and pounded out the beat on homemade, oatmeal-container drums with nothing more than wooden spoons.  

In the kitchen, we became mad scientists—building baking soda volcanoes; resurrecting old, discarded radios and TVs; and demonstrating Newton’s laws with wooden planks and marbles.

We hiked our neighborhood woods, gathered leaves, and pressed them in wax paper. The kids filled notebooks with sketches and snapshots of the plants and creatures we’d seen. Our adventures took us to parks, museums, and historical sites. Back home, we cooked up family favorites, sewed, and planted a simple garden.

This became our daily curriculum.

When Wil turned nine, something clicked. The child who had once lagged behind suddenly surged ahead in math and science. His reading was now on level—though he remained a slow, deliberate reader who preferred listening. His handwriting was passable, but with a keyboard or tape recorder, his composition skills were above level.

It had taken me four years to bring Wil up to grade level - four years of tears, laughter, and small, hard-won victories. My original goal was to help him learn to read, write, and do math, but somewhere along the way, all three of us had found a way of life we hadn’t expected. 

Shelly was marching along with very little intervention from me and was at least two grade levels ahead in her studies. Her one problem was math, not her favorite subject, and it remains so today. Shelly now tells me there is a dyslexia for math, called dyscalculia and that she has it. Whoops, I missed that one. Sorry, Shelly! 

At this point in time, I knew I could send them both back to traditional school and they would do fine, but our journey wasn’t over. A new adventure was calling us—We were moving to Virginia Beach.

To read about our many moves, see my post on "Downsizing." 

Coming soon: our homeschooling adventures in a motor home - Grandpa Cratchet.

Homeschooling - Part 1

Homeschooling – A Memoir (written on June 5, 2025)

Why I Wrote This Now:

It took me a many years to write about my homeschool journey; because, for much of my adult life, I believed I had failed my children by choosing to homeschool them. Friends and family thought I was insane for homeschooling. I didn't have a teaching degree; in fact, I didn't have a college degree at all. How could I possibly think that I could educate my own children? Surely, I would ruin their chance for success, and they'd become social misfits. I might even get arrested in the process and have them taken away. 

As the years passed, every challenge Wil and Shelly went through seemed to be proof that I'd made a terrible mistake. Whether their struggles were with relationships, money, or careers, I was sure it was my fault. 

But, as I grew older, I started to notice something. Every parent I knew, whether their kids went to public school, private school, or were homeschooled, watched their children struggle at times. That's just life. 

And recently, I've begun to think about all the good that came from homeschooling. I remember the fun times we had exploring the US in a 33-foot motor home, meeting people from all walks of life, and the unique learning opportunities we had. 

I think about how we, as a family, have learned resilience from life's struggles. How we've supported one another through the good times and bad. And how, as older adults, we've reconnected by giving each other the freedom to simply be. 

And finally, I'm very proud of my children's accomplishments in spite of the education I gave them. My son has his own business as a computer programmer and my daughter just finished her 2nd master's degree. Best of all, they are GOOD people! 

So yes, I'm now ready to tell my story. It's time to look back at what it meant to be a homeschool mom, before it was trendy, before it was even legal in most states. It's time to write down the good, the bad, the messy, and the beautiful. Here goes . . .  

 

The Decision (Middletown, DE, 1980-85; Wil 4-9; Shelly 3-8)

“Are you crazy?” my friend Diane asked when I told her I was pulling my son, Wil, out of school in order to homeschool him. “That's illegal!”

She was right. It was 1981, and homeschooling was illegal in Delaware. But I was preparing to do it anyway—because, to me, I had no choice. I wasn't going to let history repeat itself.

Back in the 1950s, my older brother Randy had struggled in school from first grade until the day he graduated, twelve years later. He was passed from one grade to the next without support, relentlessly teased by classmates, and constantly belittled from our father. His self-esteem never recovered. Unable to pursue further education, he drifted from one low-paying job to another, and by thirty, he had followed our father into alcoholism. He died at forty-three. 

I wasn’t going to let that happen to Wil. 

Wil had just finished five-year-old preschool. He cried every day, failed to grasp the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic, and was already being bullied. None of the professionals I spoke with could give me answers, let alone support. It wouldn't be until adulthood that Wil would be diagnosed with dyslexia and ADHD. But in the early 80s, no one had a clue.

When Wil’s teacher informed me that she was going to fail him and have him repeat kindergarten, I said, “No.” Failure wasn’t an option. 

I began exploring alternative schools, but none felt right. Around the same time, I happened to catch a segment on television about homeschooling. When I mentioned it to my in-laws, they were surprisingly encouraging. They told me about military families they knew who had homeschooled successfully. I admired my in-laws as they were both successful college graduates (Univ of Hawaii and US Naval Academy), so that was all the nudge I needed.

By summer’s end, I had made up my mind: I would homeschool.

Getting Started (1981)

In 1981, finding curriculum was a real challenge. Unless you were a professional educator, curriculum was impossible to get. After some digging, I discovered Seventh-day Adventist curriculum. The Dick and Jane-style readers featured a family who went to church on Saturday and ate plant-based burgers, long before they were popular. I wasn’t Adventist, but I knew I could make it work. 

I ordered the entire first-grade curriculum for Wil—minus the answer keys, which weren't sold to the public. I was confident I could figure out the answers. I mean, how hard can first grade be? 

Since I was keeping Wil at home, I decided to homeschool Shelly too. She was kindergarten age, already reading above grade level, so I ordered her the K5 curriculum. I was sure she could tackle this curriculum with no problems at all.

Next, I transformed the dining room of our two-story brick home into a classroom. I hung a blackboard on one wall and a bulletin board on the other. I decorated the bulletin board with multi-colored alphabets and numbers for easy reference. I stocked a bookshelf with our new curriculum and a variety of fiction and nonfiction books, from early readers to adult classics. 

At a local resale shop, I found two small wooden desks for the kids and a storage cabinet that I filled with writing paper, pencils, and art supplies. Determined to provide a well-rounded education, I also purchased some musical instruments and basic science lab equipment. 

On my desk, I placed a globe, an American flag, and our brand-new Apple IIe computer with its bright green screen and blinking cursor, just waiting for input.

The only photo I could find quickly! Kit Kat is homeschooling, too!

With the help of this new computer, I created a daily and weekly schedule that included the flag salute, prayer, the core subjects of reading, writing, arithmetic, science, and history, as well as lunch, gym, art, music, and recess. 

My goal for the year was to get Wil on grade level in his core subjects. After that, I planned to put them both back into school. 

It was time to begin!

Next time: The challenges begin and how I navigated the tricky legal terrain of homeschooling in the early 80s. Homeschooling Part 2.

 

The Morning Sky and My Porch

Finally, I have five minutes to write. I'm sitting outside on my porch, rocking in my lovely turquoise-blue glider, surrounded by twinkling red, blue, green, and yellow lights, and sipping a cup of hot Starbucks coffee. In the distant sky, I see one lonely star. At first, I thought it was a plane, but no, it doesn’t move. It's sitting there bold and shiny, as if saying to me, "You might be all alone, but you're bold and mighty."

A dark, ominous cloud rises up like a ferocious grizzly bear trying to grab the star from the sky, but no luck. The wind shoves the ugly cloud further and further away, as if to say "Stay away from my star." 

The star blinks back at me, "See, you can do it. Be brave. Keep pushing on. I haven't given up on you. You have a job to do."  

A cool breeze gives my skin a gentle hug. Sea birds soar across the sky as the sun begins to peek over my apartment building. The dark clouds are gone, but the star is still there, growing fainter as the sun brightens the sky. 

"Whether you can see me or not, I'm still here," it whispers as it fades into the pink and blue morning sky.

I'm stronger today, simply because I sat on my porch. . . 

The New Wheelchair

I was supposed to visit Bill yesterday, but the heavy rain kept me home. So, I went today instead. I’d been anxious to see his new wheelchair since the VA called to let me know it had arrived and that Bill was already using it.

This wheelchair is the Mercedes-Benz of wheelchairs! It has everything he needs including a comfy, padded seat, custom made to fit Bill's large frame, a padded headrest, and even shock absorbers of some kind for a smooth ride. 

I was able to wheel Bill around again, something I haven’t been able to do for quite some time because of his feet. One foot had locked up behind him which made it extremely difficult for the anyone to push him around. The locked-up foot hung behind and under the chair, causing Bill a lot of pain when he had to be moved. But now, his poor feet, which were so twisted and uncomfortable, are now gently straightened out again thanks to the custom footrests on this new chair. 

He seemed so much more at ease today—no repeated “help me, help me.” Maybe he was trying to tell us something all along, and we just didn’t realize how much he was hurting from sitting in that chair. He actually looked better than I've seen him in months. He even smiled once and spoke a few more words than usual. I don’t think he knew who I was, but that smile? It was golden.

He’s having more trouble eating now and needs help feeding himself. They’re pulverizing his pills and spooning them in with some kind of pudding. I brought him his favorite Coke, but he only drank two sips. That was unusual for him. He used to love a Coke. 

After I wheeled him around the complex for a while, he asked to "go home." I took him back to the Memory Care unit where they served snacks and tried to involve the residents in activities. Bill ate some Fig Newtons but wasn't interested in participating in the activities. Finally, he drifted off to sleep, and I left.  

All in all, it was a great visit. That new wheelchair is a game-changer, and I am SO THANKFUL to the VA for providing it. I can’t imagine how much it cost, but even the nurses said it was worth every penny to see Bill so much more comfortable. 

After I left Bill, I was so happy I decided to treat myself to an adventure. I went to lunch at the Hobbit Café in Houston – what fun! A friendly customer who eats there all the time gave me the "low down" and took my picture! For lunch, I had Rohan Chicken Enchiladas. I didn’t realize it when eating it, but it had some heat. So, I had to get the Carrot Cake for dessert to cool off my tummy! (I ended up taking it home – too much food!) If you've never been to the Hobbit Care, you need to go. It's a fun adventure and very popular. By time I left, the parking lot was full. 

 

After that, I went to Trader Joes. I wanted to eat first so I wouldn't buy everything in the store! I love that place. They have so many unusual goodies. Today, I bought Indian Style Flatbread, Fiberful Granola Bars, Soft and Juicy Mango slices, a huge box of strawberries, and some beautiful Shitaki mushrooms. I also got Shelly some of their delicious corn and chili salsa. 

After I got home and unloaded my groceries, I grabbed up Oreo, and we delivered the salsa to Shelly. We had a nice visit – all five of us (Shelly, me, Oreo, and her two cats: Samwise Winchester Downes and Lady Galadriel Skywalker Downes). Shelly always has had elaborate names for her cats but ends up calling them many other names over their lifetime! Currently, they get called Sammy and Moppet. 

A very nice day. . . I think I'll sleep peaceful tonight. 

Numb? Angry?

Today, I feel numb. 

Bill is getting less and less communicative and more and more distressed. Today was almost scary. He doesn't know how to tell us what's wrong. In fact, when asked, he says he's not even sure what is wrong. But he keeps screaming "help me, help me." Eventually, I finally figured out he wanted to lie down. He cannot move himself anymore, so I called the nurse in. She came with two others to help get him into bed. That was a feat! 

The Hoya lift hurts him and in the midst of the transfer he started striking out, hitting one of the nurses twice in the face. He also began cursing which is so unlike him. Then he would say, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

He knew what he was doing was wrong but didn't know how to stop himself. I ended up grabbing his hands to keep everyone safe while they finished getting him into bed. They gave him something for pain, and eventually, he settled into sleep. 

I did cry today, more than I wanted to, but I also feel numb. I feel frustrated that I can't alleviate his suffering. Watching him cry out in pain and distress like that makes me angry too. Why can't we do more? Why don't we do more? We treat our animals with more dignity than we do our loved ones. This should not be. I feel so helpless. . . and with no answers. 

Thank you from the bottom of my heart . . .

I just want to say THANK YOU to my family and friends. As I read through my journals from the past several years in preparation for creating one of my own, I am reminded of how much I leaned on my children, Wil and Shelly, especially before and during COVID while taking care of Bill. They put up with so much! Looking back now, I realize how difficult it was for them as well. At the time, I was in such a slump, I couldn't fully see the impact it was having on them. 

Another hero of mine is my cousin, Debbie. Even though she lives in New Jersey, she was a lifeline to me during the hardest days of caregiving. I spent countless hours on the phone with her - often in tears - as I tried to cope with the daily frustrations of taking care of Bill at home. 

After COVID lockdowns ended, I finally began connecting with people in Galveston. Dan was the first friend I made here, through our local caregivers support group. He's become the person I turn to - someone who truly understands what I'm going through. Like a big brother, he's traveled this road ahead of me and now guides me through one of the hardest times of my life. Every caregiver needs someone like Dan. 

When I started going to OLLI, the first friend I made was Marilyn. She invited me to lunch, introduced me to others on the island and encouraged me to have fun, something I hadn't had in years! Soon after, I found my writing buddies, Debbie and Lori. They listened patiently as I poured out my struggles and whined about my life through the written word.  

Today, I'm surrounded by so many wonderful people who help me through both the the good days and bad. I won't even try to name you all - you know who you are! Just know that you are deeply appreciated, more than words can express. THANK YOU again from the bottom of my heart.