We needed to name our van and we had several names on the table, but sadly, I can't remember most of them. Liam, the snarky thirteen-year-old, wanted Vanessa. "Get it?" he said. "VANessa." He thought it was hilarious. I thought it was too obvious. It came from the kid who hated our choice for the door panels so I have a hard time accepting any of his suggestions, let alone letting him name our beauty.

This picture is a fake. The van is real. The silly niece is real. Obviously the Friends cast didn't come to Ontario to pose in our van 😆

It came down to two choices: Gretchen or Pearl.


Of course, there's no rule that says you must name your vehicle, but this pretty lady is part of our family now, and like every family member, she deserves a name to be proud of!

Video transcription [FILMED on AUGUST 3, 2019]:

Okay, so, we're having a little - not debate - but discussion about what to name this rig. And I don't know why it's been such a struggle, but we're just really not agreeing. Which isn't so abnormal for us. It took us almost two days to name Liam. So, I mean, this is kind of our MO - that's okay. Last night I proposed the name Gretchen, which I really like. It was in a list of top names from 1981, so that seems appropriate. And Gretchen means Pearl. So, when I explained that to Scott, he was like, "Why not Pearl?"

If you watch Friends, there's this episode where Joey buys a boat at auction and realizes he can't pay for it, so Rachel helps him try and convince Mr. Beaumont - who was another guy at the auction - to buy it, telling him he could name it after his wife. And it would be called 'The Pam'. [Friends Video Clip] So that's what I hear with Pearl. "Pearl." And yeah, that's alright, that seems appropriate.

A little lightbox mounted over one of the jump chairs lets everyone know who our lady is ❤️

Now, the idea of Gretchen just seems ridiculous. Like when we were sure Liam was a Hayden until the moment of his birth, and now we can't believe we entertained such a thought.

Have you named any of your vehicles? I'd love to hear the story behind your choice!

(this post contains Amazon associate links and any purchases made upon clicking through this link will put a little cash into our gas money jar)

I'd forgotten the French press. 🤦‍♀️

If you buy yourself a vintage vehicle, it goes without saying that you must make sure that vehicle remembers where it came from.



Every era has its own style and we all know the 80s is no exception. Slouch socks anyone? Much of my childhood was spent in the 80s, but my parents kept the radio on CBC and we didn't have a television to spit MTV into the basement, so I entered adulthood rather uneducated when it came to music. Part of Scott's role as my life partner has been to bring me up to speed — and he's done a great job of it — and while 80s music wouldn't be at the top of my list, there are some gems in there. And I refuse to take our beauty beast out on the road without a little taste of her own era.

With '81 names like Journey, AC/DC, Bob Dylan, and Joan Jett & The Blackhearts, you can bet we're going to have an all-out sing-a-long party when we hit the road. The kids will groan and beg to change it to a pop playlist (which we will accommodate from time to time; we're not monsters) but we just HAVE to break that baby in with a true taste of her roots.

When we first went to see the Roadtrek, we realized it didn't have a radio at all — at some point it had been removed and the space it once occupied covered up with duct tape.

See the duct tape in the upper right? And check out that classic steering wheel, crank windows, and orange carpet!!!

Our brains were all-van, so we didn't really think about the repercussions. Actually, there's a big part of me that thinks the idea of a radio-free trip is kind of lovely, but I know we'd miss it if we tested that theory out.

We want the ability to listen to music, podcasts, and audio books while we travel so we had some decisions to make. Do we install a new stereo system? Do the factory speakers even work or do we need new speakers too? How much are we willing to spend when we've already busted our budget with the initial purchase? What about Bluetooth?

It just so happens that last week we popped around to various local shops looking for things we didn't know we needed for the van — not to purchase, just to build a list — and we found a very cool vintage-look wall-mount Bluetooth speaker. The Victrola Wall Mounted Bluetooth Speaker with A/C Adaptor and Built-in Rechargeable Battery. I loved it right away and knew the vintage styling would blend in SO WELL with our van's dated interior. The problem was, we didn't know how well the sound would carry through a big vehicle while on the road, AND there was only one left in the store (and it was on sale). So we bought it. We will test it in the van once it's finally in our possession. If it can be heard from nose to tail, great; if not, we'll return it and come up with a new plan.*

Building a Road Trip Playlist

It's easy to create a playlist. Especially if you use an app like Spotify. Just search and add — easy peasy. Because I'm not quite awesome enough to know what songs were released or made the charts in 1981 (I know, I know, you're totally disappointed in me), I googled it and went through a few lists, pulling out the songs I actually liked or could imagine us singing along to.

You can visit the playlist by clicking here, or just listen in below. 🎧

After we made a handshake agreement with the sellers based on having a pre-safety done on the '81 Roadtrek before we fully committed, I set a number in my head and told myself if it was much more than that we would have to walk away.

Why? Because we had a budget. Because we also want to be able to afford gas and groceries when we finally hit the road.

For the week it was with the mechanic I felt like I was living on a prayer. Please please please please please please please let it work out!

When he finally called, we sat across the dining room table from each other, Scott's phone on speaker resting between us as the mechanic shared what he'd discovered. He walked us through what the van needed to safety. Then he quoted a number. It was $70 more than the number I had set in my head.

Do we walk away?

It was like a proposal. Say yes, and you're committing to a life change. Say no, and you have nothing but the experience of tough decision-making to propel you forward without the man (van!) of your dreams.


Scott asked the mechanic if he thought the engine was good. "I'd jump in that thing right now and drive it straight across the country as is!"

Good enough!

How do I justify going past my number? Easy. I wanted it. I believed it was meant for us. And I felt sure things would work out in our favour, whether we spent a little more or not. We'd looked at so many and learned quickly that the new certification laws in Ontario mean that you're going to have to put out a pretty penny no matter what you're buying. So, we could abandon this thing of beauty we were both fully in love with, go search for something else that wouldn't be ready for our August trip and would still cost a lot to certify, OR we could remind ourselves this is an investment in our future and our family and that the major cost of the safety (new tires) would have to be faced down the road anyway if not now.

None of this happened in a real conversation as we sat on the phone with the mechanic. Scott looked at me, showed me a thumbs up and a thumbs down. I returned with a thumbs up.

"Okay," he said to the phone. "Go ahead with the safety!"

So just like that, we made a huge decision, and we felt good about it. A little nervous, but good.

When we got a call on Tuesday (a whole week earlier than it was supposed to be ready!) we dropped everything and jumped in the car to go pick it up.


The thrill of knowing it was ours was palpable between us. Everything seemed to go our way:

• the final charge for the safety (including an appraisal, which is required by the tax man for vehicles over 20 years old) was $300 less than we were quoted — which brought us well under that number I'd set for us.
• the woman working the counter at the Service Ontario office in Wiarton was the most cheerful, patient, and helpful person - which is not the normal reception you expect when entering one of these where-joy-goes-to-die departments. 
• we realized the van has cruise control — bonus!
• and we discovered that it's already set up with beds for four — another huge surprise!

Seeing that vintage beauty parked in our driveway, waiting for us to put our own touches on her interior, is so exciting. I can't wait to get into it, clean it, and make it our own!

This is real talk here. Can a vanlifer be over thirty and never wear a bikini? If I say I'm living that #vanlife dream and I'm not wearing a size zero while I do it, will I break the internet? Welcome to the experiment friends. I'm taking this test on the road!

If you've taken any time to explore the #VanLife hashtag on Instagram, your screen will be full of beautiful, woodsy women in tiny bikinis, their beachy hair piled up with a stylish scarf, their skin as smooth as a six-year-old, their van so clean you could lick the walls, their partner so fit and adorable you can't help but sigh. Is this real life? We're supposed to believe it is. And I don't know how to feel about that.


Fact: I will turn forty this year.
Fact: I couldn't fit a size zero over my knees if I my life depended on it.

I'm old, you guys. And you're not going to find pictures of a perfectly toned butt cupped in a skimpy bikini bottom as I gaze out over the ocean this August. Nope. No Way. If that's what you want, go follow some shiny account and clear me from your browser history.

I want to use this platform as a way to share what I'm learning along the way, not to show you what great shape I'm (not) in. Nothing against those beautiful women who use their beach-ready glow to promote their lifestyle — God bless them and their young bodies that Just Won't Quit — I'm just not that girl. I want my message to be that you can chase after a dream no matter what your age is.

So, you're inspired by those gorgeous sunset pictures taken out the back of a van? Great! You're sixty-five and ready to try life on the road? GREAT!

Vanlife should be ageless. Just like it should be okay to be bikini-less.

What do you think? Do you follow #vanlife journeys because of the beautiful people, or because of the lifestyle. Inquiring minds want to know!

When John Lennon penned the words of the famous song, All You Need is Love, I believe he was talking about how there is nothing new under the sun and as long as you have love, life can't be boring. When John Travolta dressed up like an overweight angel and sang it to Andie MacDowell in the back of an old station wagon, I believe he was reminding the passengers in that car that there's no use fussing and fighting. [Don't know why John Lennon and John Travolta mean something to me? Pop over and read about my various obsessions in Why Shopping for a Van Will Strengthen Your Relationship.]

To think that all you need is love is a little naive, but it is a beautiful sentiment.

Love isn't something you can quantify. There isn't a mathematical formula to know if you have enough. You just know.

And if a van is right for you, you will just know.


And yes. You can fall in love with a van.

I think there are three measures of attraction:

1. Physical
2. Emotional
3. Spiritual

Physical: Does that sexy beast make your heart sing? Does the curve of her roof line cause you to suck in your breath? Does the creak of her hinges send shivers down your spine? Does the purr of her engine put a little gas in your tank? Yes? Then you're crushing something fierce!

Emotional: Does she listen to your hopes? Does she support the weight of your dreams? Do you trust that she'll go the distance and stand by you in good times and bad? Do you want to build a closer connection? Are you moved to touch her seams and pat her bumper and whisper secrets into her vents and ask her to the fantasy suite? Yes? Welcome to the hot bed of lust! 

Spiritual: Is she the Diana to your Anne with an 'e'? Do you want to tattoo your mark upon her with destination bumper stickers? Are you already searching for the perfect name to grace the Van-Highness? Is she the sigh you release in a moment of pure bliss? Does she feel like home? Yes? Well, my friend, you've done it. You're in love!

When we pulled into the driveway of the couple who were selling it, that 1981 Roadtrek sat there waiting for us, all vintage and glorious and at first, all I could manage was a Betty Boop, "Oh!"

A switch flipped the moment I saw it. Like when Jim Carrey was The Mask and he AHOOGAED Cameron Diaz. She was beautiful and I felt an instant connection.

I shrugged off the orange shag carpet. I ignored the white sateen (or whatever it was) on the ceiling. I didn't care that the radio was missing from the dashboard. Love is blind.

She whispered to me as I searched her compartments: oh, the adventures we will have. She giggled as I took the wheel and tried her out along the country road. You are mine, I whispered back.


Love is blind, but you can't let it be stupid. We knew she was listed for a price that tickled the borderline of our budget, but we also knew we'd looked at countless vans and none of them had spoken our name as much as she did.

"I want it," I said.

"Me too," Scott said.


So we made a handshake deal with the seller after he agreed to letting us have a pre-safety preformed. Anxiety settled in as we reminisced about all the hope we'd poured into the ambulance, only to have those hopes destroyed after the pre-safety. We looked at each other like two people with first date jitters.

"I feel good about this one," Scott said.

"Me too."

The moment the idea of purchasing a van was on the table, it became a full-time obsession. Losing the ambulance was a kick to the shin, but recognizing that the dream didn't die there was so exciting and so much fun. I suddenly saw vans everywhere. I went from never noticing them (unless they were a Volkswagen 😍) to feeling like there were more vans on the road than anything else.


We owned a minivan. I hated it. I despised it with the heat of a million suns. It was ugly and it was stupid and all those years ago, when I told my husband I wanted to live in a van someday, I should have added the caveat: but I will never own a minivan. Serves me right for not speaking my truth. I've grown so much since then. And a few weeks ago, when we dropped it off at the wreckers and picked up our $250.00, I was happier than a clam at a lobster bake. (I don't even know what that metaphor means, but sometimes I just let my fingers do the talking here...😜) So, when I say van, please don't picture a soccer mom!

We were driving somewhere very soon after the ambulance loss, and I was seeing vans everywhere. I should have gotten whiplash from all the times I swung around in my seat to check out the camper sitting out in a farmers field or tucked behind a shop.

"Are you seeing vans everywhere now?" my husband asked me when we locked eyes after both staring after a conversion van with a For Sale sign in the windshield.

"Yes! Everywhere!"

It's such a strange phenomenon. We've had a rental Jeep twice — and if you've never driven a Jeep before, drop everything and run to the nearest dealership for a test drive — they are ridiculously fun. I'd never really noticed Jeeps before then, but suddenly, they were everywhere. And I was part of a community. Did you know Jeep owners all wave to each other? Like bikers, but with less leather. It's kind of awesome.

And when we bought our little red Chevy Sonic? I suddenly saw them everywhere.

So weird.

So that's why the world was suddenly overrun with vans. Like that scene in World War Z where there isn't a wall, there are only zombies. Except it's a road not a wall, and it's vans not zombies. Yeah. You get it.

"Stop the car!!!"

It happened every time we drove anywhere. It was our love song.

We have had shared goals since the beginning of our relationship. It began with our incessant search for John Travolta movies. (Keep your opinions to yourself. JT owns a piece of my heart and I stand by my man!)

We scoured thrift stores and markets and closing Blockbusters until I owned every single movie. Except Moment by Moment. John Travolta. Lily Tomlin. "A lonely socialite and a young drifter enter into a May-December romance." I mean, come on!  Couldn't find that one anywhere! Do you know where I can get it????

Finding Beatle records was next. Obsessed.

Then it was Toy Story figures. (You should see the collection we built for our kids!)

We've always had something that we're tracking down together. Shared goals, no matter how silly or frivolous, keep relationships fresh and exciting. It's a nerdy kind of excitement, but that's our sweet spot! Working together for something is rewarding and fun.

"STOP THE CAR!!!"

We were stopping to look at RV's, buses, short buses, cargo vans, conversion vans, vans in parking lots that we'd sneak up on and peek through the windows of whether they were for sale or not. Yeah. We were all in.

The kids moaned and groaned and looked around to make sure their friends weren't seeing their crazy parents climbing through ditches to get to the extended Dodge in the field by the auto wreckers.

When a 1981 Roadtrek came up in our online searches, our curiosity was piqued. We'd just gone to see a vintage RV because long conversations had us coming to realize we couldn't manage a family of five in something as small as a standard conversion van. But an RV? It's just not what I saw myself in.

The one we visited was cool. It was already outfitted with four bunks and a double bed. Perfect. It had lots of room and lots of seat belt. Great.

But it wasn't a van. I was not in love.

But the Roadtrek. I had a good feeling about that one.

The sun breaks past the horizon in a slow blaze of glory; not Bon Jovi rock 'n' roll (because that should be saved for when the highway's zipping by beneath you) - more like an easy hallelujah, a yoga-ish, granola fed, give peace a chance kind of glory. You're somewhere quiet. The kids are still sleeping in their bunks and you're cozied up to your lover, sipping a French press from ceramic, back doors open to reveal the breathtaking vista where you laid down anchor by shifting into Park the night before. Early fog curls up from the dewy ground and you are home...

It takes a certain kind of person to embrace the whole #VanLife dream. You either get it or you don't. I get it. And not in a naive, look-at-the-pretty-Instagram-post, kind of way. I get it in a gritty, from-the-top-of-my-head-to-the-soles-of-my-feet kind of way. Some of us are just born with a little wanderlust. Some of us live for bare feet and loose schedules and see-ya-when-I-see-ya.

I've got hippie in my blood, and I've always said I was born into the wrong decade.



No, I don't want to lock myself in and hot box it until I can't see straight. I don't want dreadlocks, and I certainly have no plans to go vegan. But I do want to simplify. I want to slow down. And even if I'm not a place in my life (or my parenting) where I can do a full-time van existence, I feel happy with the compromise we've landed at.

We will be fair-weather vanlifers. For now.

For years I've said my retirement plan involves living in a van. Sell everything. Hit the road. Home is where you park it, and all that jazz. Maybe one of the kids will buy the ol' homestead and keep it in the family (just like we bought it from my parents eight years ago) — and we'll pop around to park in the driveway and visit the grandkids in the summer. Wintertime? We'll be bombing around the beaches of Mexico, getting our sun on!

I was obsessed with the idea of that ambulance. It had seemed so serendipitous, reminiscing about those old make-out days then standing in the back of an ambulance, imagining being seventeen again... It was like we'd come full circle, twenty-one years later. What a story it would have made! So perfect, I was sure it would all work out.


It's silly to get so caught up in an idea. God bless our eldest son who kept telling me not to put all my hopes on the line. He's wise beyond his years. I'm a romantic fool and don't let naysayers knock me down, but when the call from the mechanic came, I felt the wind go out of my sails and I slumped in my chair like a deflated balloon.