I am so very happy to live in a part of the world where the glorious burnt orange hues of autumn, paint our landscapes so vibrantly during this tenth month of the year.

We often leave the majority of our travelling in our RV to this season. The taking in of the fall colours in Ontario, which I once declared in my youth as being a really lame way to spend a day, is now a meritorious yearly event.

October, and Huck, our old GMC motorhome, have always made for a great combination, not only for sightseeing, but for my writing too. There is nothing better on a crisp clear October day, than to gather up my laptop, my dog, and head out to our home on wheels.

It happens to be a magical space where a writer and her trusty sidekick can happily co-exist. I set myself up at the dinette table, while my sweet pup perches purposefully in the shotgun seat, to keep a close eye on the neighbourhood.

As I find myself thinking more about the ‘old’ coach bit, I am hit by the fact that it is actually ten years younger than I am. Ouch! Talk about reality bites. Well, that one just took a good chunk out of by backside.

Vintage. Now that just seems like a kinder, hipper, alternative to use, when talking about both our 1976 motorhome and myself. But is it?

In the world of antiquities there are various categories of placement. The term antique is considered to be something 100 years or older.  Whew, not there yet. Vintage items are much younger, falling into the classification of being at least 20 years old. Hmm, I am suddenly feeling a little Goldilocks-like, wondering where is my best fit? So, I dig a bit deeper, and uncover a sub-category called ‘true vintage’, which falls into the grouping of at least 50 years old. Well, there we have it. I’m not old, I am in my ‘true vintage’ years, and my rolling office is just twelve months away from officially joining the club.

I have decided that I will compare my version of being ‘true vintage’ to that of the aging process of a fine wine. I am after all, a spicy robust blend, that sometimes can leave you with a lingering acidic aftertaste, if uncorked, and not left long enough to breathe.

A quote that has been attributed to Mark Twain comes to mind, “Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.” And, in the month of Thanksgiving, I share my gratefulness that Huck and I are both blessedly able to claim the status of being ‘true vintage’.