Life on the Edge
The Beginning
In April of 1973, I was weeks away from college graduation with no particular plan. Spring time in Wisconsin offers warm afternoons, visitors and new beginnings. SucH was the case when Anne showed up with a bare midriff, hair down to the middle of he back and Rupert the Dog to make a neighborly visit. The attraction was immediate, mutual and completely unexpected. The following six weeks were the best of my young life, with kisses, bike rides, tree climbing, and a date to the rodeo. A pact was hatched to join her in Ecuador in August. My challenge was to make money, get a passport, and fly to meet her in Washington, D.C..
Ecuador was my first encounter with life on the edge. Meeting up after bein separated for 14 weeks was electric and confusing. Were we lovers, friends, or fellow travelers in a country where we did not know the language or the customs? On my first visit outside the US, I learned how to barter, why it's important to drink bottle water, and there's magic in the stars when the lights go out in a beach town. In a small, remote village on the Atlantic coast, Anne and I talked and circled each other like wary predators before settling back into a passionate romance.
When we returned to the states in September, we made a short stopover to meet her parents. I passed a suitability test with her mother, and flunked my paternal intervie A long haired, unemployed teacher was simply not good enough for his wonderful daughter. Fortunately, Anne felt otherwise and together we put a new plan in motion. I would go back to WI, put together a grubstake, and return to be with her in Baltimore as soon as possible.
Living rent free, I painted 2 houses and spent $150 hard earned dollars on my first car a 1948 Ford F150 pick-up. The brakes were suspect, there was no radio, but I declared it road worthy after constructing wooden side rails to increase the cargo space. My new vehicle needed to hold Anne's Madison possessions and a few possessions that I considered necessary to start a new life on the East Coast.
Early one afternoon in mid-October, I set out for the East Coast after loading the truck and securing Anne's, favorite St Vinnie's wing chair, to the top of the truck cab. I made it about 40 miles before I had to stop and completely retie the plastic I had fashioned to cover the truckload of possessions. Life on the edge may not be apparent when you are in love. Acknowledging that you have no idea how to pack a vehicle exposed to the elements or that a 1000-mile road trip might not be wise in an aging, gas guzzling truck are not a source of concern. You are only considering the upside. In a short twenty-four hours, you will be lying next to the woman of your dreams.
The sharp edge of reality reappeared before long. In the darkness of the Indiana Tollway, I was stopped by a state trooper because he noticed my truckload of valuables swaying as I moved down the road at 55 miles per hour. He basically thought the truck was unsafe. When I told him my story, he backed off a bit and urged me to pull into the next rest stop and take a nap. Which I promptly did. The next day, I was just into the Pennsylvania hills when I noticed it was time to stop for gas. On a whim, I checked the oil and the dipstick was dry as a bone. 10 gallons of gas and a case of 10W30 oil later, I hit the road again. I did not realize how close I had come to destroying the engine or that a diet of lemonade and Keebler sandwich cookies were inadequate energy sources for a road trip. New to life on the edge, I did not sweat the small stuff. By late afternoon the next day, I reached Laurel, Maryland where I found Anne smiling and eager to see me. Holding her again after our separation was a marvelous feeling. The magic of her touch masked the reality I was lucky to arrive in one piece with all our possessions intact.
Basking in the glow of our reunion, I gave little thought to what adventures lay ahead. If someone had told me that I was about to embark on a 50 year adventure with a wonderful, dynamic woman, raise 2 children, live in a house on the lake, have 4 grandchildren, 6 jobs, and a regular winter's rest in Palm Springs, CA, I would have been astonished. Both my father and grandfather led full lives in the small town where they were born and never left. Clearly, I was destined for a different life. Life on th edge is guaranteed to provide unknowable twists and turns.
LIFE ON THE EDGE II
I greet the dawn in the Palm Springs desert with a sense of wonder. As the sun rises, it casts the mountains in a golden glow while the full moon sinks slowly in the west. My coee, hot and creamy , warms my hands as I oer a few thoughts of gratitude to start the day. I am 74, it's Thursday, and I am ok. Shortly, two small energy bundles, masquerading as angels, Evangeline, age 7, and her sister, Lola, age 6, will rise to oer hugs, smiles, and all matter of giggles. What could be better?
As residents of Los Angeles, they are here with their parents to escape the smoke and ash generated by the great conagration that is currently ravaging many parts of the city. Their neighborhood, downwind from the Eden fire, is not in danger but scarred none the less. Ashes are everywhere, it is hard to breathe when you are outside, and schools are closed. It is not a pleasant place to be.
Conflicting emotions spark and rumble as I struggle to make sense of my current reality. Time with grandchildren and your adult children is to be celebrated, despite not enough space, conflicting schedules, and mandatory pool time morning and afternoon. However, they would not be here if there were not wild fires devouring many parts of Los Angeles. Even without the benefit of television news, my sense of sorrow and disbelief about this tragedy is deep and persistent. How did the fire start? What will happen to the people who lost their homes? What about people in the service industry (including my son) who are likely to be out of work Will my daughter-in-law, new to her real estate career, merely survive or thrive in the devastated real estate market of Los Angeles? Why are we arguing about fault and not paying more attention to the climate change warnings?
I am slow to grasp the idea that both these feelings are connected. The world is a complex place, with happiness and sorrow present in equal measure. It is not for me to judge or get too attached to either circumstance. Life on the edge allows me to experience both of these conflicting emotions without being consumed by either. I live a charmed life with good health, a beautiful partner of 50 years, a stone house with a view of the lake, and many other privileges accorded to my income status. At the same time, my California children's future is far less secure with drought, wildfires, and earthquakes on the horizon. When asked about the prospect of moving away to a more secure, greener location in Wisconsin, they respond with the conviction the charms of California outweigh the disadvantages. Go figure. Today, I feel lucky and blessed with family, friends and a view of the mountains. Tomorrow, it is likely I will wake worried about the state of our democracy, the grim future facing California, or our collective failure to live peaceably side by side with our neighbors. Life on the edge always offers a choice.
