Flash
William Blake's advice to 'catch the joy as it flies' is perfectly sound, but awfully hard to put into practice. Oddly, it is flying about these days, the joy. My brother and sister-in-law appeared from Seattle yesterday morning at 10:30, and by 11:30 they had sold Marlou's car. The Honda two-seater was a spiffy little thing, but it was hard to steer and impossible for me to climb out of on my own. So, with one car out of the way, by the following morning Richard and Debbie had secured a replacement. A downright sportif little Chrysler, dark apple red, cripple-friendly and, incredibly, new.
This afternoon the two Bendix couples stood in the 70° January air and toasted each other. Marlou had never left our home. Richard and Debbie rang us from Stevens Creek Chrysler in San Jose with news of victory, and I scurried off to the supermarket. The chilled bottles all looked the same, but I knew there were subtle distinctions. I wasn't into saving money. Richard and Debbie had saved us plenty.
Buying a new car, and selling a second-hand one, require fortitude at the best of times, but these are not the best of times for Marlou. So, it was the brother and sister-in-law who drove into a large Silicon Valley auto retailer on a Sunday, as salesmen descended like a flock of crows. They had had a telephone discussion with Joe (Mexican) and now found themselves face to face with Bill (Punjabi) in the sales room, only to be gazumped by Frank (Iranian). Of course, the $10,000 special had just been sold, but for only $14,000.... At this point my brother literally pounded the table. Much good can come of table pounding. The world needs more table pounders. Unfortunately, neither I nor Marlou are up to this right now.
As they made their faux exit, Richard and Debbie were quickly surrounded by 10 pleading, wheedling sales guys. Life is tough in the car business. Life is tough, full stop. That's why the Veuve Clicqot made it into my shopping basket, cold and ready for action. That's also why, I think, Marlou went for the red PT Cruiser. Like me, she has spent much of her life being sensible and modest. This is not the time for such moderation. This is time for red.
This is time...running out. This sense underlies everything we do. Marlou looks quite beautiful in the photo my brother took of her posed in front of the new car, holding a champagne glass aloft. She also looks quite natural, as though is the real person. It is my own nature that sucks me too deep into the poignancy of such moments. For joy is joy. It is always fleeting. Life is not persecuting us, only instructing.
A psychologist recently suggested that I might just cease my travel planning. As Marlou describes it, my destiny is to prepare for the next journey, then the next one, then the one after that. I am like a shark forever swimming forward. Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, holiday homes on the coast, these things keep churning through my mind. When it is warmer we will go here, and if it is not warmer, we will go there. Book now, go then. Except that now is restricted and then is uncertain.
My recent wheelchair repair is a postgraduate course in fate acceptance. The secondhand controller cost nothing. My wheelchair has a way of braking to a terrifying halt every hundred meters or so. A flick of the on/off button gets the thing going again, but for how long? Another hundred meters is the answer. Until I rolled up the wheelchair ramp into our apartment while Marlou's old car was being sold and found that, dammit, the controller was blinking. Inside the apartment, the thing was stopping every 10 meters. My brother, just off the plane, pronounced a loose chip. He gave the controller a slap, and it instantly started working. Say what you will about corporal punishment....
Intermittent. Unpredictable. Thus my journey down the great road of life. At the end of the day we are all at the mercy of airline baggage handlers. My wheelchair, I am convinced, will never be the same again. But nothing will. Marlou's photo op by her new car was just one of those beautiful moments. The Great Baggage Handler in the Sky had temporarily put down his sledgehammer and was leaving terrestrial things alone. Flash.
This afternoon the two Bendix couples stood in the 70° January air and toasted each other. Marlou had never left our home. Richard and Debbie rang us from Stevens Creek Chrysler in San Jose with news of victory, and I scurried off to the supermarket. The chilled bottles all looked the same, but I knew there were subtle distinctions. I wasn't into saving money. Richard and Debbie had saved us plenty.
Buying a new car, and selling a second-hand one, require fortitude at the best of times, but these are not the best of times for Marlou. So, it was the brother and sister-in-law who drove into a large Silicon Valley auto retailer on a Sunday, as salesmen descended like a flock of crows. They had had a telephone discussion with Joe (Mexican) and now found themselves face to face with Bill (Punjabi) in the sales room, only to be gazumped by Frank (Iranian). Of course, the $10,000 special had just been sold, but for only $14,000.... At this point my brother literally pounded the table. Much good can come of table pounding. The world needs more table pounders. Unfortunately, neither I nor Marlou are up to this right now.
As they made their faux exit, Richard and Debbie were quickly surrounded by 10 pleading, wheedling sales guys. Life is tough in the car business. Life is tough, full stop. That's why the Veuve Clicqot made it into my shopping basket, cold and ready for action. That's also why, I think, Marlou went for the red PT Cruiser. Like me, she has spent much of her life being sensible and modest. This is not the time for such moderation. This is time for red.
This is time...running out. This sense underlies everything we do. Marlou looks quite beautiful in the photo my brother took of her posed in front of the new car, holding a champagne glass aloft. She also looks quite natural, as though is the real person. It is my own nature that sucks me too deep into the poignancy of such moments. For joy is joy. It is always fleeting. Life is not persecuting us, only instructing.
A psychologist recently suggested that I might just cease my travel planning. As Marlou describes it, my destiny is to prepare for the next journey, then the next one, then the one after that. I am like a shark forever swimming forward. Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, holiday homes on the coast, these things keep churning through my mind. When it is warmer we will go here, and if it is not warmer, we will go there. Book now, go then. Except that now is restricted and then is uncertain.
My recent wheelchair repair is a postgraduate course in fate acceptance. The secondhand controller cost nothing. My wheelchair has a way of braking to a terrifying halt every hundred meters or so. A flick of the on/off button gets the thing going again, but for how long? Another hundred meters is the answer. Until I rolled up the wheelchair ramp into our apartment while Marlou's old car was being sold and found that, dammit, the controller was blinking. Inside the apartment, the thing was stopping every 10 meters. My brother, just off the plane, pronounced a loose chip. He gave the controller a slap, and it instantly started working. Say what you will about corporal punishment....
Intermittent. Unpredictable. Thus my journey down the great road of life. At the end of the day we are all at the mercy of airline baggage handlers. My wheelchair, I am convinced, will never be the same again. But nothing will. Marlou's photo op by her new car was just one of those beautiful moments. The Great Baggage Handler in the Sky had temporarily put down his sledgehammer and was leaving terrestrial things alone. Flash.
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