It was some date in January, 1971, and I was doing what any self-respecting person would do in January in England. I was shoveling snow...lots of snow...lots and lots of snow. I had to be at work shortly, and work was several miles away...and before I could go to work, I had to find my car (a very small Triumph), which I figured might be the small white lump in front of my house. It was still snowing, quite heavily, and as I uncovered the front of my car and proceeded toward the rear, the snow was re-covering the front for me. Finally, I was able to uncover it enough to leave; just in time, because down the road, here comes a snowplow...which would have pretty much re-buried me.
I got to work, only 30 minutes late, and began the days labors. About an hour or so later, the Company Commander called me into his office. When I arrived, I noticed two other men in there with him...a civilian and a Chaplain. The civilian introduced himself as Mr. So-and-so, from the Red Cross. Seems there was a problem in my family...my mother had been traveling, and as she got off her plane at her destination, she collapsed. She was rushed to the hospital, where they discovered a massive bleeding ulcer, and apparently, a large portion of her blood in her stomach...and they discovered something else.
It was necessary (said Mr. So-and-so) for me to take an emergency leave, and go see her, as her life was apparently in some danger. So, I rushed home (as fast as the still swirling snow would let me), packed a bag, explained the circumstances to my wife, and headed back to the base, where transportaion had been arranged...seems I was pretty much going half way around the world, as my mother chose to collapse...in Hawaii. I really don't have to explain my wifes' reaction to the fact that I was going to Hawaii and she was shoveling snow now, do I?
RAF Lakenheath, England to Bayonne, New Jersey...Bayone, New Jersey to McClelland AFB, California...McClelland AFB, California to Hilo, Hawaii...snow to snow to wind to...Paradise. Didn't really notice Paradise, as I rushed to the hospital, ran up to the correct floor, asked for the room number, ran into the room...and stopped cold. Turned, walked back to the desk, asked for the room number again, was given the same number, and informed them that that couldn't be right. The person in that room had obviously died a week previously, and had somehow been mummified. Couldn't be my mother. They informed me that it was, in fact, my mother. Went back to the room. Slowly approached the bed. Peered closely. Yeeaahh, MAYBE there was a very slight resemblance...maybe.
Mummy croaked...err...spoke...requested liquid sustenance. I gave her some water and she perked right up. Surprisingly, two days later, she looked normal, and was ready to be discharged. And then, the doctor came in...Don't know if you know this, but doctors drone...usually, there's a nurse to translate, but there wasn't one that day, so the doctor just droned on and on and on..."Mrs. Hurley, blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda, blah, blah, tumor, blah, yadda, yadda, final stages, blah, blah, blah, three months left, yadda, yadda, yad...hold up here...back up, buckeroo...what's this about three months? Seems she had colon cancer...too late to operate...could do chemo, but wouldn't work...three months left, about...wow...she was 59 years old...
She was discharged, and we went to a friends house for her recuperation, over on the Kona Coast...an absolutely beautiful place. I had 28 days left on my leave, and decided to stay for the entire time...after all, when I returned to England, I probably wouldn't see her again. We explored the island, found lava tubes and lava caves, checked to make sure there wasn't any...you know...lava left in them, and I did some spelunking...took a drive completely around the island...went to the beach...
While at the beach, she wanted to just relax in the sand...I decided to head out and check out the crystal clear water...see what I could see. So, off I went...got out there a bit, dove down...and got caught in an undercurrent. Said current, doing what currents do, pulled me under, rolled me around, twisted me up, tied me in a knot, untied me, all the while pulling me farther out to sea. Now, I'm a smoker...have been doing that for 50 years or so now...at the time, it was only about 13 years, but even so...yeah, I know...shouldn't do that, etc., etc....but I did. Smokers can't hold their breath as well as non-smokers, did you know that? So, as I'm getting swept where ever, I'm primarily trying not to drown. Finally...finally...the current release me, and I managed to get to the surface...and there I bob, taking great, hoarse, gasping breaths, my eyes, full of salt, squeezed shut as I tried to form tears to wash the salt away, my heart pounding like a blacksmiths' hammer...and I finally open my eyes and see...nothing...nothing but water...look to the left...water...look to the right...water. Apparently, during my tour through a watery grave, some one has stolen an entire island.
Now, over the intervening years, I've carefully analyzed this situation, and I've come to an obvious conclusion: at some point during my swirling, my normal, average, human intelligence had been washed out of me and swept away...you see, a person of normal, average, human intelligence would have...you know...looked behind them. I didn't do that...I just treaded water, and looked out at miles and miles of miles and miles and started thinking that maybe...if I floated and swam alternately, I could...why, look...there's a ship...maybe they can swing over and pick me up...that would be...what? I thought I heard some one call...my name...yeah, there it is again...Here I am! Are you waiting for me to come to you? There's a huge light in the sky, should I come to the light? Maybe you could help me get there? Hello...where are you? Where are...
So, during this conversation with...whoever, I actually swung around, and look! Somebody stuck an island over there! Just a couple of hundred yards away...and look...there's...yeah, Hi, Mom! Yeah, I see you...easier to swim if I don't have to stop and wave all the time, Ma...yeah, I'm coming...relax, Ma, I'll get there already...OK, so now you're not waving, you're pointing...you don't have to point at me, Ma, I know I'm out here...ooohhhh...you're pointing at the fin...
You know, certain people work way too hard...I speak, of course, of Olympic swimmers...they train hours and hours each day...they watch their diet, they work out...they don't need to do that. Just drop them in the ocean, flop a fin down behind them, and both Olympic and World Records would fall like flies in a gas chamber...I'm pretty sure I broke a few that day. I swam so hard that I was still going strong when I hit that very, very shallow water...you know...most people call it a beach. I turned my head to inhale, and got a couple of lungfuls of sand...did you know that the average adult male of, say, 23, can't actually inhale sand and reap any benefits from it? Well, you do now...Just sayin'.
Well, the month flew by...for me. My wife, who was still shoveling snow, probably didn't feel that way...I didn't actually have the courage to ask her. At the end of the month, I said a tearful good-bye to Mom...knowing it would be the last time...
The Update:
Three months...to the day... after that fateful announcement...the doctor died; massive heart attack. My mother did, sadly, succumb to colon cancer and heart failure...fifteen years later. Three doctors gave her dates with death, and she outlived all three of them.
Oh...and that intelligence I lost? I thought about it often after that...I wondered: was it swept out to sea? devoured by the shark? Or, did it eventually wash up on shore, and lay on the beach, gasping, pale pink, and pulsating slightly, waiting for some one to find it, love it, give meaning to it once again? I hope so...I, over the intervening years, have managed to cope with both its loss and it absence...and judging by the way people are today, I think maybe I'm better off without it...
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
House of Cards
So, after Daddy (Bill #3) committed several felonies, including attempted murder (three counts), assault with a deadly weapon (3 counts) and suicide, there was the small problem of what the rest of us were going to do. Part of the reason for the suicide was depression over the fact that his home-run business of lumber and construction was failing...had in fact failed, for the most part.
When the bank took over the business, they included our ranch in the deal. Mom had pretty much lost everything at this point...the only thing she had left was a house that Bill was in the process of building, on "spec" as it were...he was hoping to build it and then sell it...that being all we had left, that was where we moved...and that was where we lived for the next 8 months.
The thing about this house was, it wasn't quite finished...in fact, it was just a frame...the walls didn't actually exist as walls...there was no electricity, no gas, no water, no bathrooms...nothing but a concrete slab with some frame walls...no sheetrock, no plaster, no nothin'...this was home...
Well, we moved in, just before winter set in. Must have looked a bit strange from the highway...a frame set up with furniture, dining set in the dining room, a barbeque served as the stove, an old ice-box was the fridge...put a 40 lb. block of ice in the top, it kept food stored below from spoiling...at least not quite as fast. The bathroom was a hole dug out back...kept covered with wood, moved at regular intervals...scrap lumber placed strategically to insure privacy.
Fortunately, this was the winter of 1951-1952...the gangs of LA, if they even existed then, hadn't penetrated the High Desert yet...the people were actually honest...and in 8 months, we lost not a single thing to theft. Mom had some blankets, there were nails lying around...hanging some blankets made for acceptable walls and gave some form of privacy. There weren't enough blankets for the house, so every day, we would have to move the walls...
At night, the blankets would be around our bedrooms...and when we got up in the morning, we would carefully climb up, remove the "walls", take them to the living - dining area, and put them up. After eating, we would take them down, and put them where ever we were going to be. Mom would go off to work, and Pete and I would stay and "guard" the house...of course, we were 3 and 5, so guarding wouldn't have actually helped if anyone wanted in...at least we couldn't lock ourselves out...
Mom worked two jobs trying to come up with the money to get the bills paid, and get us into a house that had actual...you know...house parts. She would tend to come "home", fix dinner, sit at the table with us...and fall asleep there while we ate...
The hardest part about this type of living was the wind. It tends to get rather windy in the desert, especially in the winter time. This could be a problem if you have no walls...anything "blowable" couldn't be left out...so, when we finished dressing, our pajamas had to be packed away...when we were done playing, the toys got put away or they blew away...a rather expensive way to learn to clean up after ourselves...taught at a very early age...
After eight months, my mother finally saved up enough money to put us is an actual house...but she had to sell the house we were in to do it. Someone decided to buy the place, and gave us time to find a place to move to before they took possession...And they stayed there for at least 35 years that I know of...meanwhile, we rented a house not too far away, and passed the house every day on our way to school. The house is still there...at least it was the last time I went through Apple Valley...but that's been a few years...and the house would be approaching 60 years old by now...
When the bank took over the business, they included our ranch in the deal. Mom had pretty much lost everything at this point...the only thing she had left was a house that Bill was in the process of building, on "spec" as it were...he was hoping to build it and then sell it...that being all we had left, that was where we moved...and that was where we lived for the next 8 months.
The thing about this house was, it wasn't quite finished...in fact, it was just a frame...the walls didn't actually exist as walls...there was no electricity, no gas, no water, no bathrooms...nothing but a concrete slab with some frame walls...no sheetrock, no plaster, no nothin'...this was home...
Well, we moved in, just before winter set in. Must have looked a bit strange from the highway...a frame set up with furniture, dining set in the dining room, a barbeque served as the stove, an old ice-box was the fridge...put a 40 lb. block of ice in the top, it kept food stored below from spoiling...at least not quite as fast. The bathroom was a hole dug out back...kept covered with wood, moved at regular intervals...scrap lumber placed strategically to insure privacy.
Fortunately, this was the winter of 1951-1952...the gangs of LA, if they even existed then, hadn't penetrated the High Desert yet...the people were actually honest...and in 8 months, we lost not a single thing to theft. Mom had some blankets, there were nails lying around...hanging some blankets made for acceptable walls and gave some form of privacy. There weren't enough blankets for the house, so every day, we would have to move the walls...
At night, the blankets would be around our bedrooms...and when we got up in the morning, we would carefully climb up, remove the "walls", take them to the living - dining area, and put them up. After eating, we would take them down, and put them where ever we were going to be. Mom would go off to work, and Pete and I would stay and "guard" the house...of course, we were 3 and 5, so guarding wouldn't have actually helped if anyone wanted in...at least we couldn't lock ourselves out...
Mom worked two jobs trying to come up with the money to get the bills paid, and get us into a house that had actual...you know...house parts. She would tend to come "home", fix dinner, sit at the table with us...and fall asleep there while we ate...
The hardest part about this type of living was the wind. It tends to get rather windy in the desert, especially in the winter time. This could be a problem if you have no walls...anything "blowable" couldn't be left out...so, when we finished dressing, our pajamas had to be packed away...when we were done playing, the toys got put away or they blew away...a rather expensive way to learn to clean up after ourselves...taught at a very early age...
After eight months, my mother finally saved up enough money to put us is an actual house...but she had to sell the house we were in to do it. Someone decided to buy the place, and gave us time to find a place to move to before they took possession...And they stayed there for at least 35 years that I know of...meanwhile, we rented a house not too far away, and passed the house every day on our way to school. The house is still there...at least it was the last time I went through Apple Valley...but that's been a few years...and the house would be approaching 60 years old by now...
Scaling The Heights of Fear
I have a deep fear of heights. Now, I'm not exactly unique in this area...fear of heights is the second most common fear, right after fear of spiders...but I had it pretty bad...you know, like standing on the kitchen counter to change a light bulb sent shivers up my spine...and I really didn't like feeling that way...Sooo...
I was living in Utah, which had some bearing on my decision...I was...uumm...let's just say I was between marriages and leave it at that, OK? I was sitting in my apartment one day, and I thought, "You know, Dave, (if you're going to talk to yourself, some form of address should be used, yes?) you have a fear of heights...and this fear is probably baseless, foolish and dumb." Now...that thought alone should have told me that anything resembling intelligence that I may have had swirling in the vacuum behind my sinus cavities had probably bailed out on a coffee break. But, did I stop there? Nooo..."Now, Dave, since you have this fear, you should probably do something to get rid of it." Yes, trouble looms...read on...
"You know what, Dave? You should take up Mountain Climbing." Great. Stroll up a mountain path, stopping to smell the flowers, and when you get to the top, why, all your fears are gone, right? HA! Why stop at stupid when you can push it to the limit and do stupid to the utmost extreme? No...I was going to climb sheer walls, swing under outcroppings by my fingernails only, really scare the s**t out of this unnatural fear...and cure myself completely. I was going to use ropes, and pitons and all that good stuff...I was going to learn all the knots necessary...I was going to do this up right...and so I did.
And so, finally, I was ready...and ready to go, despite the fact that my intelligence was still on a coffee break. My smarts being noticeably absent, the first thing I did was leave without telling anyone where I was going...I headed off to Southern Utah to find a peak to climb,,,and the steeper, the better...and boy, did I find one. You've seen the commercials where they have a truck parked on top of what is basically a peak that's about the size of a pin, only the "pin" is 700 feet high? Yeah...like that.
My smarts still being on what had to be the world's longest coffee break, I started climbing...and found that it was easier than I thought it would be...I mean that wall had all kinds of little knobs and holes and fissures and places to put pitons and everything. I was zippin' up that wall...came to an outcropping, swung by my fingernails around it, had a good old time...probably because I never, never, never looked down...AND...I actually made it to the top...crawled up, laid down, closed my eyes...just lay there.
Apparently, while I was laying there, my intelligence returned from its' break, looked around, and said..."WTF?" I turned over...I crawled...slooowwwly to the edge...I peered over...and down...about 400-500 feet down...for you citified folk who haven't seen a mountain lately, think 40-50 story building...I looked out over an absolutely magnificent vista of desert and mountains and beauty and...and I thought the only possible thing I could think when confronted with a view like that: "Oooohhhh, s******t! How in the f*** am I gonna to get down from here?"
I crept back from the edge, turned over on my back, closed my eyes...thought..."Well...I'll just lay here...in seven days, I'll die of dehydration...the wind and the sun will dry me out, maybe mummify me...10,000 years from now an Archeologist will find my dessicated body...and maybe think that because I'm "buried" so high, I must be a king...and I'll be famous...pity I have to wait 10,000 years for my 15 minutes of fame, but what the hell..." At this point, a slight squawk interrupted my little pity party...I opened my eyes..."Oh, look...a herd of vultures is giving me the once over...C'mon down, guys! I'm not goin anywhere..." At this point, of course, I got up and threw rocks at them...let me just say...they were 500 feet above me and about a half a mile away...throwing rocks was obviously not going to really effective...
It took me many, many hours to crawl down the wall...and I have to say that going down was more effective than any enema ever created...I didn't have to use the bathroom for a week after that little jaunt...and let me say this about my fear of heights...did you notice the first sentence of this bit o' writing? Wander back up and take a look...it is written in the present tense...yep, still get the shivers climbing up on the counter to change the lights...
For those of you who have a fear of heights, I have a suggestion...Grab a beer, flop on a nice, soft couch, grab the remote, turn on the TV, watch a documentary on The National Geographic channel...on mountains. This will, without a doubt, erase your fears...your fear of beer, of soft couches, of remotes, of The National Geographic channel. Your fear of heights? Sorry, can't help you with that one...
I was living in Utah, which had some bearing on my decision...I was...uumm...let's just say I was between marriages and leave it at that, OK? I was sitting in my apartment one day, and I thought, "You know, Dave, (if you're going to talk to yourself, some form of address should be used, yes?) you have a fear of heights...and this fear is probably baseless, foolish and dumb." Now...that thought alone should have told me that anything resembling intelligence that I may have had swirling in the vacuum behind my sinus cavities had probably bailed out on a coffee break. But, did I stop there? Nooo..."Now, Dave, since you have this fear, you should probably do something to get rid of it." Yes, trouble looms...read on...
"You know what, Dave? You should take up Mountain Climbing." Great. Stroll up a mountain path, stopping to smell the flowers, and when you get to the top, why, all your fears are gone, right? HA! Why stop at stupid when you can push it to the limit and do stupid to the utmost extreme? No...I was going to climb sheer walls, swing under outcroppings by my fingernails only, really scare the s**t out of this unnatural fear...and cure myself completely. I was going to use ropes, and pitons and all that good stuff...I was going to learn all the knots necessary...I was going to do this up right...and so I did.
And so, finally, I was ready...and ready to go, despite the fact that my intelligence was still on a coffee break. My smarts being noticeably absent, the first thing I did was leave without telling anyone where I was going...I headed off to Southern Utah to find a peak to climb,,,and the steeper, the better...and boy, did I find one. You've seen the commercials where they have a truck parked on top of what is basically a peak that's about the size of a pin, only the "pin" is 700 feet high? Yeah...like that.
My smarts still being on what had to be the world's longest coffee break, I started climbing...and found that it was easier than I thought it would be...I mean that wall had all kinds of little knobs and holes and fissures and places to put pitons and everything. I was zippin' up that wall...came to an outcropping, swung by my fingernails around it, had a good old time...probably because I never, never, never looked down...AND...I actually made it to the top...crawled up, laid down, closed my eyes...just lay there.
Apparently, while I was laying there, my intelligence returned from its' break, looked around, and said..."WTF?" I turned over...I crawled...slooowwwly to the edge...I peered over...and down...about 400-500 feet down...for you citified folk who haven't seen a mountain lately, think 40-50 story building...I looked out over an absolutely magnificent vista of desert and mountains and beauty and...and I thought the only possible thing I could think when confronted with a view like that: "Oooohhhh, s******t! How in the f*** am I gonna to get down from here?"
I crept back from the edge, turned over on my back, closed my eyes...thought..."Well...I'll just lay here...in seven days, I'll die of dehydration...the wind and the sun will dry me out, maybe mummify me...10,000 years from now an Archeologist will find my dessicated body...and maybe think that because I'm "buried" so high, I must be a king...and I'll be famous...pity I have to wait 10,000 years for my 15 minutes of fame, but what the hell..." At this point, a slight squawk interrupted my little pity party...I opened my eyes..."Oh, look...a herd of vultures is giving me the once over...C'mon down, guys! I'm not goin anywhere..." At this point, of course, I got up and threw rocks at them...let me just say...they were 500 feet above me and about a half a mile away...throwing rocks was obviously not going to really effective...
It took me many, many hours to crawl down the wall...and I have to say that going down was more effective than any enema ever created...I didn't have to use the bathroom for a week after that little jaunt...and let me say this about my fear of heights...did you notice the first sentence of this bit o' writing? Wander back up and take a look...it is written in the present tense...yep, still get the shivers climbing up on the counter to change the lights...
For those of you who have a fear of heights, I have a suggestion...Grab a beer, flop on a nice, soft couch, grab the remote, turn on the TV, watch a documentary on The National Geographic channel...on mountains. This will, without a doubt, erase your fears...your fear of beer, of soft couches, of remotes, of The National Geographic channel. Your fear of heights? Sorry, can't help you with that one...
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