Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
We Are Who We Pretend to Be or Not
Not a lot of people drive around with a bed in their vehicle.
It was the army of men installing our new fence and the nice plasterer from the leftwing neighborhood across the river that drove me out of my house, along with Frick and Frack (Durant and Tempest).
Of course, we went to the dog park. On the way, I reflected on whether I would ever have the gumption to put the dogs in the van, maybe along with Herc, and travel across the country by myself. I mean in case I became a widow, not now, with a living husband who would willingly pack up and go at a moment’s notice.
I’m reading John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley because a good friend bought me a copy as a ‘retirement’ present at my last board meeting with Street Angels, my beloved homeless outreach group. Yes, if I haven’t mentioned it here, I realized all at once at a meeting a few months ago that I’d taught the organization all I could and that there were plenty of people at the table with new knowledge to share, new vision, and all that. Hence, the book and the whole ‘traveling with animals’ thing being in my head.
Anyway, I thought about this. Could I go it alone or would I need a companion, more to the point, did I have the gumption to travel without a man? Do you mean man, I thought, or do you mean person. And I thought of the times my husband has stood between me and misfortune. Maybe I’ve done the same for him but not in such immediate ways, like standing in front of me when the threatening man across the street started yelling at me and telling him to “move along” with a force and demeanor that would still a tank. So, maybe it’s more man than person. I don’t know.
People envision themselves doing things. Driving across the country like John Steinbeck, camping alone next to a little lake, hiking the Appalachian Trail in a pair of sneakers from Goodwill. Being like Fern in Nomadland, only happier and with access to a shower. We try things on and take them off and then forget we ever thought about any of it.
We walked at the dog park for an hour and then headed home. The plasterer was gone but the fence people were still there. I wanted to crawl on the bed in the van and take a nap but that seemed weird to do, parked as I was in front of my own house. I went inside and watched them from the kitchen window and prayed out loud that they’d be done by the time the sun went down, and we could all return to enjoying our very messy but beautifully fenced in yard.
I won’t think about any of this until the next time I go somewhere by myself with the dogs in our van.
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Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “The Parish Hall,” on WUWM Lake Effect
“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
You’re voicing the same thoughts that I’ve had Jan, although I’ve been without a man or person for many years. I longed to be Fern…then I drove myself from WA to move to Colorado. There’s a lot to be said for showers and real beds…and companions.