As most of you know–many all too well by virtue of helping me do it–I’ve moved out of the trailer I’ve been in for about three years now. The were a number of good reasons for the move but probably the most important was that it didn’t allow big enough parties.
A common expectation, even from self, is that the winter weather in Tahoe is getting to be too much for me, and that the move was at least partially motivated by that. There may be truth in that, but Tahoe Verde was really a pretty good venue for me in that reggard. I’m planning to take a while before relocating into a larger home–almost certainly here in Tahoe.
In any case, I want to thank you all from my deepest heart for the help in getting me into storage and out of the trailer–especially all those who helped: Ed Morrow, Randy Mundt, Bob Harms, Fred Roberts, Heidi Mandersheid, Steve Fernald, Alan Miller, Sal Lopez, Barbara Truman, Pete and Karen Oliver, Madeline Fernald, Hank Raymond, Mike Tanzen, Pam Shaw-Miller, and Audrey Morrow
Additionally, my heartfelt appreciation to Steve Fernald, who saved my beloved pet, Bro, from an almost fatal misjudgement on the last full day of the move. Bro long ago realized that a distance of four feet without a leash was suffciently great to guarantee freedom, if he so wanted. On the morning of the last move, he took advantage of a ten yard distance gained while I was getting into the car and inattentive to his whereabouts to explore the neighborhood around Barbara’s house. She has been putting me up since I moved furniture into storage. Across the street is a dirt road leading into the forest.
Ignoring my most serious tone of voice as I commanded him to come, he went toward the newly laid snowfall on the dirt road, smelling every dog track laid down by the early morning dog walkers that frequent the path. It took me quite a while to get into the car (my only hope of overtaking him and regaining control), and by the time I was able to approach him he was already headed out into the forest beyond the barrier blocking my vehicle.
The last I saw of him he was headed into the forest with “coyote bait” painted brightly on his back. I had to be in town to meet some movers, so I saw no choice but to let him go, for no amount of calling could stop his disappearance. Steve lives just up the street from me and fortunately was free to try to run him down. Thank God (and Steve) he was able to do so, but not before I’d spent he morning looking through my junk for a pair of boots so that I might be able to maneuver on the road later to try to recover him and was almost home again prepared to brave the cold and snow to find him or what I envisioned might be left of him. Bro is blind and I imagined him a certain victim should he encounter coyotes, which seemed certain.
Steve called me as soon as he got back home to tell me he’d found Bro near Barb’s house and he was safely awaiting me in Steve’s backyard. I cannot begin to explain my relief. On the way to town I’d dealt, as best I could, with Bro’s loss by letting myself cry unrestrainedly. I should never have let him outside without the leash. I know he enjoys bolting. I know the danger he’d be exposed to, especially in view of his having heavy cataracts. I was being totally irresponsible in letting him stray even a few feet.” Those were but a few of my self-indictments.
Maybe everything I’m doing is equally stupid. What is this move and the fantasy of going on a “rideabout” all about? Why can’t I just accept my handicap and my inability to overcome my outlier status on the most important issue of our time, and give up this tilting against windmills? Why am I so willing to ask friends to move my shit when I can no longer carry a box or even efficiently fill one?
What future is there in this direction for me and all my loved ones, except more loss and pain? Why do I continue to fantasize on extreme measures of drawing attention to an obvious (to me) and essential (if there’s to be any chance of success) course of action when I’m clearly not going to take them? I may never finish this newer book because I think of not finishing it as a survival technique.
Why am I obsessed with saving the world? Maybe it’s all a big mistake. Maybe I really am not the guy to be trying all this. Maybe now is already too late to salvage Anything. In my mind, Bro was certainly already torn to pieces, and it seemed an unforgiving and harsh comment on all I was doing.
That was how my morning started. How was it for you? Better, I hope. But then it turned out wonderful. Bro was okay. I would no longer be looking at a ride-about on my own. I was clear of the trailer. Life is good. What’s next?