It’s been a while since the last Digital Potlatch post, and I thought it was time to get on with BUFFALO LIGHTS. This is still early in Part II of the book, “New Mexico Project.” Chapter 2 is called “The Grownup Manual” and conveys something of the great turmoil that accompanied our decision to move to New Mexico at age 55, against all reason. But then, who said this was “reasonable”? More like the proverbial leap of faith, only with a little too much baggage!
To access preceding chapters and the introduction, just visit the Buffalo Lights category page. You can read the full synopsis here.
Part II: New Mexico Project
Chapter 2: The Grownup Manual
He lay there under the covers with an anvil on his chest — how had it all come to this?
If only he hadn’t misplaced the book, the one that savvy grownups turn to when things get rough. Maybe then he’d have a better grasp of what was going on. He was always better at thinking than doing, but his train of thought had turned in on itself and now went round and round his head in an evil, clattering circle.
The anvil was a new sensation. He had just had a complete physical examination and was “ridiculously healthy,” in his doctor’s words. There was nothing there to indicate the presence of a dangerous heaviness that threatened to pop his poor little heart. There was no one else to blame: the clean bill of health meant the weight on his chest was something he and no one else had put there.
They were getting ready to move, or trying to, as the days flew by in a headlong rush. He was planning on the fly as they tumbled toward the inevitable, but every day brought more questions he couldn’t answer. Just where was that damned manual, anyway? He’d never actually laid eyes on it but always assumed there was such a thing. Lacking such counsel, he still somehow managed to breathe under the weight of his fear. But how long could that last, and what if the anvil grew?
Pulling up stakes and heading for another place was easier in the old days, he thought. It wasn’t only because owned less then, he knew more now than he ever had, and his world was more complex. This had to do with gumption, and whether there was enough raw brainpower left to deal with everything he faced. What to keep? What to sell? What to leave? Whom to call? Where to go? What to do?
No wonder it was easy for kids, he groused inwardly. In his 20s the issues would have been food, shelter, and sex, not necessarily in that order. Since the first two generally had to be paid for, the list could be condensed to just money and sex. He remembered the long stretches of neither and shivered. At least he had enjoyed more of the latter than the former, he consoled himself. There never had been a lot of money, that was true. Where then had all these possessions come from, he wondered?
He thought about his all-important computer equipment and how best to transport it. He wondered what to do with the ancient Mac they never used any more. He tried to rationalize buying the very latest model and came very, very close. He noticed that whenever he thought about a new computer, the anvil went away and he could breathe. Suddenly he remembered his tools and rolled his eyes in the dark. Maybe they needed two moving vans! There was just something about being well equipped that made a man feel more like a man, and as he lay there in the dark, he inventoried it all.
Since he and his wife had moved to the country, he’d allowed himself to buy and own everything necessary for life on 2.57 acres. He had rakes, weed-cutters, hoses, machetes, axes, grinding wheels, hammers, wrenches, a lawn sweeper, a gas trimmer, an electric hedge clipper, sprayers, pruning saws, shovels, hoes, ladders, buckets, tire chains, a battery charger, car tools, jacks, ramps, steel pry-bars, nails, screws, and brads. In the house and studio he had plumbing tools, a gas welding outfit, an electric chainsaw, bronze casting tools, a power saw, painting tools, an electric pump, fans, woodcarving tools, and a thousand different little specialty items: stud-finders, circuit testers, eyeglass screwdrivers, magnifiers, and the like. He also had chunks of steel and bronze, a ton of art supplies, great piles of steel fence posts, sections of pipe, and more old lumber than he’d ever use. He even had his own motor pool: the ’87 Ford F-150, a 30-year-old five horsepower Evinrude, a self-propelled Sears power mower, and the antediluvian John Deere 110. He was ready for anything, except moving.
Should he sell things off and buy new later, or pack it up and ship it for 75 cents a pound? Maybe the manual would help, but he was already calculating how much he could save by leaving this or that behind. He had to admit that the idea of traveling light was liberating, even as he resisted the actual letting go.
Good Lord! He hadn’t even gotten around to their furniture, appliances, clothes, books, personal documents, sacred objects, or the family history collection — yet here he was, already swamped with indecision and doubt. Should they store things first or move all at once? What if they just flat-out got rid of everything? Would they ever be able to find, much less buy, an antique hand saw, heirloom rug, or 15-year-old computer monitor again? It was time to find a way to get big. If there wasn’t any such thing as a grownup manual, he’d have to write his own.
He lay in bed thinking only of the anvil on his chest, ignoring the perfumed head beside his shoulder. What slander, he suddenly realized. There were other fundamentals sloshing back and forth under the surface, too, psychic tides, mood swings, and hordes of warring demons. All this would have to go, he vowed, and all at once the thing took form within his brain. In a moment of grace, he spontaneously invented and memorized two directives: sleep with a naked lady instead of an anvil, and stop thinking bad thoughts. Compressed to a mantra, it might read: “Choose good things.” Maybe life was simple after all.
He remembered the new computer idea. He remembered his wife’s pride at her career accomplishments and her outrageously brave willingness to risk a real adventure. The potential of it all was paramount, he knew. He saw himself as a hip Internet dude flying in to visit friends and family. He thought about cross-country skiing, and Easter in Prague. He imagined how it would feel to walk down the street and see a mountain. At a certain point he forgot about the anvil. He turned on his side, bunched the cool feather pillow up under his cheek, and drifted off almost immediately.
It was a big country and there was still time.
Related posts:
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part I, Chapter 1, “Imprinting”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part I, Chapter 5, “Dreamwatch”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part II, Chapter 1, “Betrayal”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part I, Chapter 2, “Blood Rites”
- BUFFALO LIGHTS: Maryland to New Mexico – Part I, Chapter 3, “Missing Links”
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