The summer of 1983 was hot beyond belief; with record high temperatures throughout, it was determined that life would be much more livable if I could have an air conditioner in my room. Shortly thereafter, another was procured for use in the basement's T.V. room, which afforded me a higher level of mobility. My family enjoyed the cool air so much that a third air conditioner was installed. Even my dad found a place in his heart for the electrical marvels and, I believe, appreciated them more than he would have cared to admit. A diary entry read:
August 29, 1983… I think Dad held out on buying A/C so long because he liked the idea he could take it.
Under the same principle, perhaps, was his derision toward mosquito repellant. Dad withstood bugs with an air of stoicism that bordered hard core.
Despite the heat, I managed to take several excursions through the summer. The first and longest was to California, where I helped a friend settle into an apartment before embarking upon a career. Many friends were beginning their exodus to distant places and it was fun to see where they would be located. . . even when it meant appraising my own life and facing, time after time, the stagnation which it represented.
Norm and I took our fourth annual trip to the Rockies during the tourist season's heaviest crowds, yet we were lucky enough to stumble upon and catch a cabin that had been dumped by previous patrons. We determined that Marion's establishment had certain irregularities which, despite its underlying personality, we desired to forego; after all, a basement unit with no scenic views or T.V. reception was rather dreary on a rainy day.
As my health had begun to fail, I was obliged to remain near the more populous areas of the park while Norm hiked to his satisfaction. It was not the same as the former trips for that reason, but I loved the mountains, nevertheless, and loved the fact that I still had the ability to see beauty in life when my own was not ideal. I focused myself on thought and photography, instead of those aspects of living which no longer remained within my physical grasp.
For years we had spoken of renting mopeds to scour an area of the mountains; so it was that we decided to break down and seek out the adventure. What fun it was! At a maximum speed of 45 mph I felt as if I was traveling at a tremendous pace. More humorous than thrilling, however, was the way I passed Norm on the hills; he appeared to be standing still, his bulky coat billowing in the brisk morning air. The trek had been a product of procrastination for three years; when we removed ourselves from the seats and turned in the mopeds, we were glad that we had finally put forth the effort and money to try something new. It was an indelible memory; it was also a memory that would never repeat itself except in dreams. Later I realized how fortunate I had been to capture the moment and make the memory; certain experiences are given only one chance.
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Chapter 36 Reflections
"I don't care for rainbow chasing. . . it's a long drive down the alley of blind hope. I prefer not living in the shadows."