You're Gonna Long To Reclaim It One Day
I believe I mentioned in the last post that my birthday is coming up. If I somehow forgot (impossible), MY BIRTHDAY IS NEXT TUESDAY! I will be 59 years old. Crazy, right? Not that I look so young, but I’m REALLY immature. Since I turn the big six-oh next Summer, I’ve decided not to go anywhere this year. Instead, I’m giving myself the gift that every older person can appreciate - more time. I’m taking seven days off work, spread out over the next two weeks.
At one point, we were thinking about doing RAGBRAI, but it’s a Southern route, which means smaller towns, which means a lot of people who don’t love cyclists clogging up their roads, even though their town will usually make their yearly budget in that one day, and also it’s crazy hard to scrounge up food, or places to stay. If you’re like me and you don’t eat red meat or pork, it’s almost impossible to find something that you’ll actually eat. Also, we wanted to wait a little longer to leave for even a week, with our new crazy kitten. Sooooo, next year, I am planning on going somewhere cool for my birthday. Maybe Southern Utah again? But this year, I have seven beautiful, fun-filled days to hang out around my house and do whatever I want (for the most part).
Lately, I’ve been thinking about an experience I had when I was 22. I had a rare day off from both of my jobs that day in the Summer of 1987. I lived in Iowa City at the time. I went to the library and checked out a couple of books. One of them was The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, by Carson McCullers. It was one of those perfect days with temperatures in the upper 70’s and almost no humidity, which seemed like magic in July in Iowa. So, since I didn’t have anywhere to hang out outside at home, I thought I’d just park myself on a bench and read a couple chapters of my library book before I headed home to Clark Street. I opened the book and read,
In the town there were two mutes ,and they were always together. Early every morning they would come out from the house where they lived and walk arm and arm down the street to work. The two friends were very different. The one who always steered the way was an obese and dreamy Greek.
I was instantly hooked. I met John Singer, and Spiros Antonapoulos, and Mick Kelly, and Biff Brannon, and Dr. Benedict Copeland, and Jake Blount in all their loneliness and frustrations. I didn’t just read this novel, it felt like I was living in their world along with the characters. I was in a small town in Georgia, instead of a college town in Iowa. I’m sure people were walking past me, mosquitos were landing on me, and birds were swooping overhead, but I was oblivious to them. When I finally got to the part that said, “And when at last he was inside again he composed himself soberly to await the morning sun.” it was almost dark out. I had to shake my head to come back to the real world. I had a spent an entire day somewhere else and it was amazing.
I wonder if it’s possible to have that experience with a book at my age now? I definitely have read novels that hit me hard, but it’s been many years since I was carried away and lived in their world. Maybe it’s because I don’t have time to sit on a bench in the ped mall all day, or maybe it’s because I’m old and jaded and I’ve lost the part of my brain that would allow me to slip away?
I have all kinds of fun plans, and bike rides, and friends coming into town the next couple of weeks. Just yesterday John and I rode bikes to Columbus Junction and had lunch at a Mexican restaurant and drank Margaritas and played on the swinging bridge and sat under trees in the shade, and it was perfect. I am very lucky to be married to someone who still likes to play outside like a ten year old like I do. We also met my daughters at the Lincoln Wine Bar in Mount Vernon for an early birthday dinner last night. I am EXTREMELY fortunate that my daughters still live close enough, and actually want to hang out with me and buy me dinner. I appreciate the hell out of my life now, and I don’t take any of it for granted. But if I could spend one of my days off with nothing to do but read a beautiful book, and if I was able to open up my mind so that I lived inside that book again, and could feel and smell and taste along with the characters, it would be the best birthday present for this old lady veering dangerously close to 60.