When I met up with el jefe in Germany last summer, we rode around on a BMW
motorcycle he had borrowed via a friend, a former German Air Force pilot he had
met somewhere along the way who now worked for the vehicle company. It was an
R1200GS Adventure, which I thought was the ugliest motorcycle I had ever
seen, but it took us from Ramstein to Schwarzenau in about two hours,
something like 250 kilometers or so. We were definitely moving,
considering the traffic. But we got passed by other bikers as if we were
standing still.
We got rained on during the trip and when we arrived at Gästehaus Schwarzenauer Mühle, our spotless and very German hotel, I was embarrassed to step into the lobby, dripping water off my Barbour jacket and pants, carrying my bug-spattered helmet, my boots leaving wet footprints. Why couldn't el jefe have borrowed a car, I thought, but I didn't say anything. Men like adventure, women like comfort and never the twain shall meet.
 |
| Buffet at Portsmouth Naval Shipyard park. |
When
we were in Portsmouth, NH, later last summer, after our sail out to the Isles
of Shoals we nosed around the Naval Shipyard and ran across folks
having some sort of get-together at the base waterfront park. They
invited us to join them and partake of their buffet. Most of the folks
were retired Navy chiefs with their spouses, but a number were active
duty.
Some of the wives gave me the fish eye because of the way I was
dressed as my underthings were still wet from my swim at the Isles of
Shoals and I was going commando under my sundress, but their menfolk
didn't seem to mind. I noticed some of the old geezers maneuvering down
sun of me before approaching to chat or offer me a glass of wine. I
knew why. It made me smile. I was flattered. After all, what's the
point of watching your diet and keeping fit if no one notices?
Anyway,
the event was a fun way to end our stay in that
charming port city. I hope I can go back and visit it again.
Once
when I dropped by the house of one of my aunts to say hi, she invited
me to come along with her to visit her friend who was stuck in an
unpleasant marriage. We sat drinking Lipton tea and looking at the
friend's old photo albums, high school yearbook
and assorted memorabilia from her early years. She was strikingly
good-looking in her youth, with wavy chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Many
of the photos were of her with a stolid, glasses-wearing guy who was
clearly not the person who became her husband. She explained that he
was her long-time junior high and high school boyfriend whom she assumed
she would wed after
graduation. They had even decided on the names for their children.
But
then a handsome, smooth-talking fellow set his cap for
her and took her away from him. He got her pregnant and in those days
that meant a shotgun wedding or shame and social ostracism. So the two became chained to each other.
Her first love,
whom she already regretted being lured away from, humiliated and
repelled by what she had done, no longer even acknowledged her
existence. If he passed her on the street and she said hello to him, he
snubbed her.
So she made the best of the bed
she had chosen to lie in, and for the first few years of her marriage
things went well enough. But it was clear that her husband
didn't really care for her or her child. He became verbally abusive and
belittling. He was a philanderer.
Why didn't you divorce him, I
asked. She said what would I do then? She had no job skills, having
quit high school to marry, and had a child to support. She was totally
dependent on her husband and had to stick with him, afraid that he
would divorce her. She couldn't go back to her parents because she had shamed them and they would have nothing to do with her. So she retreated into a
might-have-been world, a world in
which she had rejected the handsome Lothario and stuck with the
unexciting but devoted boyfriend. How her life would have been
different!
While thinking I had stumbled into a variation on a theme
by Flaubert, I asked her what happened to her old boyfriend, expecting
to hear that he had married well and was living an idyllic life. But
she told me he had become an alcoholic and had otherwise not done well
in life. She blamed herself. Maybe, I thought, but also maybe he got
over her and considered himself lucky to be rid of her and his later
alcoholism had nothing to do with his old high school romance. And if
the man she did marry had been a good husband and father instead of what he was, maybe she
would have forgotten all about her old beau.
I remember the time when I was in Gotham City, Jr. that I blundered into a
bordello while wandering around waiting for my uncle who was getting a
haircut. It was disguised as a lingerie
shop so I had no idea. It had some cute items in the window so I went in to browse. The proprietress wanted to sign
me up and a
customer wanted
to....
As I stepped lively out of that joint I was horribly embarrassed
by the thought that someone I knew would see me. How could I explain
what I was doing there? Why I assumed they would know what the place was I don't know. I probably figured everyone but dopey
me knew. And I was sure that gossips' tongues would wag. I could see my
whole world crashing down as el
jefe dropped-kicked my heinie to the moon and my parents disowned me and....
But nothing happened.
I
told el jefe what I did and he got a kick out of it, laughing and patting my knee as he said, "That's my Wanda." But my mother, listening to my tale, caught my eye and shook her head as she gave me her patented, "I can't believe I gave birth to a child with no more brains than God gave a jackass" look.
When el jefe was chatting with dad about our trip home from Europe, he asked about the thunderstorm we flew through in Wisconsin. Jeff said he responded, "Severe turbulence, rain, hail, noise, lightning, seat belt getting full exercise and colon preparing for full evacuation." I had not known he was that affected. He appeared totally calm, voice natural and relaxed. Chuck Yeager had nothing on him. Ah, dad....
