Summer 1977
"I felt as if my heart would burst, for never had I experienced such
profound closeness with nature. . . My sense of reality had heightened
and every inch of my body was alive with incomparable sensations."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Summer 1977
The middle of June was slated as the beginning of our summer vacation,
and on the 15th, we departed for Colorado. It was a grand trip, for
Dad had promised an extensive vacation following the debilitating
chemotherapy treatments, and told me that we would go anywhere I
wished. My choice was not a difficult one; I had always loved the west
and desired to see both "old sights" and new. The resulting journey
made its first stop in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, but since we had
been to the area numerous times, we did not tarry long; the day after
hiking up a small hill and splashing barefoot in an icy mountain
stream, we drove along Trail Ridge Road and headed north to the Tetons
and Yellowstone National Park.
Yellowstone was a source of much fascination, yet prior to our arrival
at the park itself, a short ramble in the roadside brush (for the
purpose of taking a better scenic photograph) led to the discovery of
an entire moose carcass. I quickly hoisted the head into the air, and
positioned it before my own, whereupon my mom excitedly captured my
lack of respect for the dead on film. Unable to relinquish my antlered
scull, my parents agreed to stow it in the trunk. The weathered skull
had been callously separated from its body without last rites or a
solitary tear, but, driving from the area, I did not really think the
moose would mind.
The next day, after scouting past numerous bubbling geysers, I bought a
moose charm in a souvenir shop. I wished to commemorate my find of the
previous day (and perhaps, subconsciously placate the moose's spirit if
it had suffered any ill-will toward my action). We also decided to eat
lunch at that time since the restaurant was in close proximity to the
renowned "Old Faithful," and being so close, had ample time to finish
our food before it again blew its steam skyward. Lunch arrived soon
following our order, yet time began to drift away as Mom delved into
her mountainous chef's salad. It was obvious that we would miss the
eruption of Old Faithful if direct action was not taken; Dad and I said
"good-bye" to Mom and dashed on to the extensive patio where other
visitors were gathering. Eyes were riveted on the strangely steaming
mound; a few men checked their wrist-watches, as if doubtful of the
geyser's punctuality. No one was disappointed. Exactly one hour after
its last appearance, a mad bubbling issued from the previously silent
pit and multiplied its violent surges until frothing liquid shot into
the sky. People oohed and ahhed and pointed fingers. Cameras clicked
furiously.
When the show was over, the crowd disbursed and Dad and I returned to
the restaurant to fetch Mom. Fifteen minutes had elapsed; she would
probably be waiting at an empty table, nursing her glass of water to
alleviate boredom and nervousness. We turned into the restaurant and
couldn't believe our eyes. There was Mom, still poised over a fair
amount of salad, eating diligently; "the salad wouldn't leave," I
thought. At least she wasn't bored during our absence.
Mom eventually finished her salad and we resumed our sightseeing.
Yellowstone Park was an intermingling of beauty and oddity, and as a
result I used a fair amount of film. The animals, though wild, were
close at hand and I was able to see buffalo and elk to my fulfillment.
After two days we left the park and headed into Montana and Washington,
stopping to see the Grand Coulee Dam for my dad's benefit. I was not
impressed and did not care to linger over the massive system of water
retention, yet the trip was not entirely my own and I therefore tried
to suppress my disinterest.
The following day proved more to my liking as we once again headed into
a park. I had never before seen Mt. Rainier and was truly awed to view
the spectacle created by the superior snow-capped mountain. Though
surrounded by other mountains and lushly forested valleys, Mt. Rainier
dominated one's attention like a bejeweled lady among serfs.
June 23, 1977... Went into Rainier. At this one place this jay would
come down and take a peanut out of Dad's hand (in mid-air). Went to
Paradise (visitor center) and hiked up near Mt. Rainier. I never felt
so good in my life. Had to walk through snow in around 3-5 places. It
was real neat.
The day was the highlight of the entire vacation. Separating myself
from my parents, I sped up the trail, spurred onward through a
boundless source of energy and excitement. I felt as if my heart would
burst, for never had I experienced such a profound closeness with
nature. I enjoyed the beauty, but basked in the ecstasy which swelled
from within. My sense of reality had heightened and every inch of my
body was alive with incomparable sensations. I listened to the world,
to the breeze tossing the fragrant pine; I absorbed every detail and
mourned the journey's end, whereupon the noise and clutter of
civilization would scour away the feeling which I so desired to
prolong. Seldom was I entranced by emotion; I slowed my pace and then
stopped to breathe a final breath of tranquility before surrendering my
blissful state of mind to the realm of the ordinary.
Retracing my steps, I eventually met Mom and Dad ascending toward the
direction I had climbed. "There's quite a bit of snow up there," I
told them. Sporting only tennis shoes and sweaters, they quickly
re-routed their steps and chose a down-hill trek; they had exercised
enough for one day anyway. The three of us ambled down the
mountain-side, stopping once for a snowball fight which could not be
resisted. It was amazing how rapidly one's mental state changed with
the introduction of various sensations or the presence of other people.
My previous feeling was now only a memory, firmly implanted, yet miles
from my grasp. It was a gem, secure in my mind, and I knew that I was
somehow wealthier than I had been.
Two days after Mt. Rainier, we were driving down the Oregon coastline.
At several intervals we stopped so I could test the breakwater beneath
my bare feet. The shore was beautiful, despite the gray clouds and
ocean mist that eventually obscured the farthest cliffs from view. I
seemed to be walking in a colorless world where all things grew only
darker or lighter shades of silver gray. The water was icy and forbade
me enter; even the foam which rushed up the sand to enrobe my toes was
too frigid to withstand, and sent me sprinting from the constant waves
to higher ground.
The following day we continued through Oregon to Crater Lake, a
magnificent sapphire body of water which left my eyes agape; then,
between destinations, we met a trucker who took us on one of his lumber
runs. As we mosied down the long state of California, we toured a
lumber company and then were awed by the magnificent stands of Sequoia
Redwood trees which soared above all else with an aura of statuesque
grandeur. The giants were some of the oldest living things on earth,
and it seemed incredible and obscene that anyone should desire to cut
them down for timber. Compared to the trees, my life seemed a mockery,
a dwarfed and highly insignificant thing. All did not depreciate with
age.
Our stay in Santa Monica encompassed eight nights and as many days, as
we enjoyed a variety of sights. We stayed with relatives who knew the
area quite well and therefore provided a guided tour through some of
the attractions, including Universal Studios, Huntington Gardens, Will
Roger's Ranch, and shopping mall, and of course, Disneyland. No trip
to the west coast would be complete without a jaunt to the latter
amusement park and we made ours an all-day affair. On our own we
traveled to another amusement park, Magic Mountain, which boasted a
vast array of rides better suited to my suicidal whims. At the day's
end, my dad and I had been whipped, jolted, plunged, riveted and lost
as many stomachs as cats have lives to have satisfied my boldest
cravings for at least a month. Mom, as usual, was most content to sit
and watch. Had she indulged in some of the wilder rides, I fear she
would have at best, suffered from acute hoarseness and at worst, been
carried from the park on a stretcher.
Leaving California, we stopped at one of their famous "Date Farms" and
to my utter disappointment, saw no date trees. At least the place did
not charge admission or try to plaster a revolting bumper sticker on
the car while shopping within the "supermarket."
Skirting the southern route through Arizona on our way home, I
discovered the meaning of "hot" when referring to weather. At 112
degrees I was extremely pleased that we had an air-conditioned car;
ventures into the sunshine were like tiptoeing through a blast furnace.
Sweat dried on the face, forming a sticky glaze with the dust floating
on the hot air currents. I would not have been surprised to see spit
dry before hitting the ground.
Two days into the blistering heat we stopped at White Sands National
Monument. The sand was so blindingly white that attempts to gaze at
the drifts without sun-glasses were hopeless endeavors. On that
particular day I was unable to walk bare-foot on the fine sand due to
its scorching heat, and we finally decided to duck into the visitor
center before shriveling into sun-ripened prunes.
The trip was nearing its end, and I looked forward to sleeping in my
own bed and investigating my mail. Even restaurant food lacked its
excitement as the days progressed, which was a definite sign that I had
turned my thoughts toward home. There was one notable exception,
however.
July 11, 1977... Stayed at a real neat motel... and ate at its
restaurant. Swam for an hour and half. After awhile, I started talking
to a guy in the pool with me. After awhile we saw a drunk guy! It was
funny. Then he asked if I wanted something cold to drink (an RC COLA).
We talked awhile after and Mom made me come up finally. (a sad face)
He was from Dallas, TX.
The evening was memorable for my mom also, who, for a short time
observed our conversation at a pleasant distance. Since I had removed
my contacts for fear of losing them in the swimming pool, my vision was
rendered useless with regard to recognizing faces and perceiving detail
at distances greater than one foot. Therefore, when my "friend"
excused himself from the area, I sought my mom's visual acuteness and
asked cautiously, "Mom. . . what's he look like?" I was relieved to
discover that she found the guy attractive, and settled into a
pool-side chair as Mom retired to the room, noticeably humored by my
inquiry.
Such brief encounters augment confidence, for therein one is able to
discover his attractiveness to the opposite sex. Ours was the type of
interaction which was fleetingly romantic, yet bereft of expectations;
each of us knew the conversation would last no more than several hours
and end with a smile and a reluctant farewell. I believe the intrinsic
briefness created the comfortable atmosphere, for when one knows he
shall never see someone again, he leaves behind the fear of peer groups
and personality changes which often accompany a better knowledge of the
other.
The next morning when I recalled the previous evening, I realized with
horror that if I saw the boy, I would not recognize him and hoped for a
clean escape from the motel. To my relief, I saw no one who remotely
resembled a male teenager, and dismissed myself having only faceless
memories of a pool-side conversation and a cool RC Cola.
The family vacation was over after four weeks, and we were all glad to
be home. The trip was fun, yet it served to strengthen the heart
strings attached to our oak trees and modest house, and though
familiarity of itself was not love, it certainly did not subtract from
love's essence.
The remainder of the summer was spent in an easy, enjoyable manner. I
whiled away the hours on my bicycle or indulged in one of my crafts; I
met with friends from school, and stayed at my sister's house for one
week. Junior High School was a memory, pasted between the pages of a
scrapbook. Even my unfinished cedar chest had, by summer's end, found
its way into the garage attic.
The last days of freedom melted under the hot August sun, and I began
to wonder how three months could have escaped so soon. I once again
traveled to Mayo Clinic and returned with good spirits. The latter
part of the same week Todd moved to a distant Illinois town to accept a
position as a woodworking teacher for ninth grade students. The wheel
of change had begun to turn, and "home" meant three people instead of
four.
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