The Old Man and the Beach

And we decided to sell the house in San Patricio while prices were still astronomical- I was sure the real estate bubble would burst sometime; but at the time those of us who had gotten in the game early could get out like bandits...so long as we didn't try to get back in the game (that is: buy another place in California). So my substantial, well-maintained 1970s vintage home on a large (by urban California standards), landscaped lot in a desirable middle-upper middle class neighborhood (easy commute to the university) sold for an unreal price. Actually I was appalled at the asking price suggested by the realtor, but she said "Trust me." and I reluctantly did. My home sold for ten percent over the asking price in less than two days. I felt almost guilty-almost-but accepted the offer and took advantage of the once-in-a-lifetime income and capital gains tax exemption for primary residence sales by those over 65, and ran.

Ran back to my roots-the Midwest, that is. Where I knew housing prices were an order of magnitude (or two) lower than on the coasts. I had originally planned on relocating to Kansas, my native state, but most of my High Plains western Kansas relatives had either died or relocated elsewhere already themselves and we found a really good deal on a mini-mansion on a mini-estate (forty acres-well, maybe not so mini) outside of Joplin, Missouri (yes, THAT Joplin-but it had substantially rebuilt since the Monster Tornado of 2011) for a fraction of what my home in San Patricio had sold for. And it was within spitting distance of the Kansas-Missouri border... so we decided to resettle there.

And, yes, we took some of the excess loot from the sale of our San Patricio home and took a six week-long mid-Northern Winter tour of Argentina, Paraguay and Uruguay. Ambrosia loved it.And I was pleased to find-or be reminded-that countryside folks seemed more tolerant of eccentricities in their neighbors ("neighbor" was defined as anyone in a five or more-mile radius) than were upscale urbanites-if they kept their fences mended and their cattle, sheep and dogs on their own land...and reciprocally overlooked THEIR eccentricities. Hear no evil, see no evil.... I strongly suspected one of our nearest neighbors (only three-quarters of a mile down our unpaved road) was a not-so-closet bigamist (polygamist more properly), but, hey, if his womenfolk were cool with the arrangement, who was I to complain? After all, he kept his cows on the correct side of his fence. (Grin.)

Of course, I guess, it's easier to overlook or at least tolerate others' peccadillos when they live miles away, buffered by woods and brush, rather than feet away separated only by a fence or strip of grass.

And our "eccentricities"? At first it seemed cool to take our sex life out of doors (when the kids weren't home)-we had acres of brush and woods and couldn't even see (or be seen by) our nearest neighbors, but when we discovered that southwest Missouri was home to hordes of biting, stinging and chewing creepy-crawlies and winged demons that loved to feast on exposed human flesh, we decided to keep our loving indoors or at least in our relatively domesticated yard protected by bug spray and phalanxes of bug-zappers. But somehow we discovered that some other "neighbors" (a mere three miles away) were also closet wanna-be nudists with children close to the ages of our own, and we worked out a mutually beneficial arrangement: reciprocally sending our kids to one another's homes for weekend-long "sleepovers" every so often. A win-win-win-win situation: the kids had fun...and so did their mommies and daddies on weekends that the young 'uns were gone to their friends' home. Yeah.

In any case no one seemed perturbed in the least to have a white-haired geezer cohabiting with a sprightly young (or at least early middle-aged) woman in their locale. And I made sure to hire some Amish workers to repair my fences before I got some cows (a Holstein heifer and some Scottish Highlanders) to play gentleman farmer. And I didn't post my land against trespassing or hunting. (One neighbor confided to me that one of the most irritating-and alienating-things that urbanites buying rural property would usually do was to immediately tack up "No Trespassing /No Hunting" signs and spray purple paint all over the margins of their newly acquired territory. A gross violation of country etiquette. Property lines were for fences to keep cattle and dogs in proper bounds-not for hindering deadly pursuit of deer and raccoons. However, morel mushroom beds found in the woods were SACRED and anyone caught harvesting morels from another's property without permission was promptly strung up by his gonads [if male; her teats if female] and left for coyote bait...just kidding...maybe.) I got the idea-and promptly bought a "Field Guide to Mushrooms and Toadstools of the Midwest."

But what impressed me the most about the country was the QUIET. Ofttimes I could step outside my door and hear...nothing. Well, nothing more than breezes rustling the trees and bird calls. More rarely-distant dogs barking or cows lowing. Even more infrequently-my neighbors' tractors or combines growling away; but that was almost only in planting and harvest seasons a few weeks each year. But the rare loud sounds conveyed significances not felt in urban settings and one paused whatever one was doing and listened, attempting to gauge direction and distance. A siren? Maybe old Mrs. McClatchy down the road who had survived three strokes already had just had a fourth. Would she make it this time? Or was it an accident on State Highway 76-perhaps at that blind intersection with County Highway Q that the state inscrutably refused to remedy? Hope it was no one you knew... A gunshot? Not a drive-by shooting- but maybe George Gutierrez had finally nailed that big buck he'd been tracking for months. Of course we did have our noise-makers, most conspicuously whippoorwills and frog and cricket choruses on summer evenings and packs of coyotes challenging one another...but hey, every neighborhood has its disturbers of the peace.

Epilog

Actuarial tables say I have a fifty percent chance of making it to age 88.43-but that also means I have a fifty percent chance of "passing away" in the next 8.3 years. More importantly, can I maintain my fitness (mental, physical and sexual) enough to keep up with my wife and kids until I expire? I certainly plan on trying; I have a lot to live for.

So I'm now a full-time househubby and part-time dilettante hobby farmer and loving it. Do I miss teaching chemistry? Yes-sometimes. But I'm still a member of the National Chemical Society and subscribe to a number of professional journals (great discounted rates for "emeritus" members!) and get my chemistry fix by reading articles and by helping Robert with his chemistry set that I've augmented with some materials that the lawyers will no longer let them put in hobby chemistry sets for children. It's amazing what you can buy online if you know where and how to look [wink].

Ambrosia? She's now an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher in the Joplin public schools, working mostly with Hispanic students, but also with a mini-United Nations of kids from all over the world who have in common one thing-they need to learn English. (Though they usually learn much more quickly than do their elders.) But her French is becoming increasingly useful with a new wave of immigrants-from Francophone (French-speaking) Africa. She loves her work (most...well...much..of the time) but it's a relief to her that I'm home full-time so our children won't be the proverbial "latch-key kids" who arrive home from school to a vacant home. Dad is on duty.

My children from my first marriage? With Ambrosia's and my marriage passing its tenth anniversary most of them have become resigned if not pleased to my second marriage. At least they accept that it's not just a passing fit of second childhood or late life crisis for their old dad. My son who was in Oregon now lives in Sammamish, Washington (one of the richest places in America), just across the Columbia River from Portland-and he's still scandalized. Sigh. And my son in L.A. who was the only one to cheer for me at first now seems disdainful that I "have yielded to social conformity'; he'd prefer we continued to live in sin. He just doesn't understand that I actually love-there I said it-Ambrosia; "social conformity" be damned. My other three kids seemed to have mostly accepted us and they come to visit us and we them from time to time-though it's somewhat perplexing to have my grandkids calling my younger kids "aunt" and "uncle" while my kids call my grandkids "nephew" or "niece". But the young 'uns think it's a great joke so I guess it's okay.

Ambrosia's surviving siblings? Marie Elise is a fee-lance graphic designer in the San Francisco Bay area and living with some fellow who is a real estate agent. They have no children but four dogs. I guess that's the modern household. Robert Junior has chosen to make a career of the Marines and was a staff sergeant at last contact. He married a Korean woman when he was posted there and now has two children. I guess he's doing okay though I wonder what he'll do when he retires from the military. But that's a ways off, so.. Where (geographically) is he now? Who knows?

And, last but not least, Amber. Hmm... We never had much contact with her after our marriage, not even in California. I guess she was really miffed-the one who got away, you know. And after our move to Missouri-very little, though Ambrosia now occasionally Facebooks (a new verb) her and she's still teaching English in High School and proud of her students' performance. But I wonder about her "love life" (not disclosed on Facebook ™). She's over sixty now and I can't help but figure her charms are wilting; but she's a determined soul-to put it mildly-and I imagine she's still in pursuit of The Great Penis, using vigor where charm won't do. Who knows? I just hope she can find another Bob-and be wise enough to settle down with him until they can share rocking chairs on their front porch and watch the sunsets.              

Oh...and Sunbody Beach? It doesn't exist any more. The waterfront does but it is now part of the very tony, upper upscale, very discrete, clothing-optional Aphrodisia Resort, which includes the beach (considerably relandscaped-a gazillion cubic yards of white sand), a golf course, and a sprawling club house. Admission is by (tightly regulated) membership and invited guest status only. A posh hang-out for overweight plutocrats and their trophy wives, mistresses and girl/boyfriends, and, of course, the creme de la creme of call girls (by engagement only).

Of course, before Sunbody Beach became Sunbody Beach, it was known as Steifmueller's Hollow-a lowbrow hangout for druggies, biker gangs, smugglers, and other social deviants . So the more things change, the more they stay the same.

And that's all folks-or at least Intermission.

Have a good one-and watch out for old men at nude beaches.