The Old Man and the Beach

Then on Thursday we caught a plane from Fresno bound for Acapulco, Mexico, where we planned to spend "Winter Break" lounging, relaxing-and making love wherever and whenever appropriate. We did just that-though Ambrosia enjoyed practicing her Spanish (she was a Spanish minor as well as a French/secondary ed major in an attempt to enhance her employability) and we explored some of the less "touristy" parts of the town as well as the surrounding territory.

January through April was pretty well a routine. I taught another two sections of "Chemistry for Dummies"-I wondered what the department would do if I ever really retired. Maybe shove the duty off on some junior non-tenured faculty member or hire another indentured servant-a part-time instructor...but that wouldn't be my problem. But I didn't teach a "side course" in Spring Semester so I had more free time than in the Fall.

Ambrosia filled out applications for French and Spanish teaching positions in middle/junior high schools and high schools scattered about central-coastal California and worked part-time at the County Library more for something to do than for income. And as March came on started traveling around to job interviews in a number of locations.

Otherwise we lived a disgustingly tame middle class domestic existence-almost like an old married couple.

Oh yeah-our sex life? It went on and on. I was amazed how not-bored I was and Ambrosia seemed indefatigable and insatiable, so...

Our neighbors? After an initial shocked reaction by some and amused reactions from others, other juicier scandals have stolen attention from us and most folks seem to ignore us, generally. The neighbors behind us seemed to care a great deal more about leaves and shadows from our trees and the location of the fence line than our sex life. (After they seemed determined to persist in harassing me-us--about the fence I finally got a court order to relocate the fence-ten inches [25 centimeters] further in THEIR direction, onto the legally surveyed property line...and they were REALLY ticked off. But they were asking for it. I wouldn't have cared otherwise.)

My adult kids? Two were scandalized, one was disapproving but tolerant, one indifferent, and one congratulated me, "At age seventy, Dad? You still have it in you-Sexy Senior Citizen!"

Chapter Seventeen

Eventually Spring Semester ended and I turned in my grades and Ambrosia accepted an offer to teach both Spanish and French at a small high school in a rural town (Virginia, there IS a rural California) called Santiago del Arbusto Ardiente ("Saint James of the Burning Bush"; usually abbreviated to Del Arbusto) only twenty-five miles southwest of us, about an half-hour's drive away-and only twelve miles from Sunbody Beach. (Grin.) I asked her if she was going to move to Del Arbusto and she replied, "Hell, no way! You're too much fun, Professor!" and I was relieved. But I started thinking, What WAS the future for Ambrosia and me? I was now seventy and she twenty-three...forty-seven years apart. Really too much; I'd be a truly ancient-and decrepit-geezer while she was only early middle-aged. Not a good situation. Much as I enjoyed her company-and the sex, in all fairness I figured maybe I should start encouraging her to move on, to find a worthy young man much closer to her age... But I cowardly kept procrastinating... until...

...THE DAY.

The Day started out much like any other day, a very mundane Tuesday in late June. We had been to Sunbody Beach the previous day as we did most Mondays after the place reopened for the season and I no longer had to teach. But we had returned home early since Ambrosia complained that she was not feeling well-a bit nauseous and feverish. I thought little of it; I had been feeling similarly a couple of weeks earlier and figured maybe I had given her the gift that keeps on giving-a communicable ailment-and she, like I, would feel lousy for a couple of days then get better.

I was sitting in my recliner in the parlor perusing South American travel brochures-I was still thinking of traveling there...maybe next Christmas/Winter break when it would be summer in the Southern Hemisphere...just with a different traveling companion than originally intended. Right on cue, my intended fellow traveler, Ambrosia, came into the room holding a small white strip of paper or something of the sort in one hand and a black-and-white printed pamphlet or brochure in the other, a strange expression on her face.

"Tell me if this means what I think the directions say it does." she commanded, extending both items towards me. I reluctantly laid down my travel guide and took the folded single sheet brochure in one hand and the...damp...narrow strip of plastic or stiff paper in the other. I scrutinized the strip; on one end was printed in very small dark letters "HOLD HERE"; on the other end were four thin bands of something transverse to the strip. The first, second and fourth from the distal end were a blurry dark blue color; the third a pale yellowish.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Read the pamphlet." directed Ambrosia in a rather tight voice.

`I glanced at the pamphlet. URINE DIPSTICK TEST FOR PREGNANCY was its title. I immediately gave it my full attention and began quickly scanning the text and diagrams.

Bottom line: If the first, second and fourth lines turned blue after the strip was dipped briefly in clear-caught urine (first morning void was recommended) but the third didn't; the test was working properly and pregnancy was indicated. If the third band turned color it indicated a possible false positive and the test needed to be repeated with a different strip. If the second line failed to turn blue it indicated a possible false negative and likewise. The fourth band was a control band that was supposed to always turn blue if the test were properly performed. The tattle-tale line was number one-the one closest to the end of the piece of plastic or whatever (it felt too fibrous to be common plastic); some shade of blue indicated probable pregnancy-the more advanced the darker, generally, with full color usually appearing by the fifth to sixth week of gestation - unless a multiple pregnancy or another situation gave an unusually strong earlier response. No apparent color change (the background color of each band was a pale yellowish hue) indicated either no pregnancy or too early after fertilization for detection (it usually required at least two weeks after conception for a weakly positive result). The first band on Ambrosia's test strip was a definite blue. The rest of the brochure gave directions for storage and use, caveats about possible shortcomings of the test, admonitions to seek a definitive confirmatory laboratory test if pregnancy was indicated, and so on and so forth. I would read it later.

I looked up. Ambrosia looked woebegone. "Did you miss your last period...or the last two?" I asked. Ignorant male that I was I didn't keep track of such things-though I couldn't remember our love life being interrupted in the recent past for "that time of the month" now that I thought of it.

"My most recent one is late." she said in a small voice. "But not the one before it."

"But the test says that it takes five to six weeks for full color..." I began. Insensitive male at work. But I suddenly got a clue and held out my arms. Ambrosia came over and sat down on my lap and I hugged her tightly.

"What if it's true.." she began.

"We'll get through it...together." I said as firmly as I could...though my mind was in a whirl as I mentally tried to process all the implications. You have to remember that I'm an incorrigible nerd-thinking is what I do.

"My mother would tell me to 'take care of it'...get an abortion..." she said slowly. Then, "What do you think?"

I pondered. On principle I was opposed to elective abortion-but this was Ambrosia's pregnancy; she would be the one who would have to carry the baby, birth it, mother it...

"How do you feel?" I responded.

Ambrosia was silent for what seemed a very long time. Finally she said, slowly but clearly, "I don't want to be a single mother. Absolutely not. But if I could have a partner...a fellow who was willing and committed to getting through this thing with me, helping raise the child, fathering him...or her... being a decent dad.. maybe like Bob...all the way to the end...meaning until the child is no longer a child... I'd want to keep him...her. Otherwise..."

The ball was now in my court, so to speak. And what a ball...

I was the silent one now. Then I made an executive decision. I looked into Ambrosia's tearful eyes and said, "Will you marry me, Ambrosia Pagliai? I may not even live until the child is no longer a child but I'll do my best..." But I couldn't finish my speech because abruptly Ambrosia was performing artificial resuscitation on me. I took that for a "Yes."

Chapter Eighteen

We were married in October during mid-semester break for the University- which fortuitously overlapped a school holiday for Del Arbusto School District- by a Presbyterian minister; Ambrosia was sorta' Catholic but she'd never been religious, but I attended services occasionally. Remember, I'm a McKean-a good Scottish name. I even have a Mckean Clan tartan hanging in the entryway of my home and love bagpipe music. But back to the story. By that time Ambrosia was "showing"- a bit early for most pregnancies but she was very slender and, more significantly, ultrasound showed she was carrying...guess what...TWINS...of opposite gender. He and she. Probably why the pregnancy dipstick turned blue early. We were excited, though the kids ganged up to give Ambrosia especially unpleasant "morning sickness" the first trimester. Fortunately things settled down in the second trimester and our love life revived somewhat-though of course not nearly as rambunctious as it had been before the Nine Month Egyptian Flu set in. (Never hear of that malady? It's transmitted by males but exclusively infects females. They're afflicted for nine months, then turn into mommies. Ha, ha.)

Three of my adult children attended our wedding-my divorced son from southern California, my married daughter and her family from northern California, and my married daughter from Georgia (though she came alone...saying they couldn't afford to fly the whole family. I understood.). My son in Cincinnati said he just couldn't get away;, and my single daughter in Oregon who had been so scandalized by my relationship with Ambrosia didn't even respond to the invitation. Sigh... I had hoped the event would bring the family together and maybe...just maybe...produce acceptance of Ambrosia and possibly even the beginning of some friendship. Well, at least three of them came.

Amber came to our wedding of course, as did all three of Ambrosia's younger half-siblings, Elisa, Bob (Robert Junior) and Angela. It was only fitting, as Amber was Ambrosia's mother, but I looked forward with considerable trepidation to meeting her again. Funny how our brief meeting on Sunbody Beach more than a year before had traumatized me so. Some things you never forget. Nevertheless, the day came, and she came-wearing a very short skirt and a very deeply incised pale cream blouse that prominently exhibited her considerable endowments. I wasn't sure she was even wearing a bra but she must have had some sort of support for her massive carriage. I have never been a big fan of bras, considering them unnecessary and unattractive on most woman—and bralessness rather sexy-but some females hung like a Holstein (like Amber) definitely need them. Amber's outfit might have been attractive-sexy even-on a younger, more svelte woman but on a fleshy over-fifty matron it looked...I groped for a fitting adjective: skanky-no... crude- no... inappropriate--accurate but too pallid... raunchy-maybe...I gave up, but you get the idea.

After the main show-the marriage ceremony itself, I found myself standing next to Ambrosia, greeting our well-wishers , which included of course, Ambrosia's relatives. Amber strode up to us, with a somewhat heavy-set, dark-haired, slightly swarthy, beetle-browed fellow with a very impressive proboscis (nose for you non-biologists) in tow. She stopped in front of us and declared forcefully (of course), "Well, well, they actually did it! I never would have believed it had I not seen it! Well, congratulations to the happy couple...though I see you're soon to lose your sleep at night to a crying kid!"

Ambrosia ventured, "Well...uh...Mom..."

Amber turned to her, "But I never thought I'd have a man stolen from me by my own daughter! And you'd think I never taught you anything about birth control!"

I didn't think I'd been stolen and started to protest...but then decided to try to defuse the situation and stammered out, gesturing to the so-far-wordless swarthy fellow in Amber's wake. "And who is this fine gentleman?" I quipped.

Amber glanced at the fellow and said, "Him? Oh, this is Victor Bedevian...He's a biology teacher at St. Blaise High School in a suburb of Fresno." (I thought the guy looked Armenian.) The pedagogical pheromone curse at work again?

`I extended my hand past Amber towards Victor and declared, "Nice to meet you, sir. And what brings you here together with this lovely young lady?"

Victor coughed and growled, "Well...uh...Amber and I are...have been...umm...together..." I figured I knew what "together" meant but didn't want to embarrass him so I just continued, "And I imagine you've found her to be quite a woman, haven't you? How did you meet?"

Victor blushed a bit and stammered but Amber had no such reticence. "On the beach, DOCTOR McKean...you know the one!" She winked lasciviously. I did indeed. And I wondered if she had approached Victor as...forcefully...as she had me. Just that he hadn't escaped as I did. But Amber left no doubt, continuing, "And he was VERY well-endowed!" Indeed. Then she turned to Victor and declared, "And we're planning on getting married, too!" Now that set me back a bit, but then she added, "And when is that, Vicky?" Vicky? Ouch.

Victor-Vicky shuffled a bit then growled in a low tone, "Well..umm...when my divorce is final..." So "Vicky" and Amber were having an adulterous affair, were they?. I wondered if Victor's current wife's divorce attorney knew about Amber-that could cost him big bucks.

But other guests were waiting to greet us and we needed to push Vicky and Amber along, so I wished them all the happiness in the world (a futile benediction I feared-especially for Victor), and they moved away, Mr. Bedevian trailing Amber a subservient step or two behind. I felt sorry for the fellow-but he was making his choices and would have to live with the consequences. Then I turned to our next well-wishers, an elderly couple, who were already shmoozing with Ambrosia. "And who is this?" I asked as brightly as I could.

Chapter Nineteen

The twins were born in mid-February, a few weeks "early" as is common for multiple births, but hale and hearty with impressive lung power. They were certainly going to be able to summon Ambrosia for middle-of-the-night feedings. Ambrosia took six weeks "maternity leave, rather to the distress of her understaffed school-but there was nought but for it. Under current Federal mandate I could have taken "paternity leave" but I had cut my teaching commitment back to a single forty-eight student section of CHEM 100, also to the distress of the University-but, hey, they had to get used to it. I wasn't going to go on indefinitely teaching part-time for peanut gallery pay to save them the hassles (and cost) of hiring a full-time teacher, and it was just as well they adjusted to getting along without me. So I had more time at home to help Ambrosia and break into my new role as househubby.

Eventually we took the twins to meet Grandma Brown. (She didn't come to see them-not very grandmotherly of her, I felt.) And in fact, Amber seemed less than thrilled to see us. Too bad, so sad. But I noted that Mr. Well-Endowed Big Nose Bedevian was missing in action, his place taken by a startlingly young-looking, tall, slender, flaming red-head named Phillip Something-or-Another. He reminded me a bit of Ambrosia's beau that first day I had seen her on The Beach (and been accosted by Amber). I wondered where (and how) Amber had snared Young Mr. Redhead. The Beach-by frontal assault? I felt sorry for him-but he would probably be cashiered in a few months anyway by Amber in her relentless Quest For The Perfect Penis.

But Ambrosia's younger siblings, Marie Elise, age 19, and now a commuter student at the local community college; Robert Junior, age 17, a junior in high school; and Fanny, age 14, in eighth grade of middle school, seemed intrigued by their new nephew and niece and we invited them to come visit us in San Patricio whenever they could. They looked questioningly at Amber and she just snorted. She was never going to forgive Ambrosia-or me-it seemed. Then it struck me how difficult-and emotionally warping-it must be for them living under Amber's reign of terror without a Bob to protect and insulate them, and wondered if there were anything we could do to help them. At least I would send (smuggle?) Marie Elise info about San Patricio State and see what I could do to facilitate her admission there-and escape from Amber. The younger two...I just didn't know...maybe invitations to come spend summers with us, suggesting to Amber that way she could have more quality time-alone-with her designated Penis Donor of the Day (though I wouldn't address Amber in quite so stark [though truthful] terms). We'd have to see.

And we did. They didn't get to spend more than three weeks with us the next summer, but Marie Elise enrolled in San Patricio State as a graphic design major in the fall (we covertly helped cover what costs her partial scholarship didn't), moved into the dorms, and seemed to be doing well. We hosted her to dinner at least once a week to help neutralize the dorm cafeteria "food."

Robert Junior joined the Marines the Monday after graduating from high school (he wanted to quit earlier but Ambrosia and I encouraged him to get his diploma-perhaps it was just a piece of paper but a paper that would open many doors to him...even in the Marines), and last we heard was in Afghanistan...or Iraq...or Somalia...or somewhere. At least he was free from Amber; Marine drill sergeants may have seemed wimpy compared to his mother.

But Fanny... she got into drugs, got pregnant-and committed suicide in ninth grade on Valentine's Day. We tried. There's not much more to say than that.

Chapter Twenty

I turned eighty last week; Ambrosia turned thirty-four in February. And yet, we're still together. Hard to believe, but true.

For a four score-year old, I'm in pretty good shape though of course noticeably slowing down (but knee replacement surgery two years ago has helped). And Ambrosia is at the peak of her fitness. (I read once that males' libido crests on average at about age 19 to 20; females in their early to mid thirties.) How do I keep up with her? It's not easy, but I'm determined, and try to stay fit and healthy. A great collection of dildos helps.

Our kids? Robert Thomas (a.k.a. Bob-Tom) and his twin sister Aurora, are now age nine, and Hannah, seven. But we're very unlikely to have more; Ambrosia had her tubes tied after Hannah's delivery.

As the new millennium moved through the second decade of its first century, things were getting crazy and crazier in California, so I finally really retired from the state university about three years after the twins' birth and six months after our second daughter's surprise arrival. [A younger still active colleague told me it caused quite an uproar and multiple acrimonious meetings were convened to decide who would be sentenced to teach CHEM 100. Too bad; I enjoyed it.]