Thanks Aaron, that's a great story. On Jan 4, 2008 10:21 AM, Aaron Pearson <aarondpearson@hotmail.com> wrote: > Modern Love > A Diesel Engine Woke Up Our Marriage > > > By MELANIE GIDEON > Published: November 18, 2007 > > WHENEVER my husband casually says, "Hey, hon, come take a look at this Web > site," I know it's going to cost me. All of our largest purchases were > preceded by my being summoned to his computer in this manner. So, three > years ago, when he said this a few weeks before his 40th birthday, I knew it > was really going to cost me, and I don't mean just financially. > Skip to next paragraph > David Chelsea > > E-mail: modernlove@nytimes.com > > "Check this out," he said, pointing. "Isn't it cool?" > > I glanced at the Ford E-350 on his screen. It looked like the sort of > vehicle that shuttles retirees to the local mall. "Kind of," I replied. > > He frowned and said: "It's not just any old van. It's a camper. It would > be perfect for us. You said you wanted to see the West. " > > I did want to see the West, in theory anyway. In fact, seeing the West was > one of the reasons we moved with our young son to California. But travel > takes so much planning, and as I've gotten older I'm increasingly less > willing to tolerate discomfort: the crowds, the traffic, everybody trying to > reach the same place at the same time. > > His fingers pounded at the keyboard. "It's got captain's seats." > > "What's a captain's seat?" > > "That means it's very, very comfortable." > > "Nice," I said, getting back to my book. > > Ten minutes later, he said, "I'm going to get one for us." > > "Us?" I said. > > "Yes, us — you know, you and me?" > > The subtext being: Aren't you lucky you married a man who wants to buy a > family van as his midlife-crisis vehicle instead of a Porsche Carrera GT? > > The good news is, he found a used van. The bad news: it was in South > Dakota. So he paid somebody to fly to South Dakota, pick up the van and > drive it back. > > "It's an amazing deal," he told me. "It only has 15,000 miles on it, and > the woman is a motivated seller." > > Once the van was on its way, my husband told me what he had learned from > the sales representative handling the deal through the Web site. The woman > was not the original owner: her son was, or had been. He had bought the van > to go kayaking in the most untouched places. Then one day he went out in his > boat and never returned. This van had delivered him to his death. And now > his heartbroken mother had sold it to us. > > "You have to give it back," I told him. "He died in it." > > "He didn't die in it. He died in his kayak." > > "Well, he might as well have died in the van," I said. "He was in the van > right before he died." > > My husband sighed. > > I want him to be happy, for us to be happy. It seems every day we hear > that another couple has decided to call it quits. More often than not, the > wife leaves the husband. > > When talking divorce with these women — mothers, like me, of small > children — we speak in a shorthand that ricochets around in my head like the > rhymes of Dr. Seuss. > > They say: Feeling dead. Dead in bed. Too much snore. There's got to be > more. > > I say: Turn his head. His head in bed. You'll have no more. No more snore. > > Now, there are plenty of good reasons to end a marriage, but each time I > hear of another pending divorce I can't help but re-evaluate my own > marriage. Do I want more? Does he? And how do I know if what I have is > enough? > > When the van finally arrived, I realized it was not the same as the one in > that first picture I saw on the Web site. This was no ordinary van for > transporting the elderly. It was a 4x4 Rock Crawler version, with tinted > windows, a roof rack and a camper extension that explodes out the top. Built > to climb rock gorges and traverse rivers, our van also features on its front > bumper a cattle-guard contraption that must be handy when plowing through > herds of wildebeests in the Serengeti but is presumably unnecessary in the > suburbs. > > As I circled the van, trying to hide my shock, the nice couple next door > drove by in their Taurus. The man stuck his head out the window, pumped his > fist at my husband and gave a yodeling hoot of solidarity. The woman > shrugged her shoulders at me, her face scrunched up, as if thinking, "How > will this affect our property value?" The hulking black behemoth was so big, > it spilled out of our driveway and into the street. > > "It's more of a truck than a van," my husband conceded. > > "Yes," I said. "Yes, it is." > > "Just give it a chance," he said. > > I felt turned inside out, but it's his insides that I'm wearing on my > outsides. Every time I walk out of my door, it's there: 10,000 pounds of > metal, gears and after-market hydraulics announcing to the entire > neighborhood that someone in this house is having a midlife crisis. > > He attempted to woo me with the van's charms — the things he thought would > appeal to me: the shower, the portable toilet, the diesel engine. > > The diesel engine! Diesels can go a million miles, he claimed, and in a > pinch they can run on corn and potatoes. > > The downside to diesel is that we can barely hear one another above the > roar of the engine, and communication with our son, who seems to be about > eight feet behind us in the back seat, is impossible. > > So we developed a primitive sign language consisting of exaggerated > gestures. Imaginary spoon to mouth: Are you hungry? Finger pointed at > crotch: Need to go to the bathroom? Mother's head cupped in hands: Why > didn't I look at that Web site more carefully? > Skip to next paragraph > E-mail: modernlove@nytimes.com > > My husband tried to bring me on board by asking for my input: "Let's talk > about where to go on our first camping trip." > > "What about Oregon?" our son suggested. > > "Baja?" said my husband. > > "San Francisco?" I said, which is five miles away. > > My husband ordered maps from the AAA. He sketched out routes. He talked > weather and strategies for trading off on driving. He didn't yet realize I > had no intention of going anywhere in that thing. It smelled of mold, plus > my husband confessed that you have to empty the toilet by hand. > > "What's the point of a Porta Potti if you have to clean it out every time > you use it?" I asked, trying not to gag. > > "It's for emergencies. Like if we're stuck on the highway in a blizzard." > > "Why would we be stuck on the highway in a blizzard?" > > "That's the whole point. That we could be stuck in a blizzard. Wouldn't > that be fun? We'd be the only ones on the highway all cozy and warm." > > Because everybody else, he failed to add, would have listened to the > weather forecast and stayed home. > > Eventually I had to tell him: "I'm not coming on the camping trip." > > "You want us go to without you? Seriously?" > > "Yes." What I really meant was: "No, I don't want you to go without me, > but I don't want to go where you're going." > > My husband and son continued the trip discussions without me. They decided > their inaugural camping trip would consist of a Saturday night in Point > Reyes, about 50 miles from our house. One last invitation was extended, and > I politely declined. Finally I was off the hook. > > The morning of their expedition I climbed into the van to load it with > their requested dinner supplies: hot dogs, Gummy Worms and chocolate soy > milk. Reaching into the cabinet, I discovered something wedged into the very > back. It was a map of the Big Sioux River in South Dakota, left behind by > the young man who died. > > I felt strangely dislocated as I traced the blue tributaries with my > finger. I imagined him looking at the map on his final day and asking > himself, "Where do I go next?" He couldn't have known that "next," for him, > was not going to be a very good place. But what choice did he have? Stay > home? > > His zeal for life (or more to the point, my lack of zeal) was startling to > me. Was it possible I was the one having the midlife crisis? > > I used to be less afraid. In the early years of our marriage, my husband > and I climbed mountains, ran Class 3 rapids in a rickety canoe, and camped > along the way. On rainy nights we slept in a tent, and on starry nights we > slept outside. We were in our 20s; our needs were simple. > > We lived dangerously, which is to say we were up for anything. We didn't > think about what things cost. We thought only about the cost of not doing > things. Which is exactly why — I suddenly understood — my husband had bought > the van for us. > > And then, just as suddenly, news of my son's rescheduled soccer tournament > ended the excursion — for the moment, at least. But there's no stopping my > boys; they decided instead to simply camp in the driveway. > > From the window, I watched them depart. My son was beside himself with > excitement, clutching his pillow, his Nintendo DS pressed to his chest like > a bible. He looks as if he was going to the moon. They waved to me as they > climbed aboard. Soon I heard the whoomp-whoomp of a bass and shrieks of > laughter — they were having a dance party. > > I'VE hardly had a night to myself since my son was born. Back in the house > I poured myself a glass of wine and ate my Burmese takeout. Later, stretched > out in bed, surrounded by stacks of books and magazines, I reveled in my > creature comforts. But as the hours passed, a vague unease settled over me, > an odd kind of claustrophobia that wasn't about the physical space I'm in, > but the sheltered life I'm living. > > Sometime after midnight, I finally pushed aside the covers, grabbed my > pillow and dragged myself from our warm bed. Outside, the chilly air smelled > of eucalyptus and toasted marshmallows. In the distance, an owl hooted. I > knew the mattress would be stiff, the headroom cramped, and I wouldn't > sleep. But I opened the van door and climbed in anyway. The two people I > love most in the world were out there, along with the promise of a richer, > more adventurous life. > > Once we leave the driveway, that is. > > __________________________________________ > > aaron > '87 syncro westy ej22 > _________________________________________________________________ > Get the power of Windows + Web with the new Windows Live. > http://www.windowslive.com?ocid=TXT_TAGHM_Wave2_powerofwindows_012008
-- Jake 1984 Vanagon GL 1986 Westy Weekender "Dixie" Crescent Beach, BC www.crescentbeachguitar.com http://subyjake.googlepages.com/ |
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