Harold & Maude

This is me writing. In our hallway closet. Which is something I've gotten quite used to these past few weeks. I've found that I actually flourish in cramped quarters, surrounded by cardboard boxes. When I need to, I wear ear goggles to block out household noise. Or sometimes I write with the light off. Sensory deprivation. Often I feel like I'm several miles below the earth's crust...

Yesterday we all went for a long bike ride around poor, flood-torn Iowa City. We saw stranded brambles, washes of silt, broken windows, and ruined buildings. We also careened down huge hills on rickety bikes, with powerful tailwinds that acted like high octane rocket fuel for our speed racers. On the way home, we stopped by the co-op for dinner supplies.

At the co-op, Eleanor started acting sleepy and cranky. We were in the produce section, selecting avocadoes, where she whined. Then over by the butcher, where she cried. Then, by the beer cooler, a loud, impressive protest leapt out of her mouth. It sounded like an ambulance siren from the 1950’s! A white-bearded man with soft eyes turned and looked at us warmly. His wife was by his side. They didn’t say anything, but their expressions said it all…

You think the world is one way, only to find out that it’s another. Having Eleanor around, I see now that there is a lot more tenderness and kindness in this world that I could have ever imagined. Raising a child is a HUGE ordeal. And here’s this man and woman – total strangers - who’ve clearly been through it. They see our hodgepodge assembly and wailing baby in the supermarket and what do they do? They smile. Because they remember back when their kids were that little, crying in some old supermarket clear on the other side of the United States. And because they’d just about give anything to have a few minutes of the sweetest portions of their old life back. Because none of us realize how good we have it until it’s gone. And a crying baby in a supermarket is pretty much the razor’s edge of the alive, dynamic, terribly beautiful human experience. You think it’s a drag. Then you realize it’s nirvana. That’s what their expressions said to me: This is the good stuff, brother. Stay awake for it. And I said, “Okay, I’ll try.”

So you’re probably wondering what kind of beer we bought, so I’ll tell you. We bought this 12-bottle sampler of brews from the Amana colonies, which is one of many Amish enclaves outside the city limits. But with all the other groceries, I didn’t have room for the brews in the bike basket, so I had to balance them on my thigh as we all pedaled the mile or so back home. Navigating traffic and flood detritus, I felt a little bit like Jackson Pollack piloting some kind of Calcutta rickshaw, all wobbly and destined for Chaos City or Wreck-Your-Bike-Ville, U.S.A. But chaos never happened. Not in the form of a bike wreck anyway. Just in that “rainbow of chaos” way that Paul Cezanne spoke on, wherein big hamburgers were consumed, and cold beer. And then after dinner Janelle & I went for a walk. Afterwards we all fell asleep watching Harold & Maude.