Daring Adventures

             My husband Jim was an adventurous soul.  Once on a cold, snowy January day and night, he rode a greyhound bus for 23 hours after traveling with our son back to Ithaca, New York, for David’s second semester in a master’s program there.  The crazy man even walked around downtown Columbus, Ohio, about two a.m. during a layover stop along the way. Doesn’t that sound like a really good idea?  Although—it would qualify for an adventure.

            When I was growing up, I definitely qualified for adventurous.  My neighborhood was Wally and June Cleavor worthy (of Leave it to Beaver television fame), and I rode my bike to friends’ houses, suffered countless bruises running around on the school playground, and attempted flips on both the trampoline and low diving boards.  Oddly, in contrast, a few weeks before his death, Jim bravely jumped off the low diving board –a first at 69 years of age—during our church swim party at the town swimming pool.  That characteristic adventurous spirit of my youth asserted itself despite recent years of mild submission to physical limitations, and surprising everyone, I climbed to the top of the high waterslide and slid down into a strong current of water.  I did need some help making my exit out of the pool.  Spotting me in the act, my seven-year-old grandson exclaimed, “Grandma is going to kill herself!”

            I am on a bit of an unsought adventure right now as I live on my own.  As I write this piece, I am visiting my son David and his family, wife Rachel and four-year-old granddaughter Mason, who live on the edge of Grand Rapids, Michigan.  David had come to Charleston, Illinois—my home—for a fun, helpful visit with family, and I asked to ride back with him to give him company on the road and to give me company being with his family. While visiting, he had helped to put a ping pong table together—a birthday surprise for grandson Henry.  David also worked at my house clearing out some items in the garage and straightening up the back patio.  Most importantly, he had rescued me as I had tried to get my treasured outdoor fountain running once again.  Over its 25 years of service, I have continued to love the soothing sound of the water as it trickles down the two piece, three level wonder out on our patio just as much as I did when Jim surprised me with it all set up indoors for a cold, February birthday.  We logged many hours sitting out on the patio together, enjoying the simple pleasures of trickling water and each other’s company. 

            It has been a good week here in Michigan.  I have lain on the floor of the sunroom, watching Mason play and get acquainted with her new neighbor, six-year-old McKenzie.  Utilizing a three-story playhouse, Mason and I have had some good fun ourselves making the Barbies and Ken hide and play on all floors.  There has also been a trip to Holland, Michigan, to see the many beautiful tulips on display there every May during the Tulip Festival.  On another day, David and I ventured to a small piece of lakefront just so I could hear the waves and look out over the miles and miles of blue water.  Trying to be helpful, I prepared the famous crockpot tomato sauce for two spaghetti dinners, folded laundry, and entertained Mason although I was the most entertained.  Despite some family tensions over choosing a means of travel for my return, I have pressed on, seizing the day and making the trip.  The Carpe Diem philosophy has become more my own after Jim’s sudden death shook us all, a harsh reminder of the fragility of life.

Tomorrow I will fly back home by myself with requested assistance from the airline.  This solo travel will be the biggest challenge of the trip, saved for last.  Jim was the one who bridged the gap between what my mobility issues allow and what is needed for this and other simpler endeavors.  Even though now invisible, his presence remains a part of our family life, no matter where we are.  I will continue on with this adventure along a new and still somewhat unknown path. 

A very brave and famous American woman claimed, “Life is a daring adventure or nothing.”  Left without sight, hearing and speech after an early childhood illness, Helen Keller went on to learn ways of reading and writing.  She achieved more in her lifetime than many blessed with all their senses.  Perhaps her spirit of adventure was partially what prodded her on to live such a meaningful and productive life.  May I venture on partially fueled by that same spirit.