On the horizon

The mind churns, many things, thoughts and possibilities stir round, things that make sense to everybody but the Heart; sense, common sense, reason. BobT, a Carolina college English professor, was a member of my church who had, along with his co-worker lover Jo, bolted from their jobs and families, his wife and son, her husband and daughter, romantically escaped from academia to Florida’s forgotten coast, where he turned fisherman, handyman and slob, chiefly slob. Once when the church required painting, I wrote a specification and took bids, offers, from painters and contractors in the area. Bob submitted a bid, several thousand dollars above the lowest, and the least qualified person to do the painting competently. I awarded the painting contract to the lowest bidder, who also was highly qualified. BobT was hurt, offended, enraged that as a friend and parishioner he'd not been given the contract. When I tried to explain to him, he only said, guilt-bestowingly, “My Head understands, but my Heart doesn’t.” 

More than thirty years on, I’m remembering BobT, as now my mind churns, things that make sense, especially does my Head understand, but my Heart doesn’t. A house so badly hurricane damaged that the insurance should condemn and pay full price including demolition, and M’s family resettle here or elsewhere. 7H, a condo I thought was perfect for lifetime until Hurricane Michael swept through and left it uninhabitable possibly for months to come as floors and soaked walls are ripped out and repairs made. At 83 years old, Uncle Bubba is not of an age to live into this extreme stress. The Head needs sensible resolution, while the Heart rebels at my thoughts to sell out, pack up, and go; where? Where the sea could never again ... , where? 

Half century ago, Linda’s parents moved from Bunkers Cove Road to Scottsdale, Arizona and loved it, as did we at the time, often driving over from SanDiego to visit. After, Linda’s mother moved home to Birmingham; then, in another After, she moved to Apalachicola to live with us, then back to Panama City. In Navy and church life, we lived many places, possible candidates? Or North Carolina, the mountains? Linda loves Highlands, but Jiminy Cricket, look what happens in winter. Tallahassee? I can’t smell the salt or hear the surf. Relocating from Harrisburg, which Linda loved but I did not except for Beloveds being there, I vowed never again to live north of US Hwy 98 or out of sight and smell of the deep salt sea dashing against the old eternal rocks. But I’m thinking to downsize, not rely on elevators to run or facing seven flights of stairs to climb, no need to flee when a low pressure system churns into the Gulf of Mexico; oops, there’s that word churn again.

Scientists caution that global warming is changing atmospheric and weather norms such that Michael 1.1 will happen and may add a couple more MPH of sustained winds to make an official Category 5 next time instead of the Actual Category 5 HMichael visited upon us. 

There are or were lease/rentals of unoccupied government quarters at TAFB. A Navy retirement home near WashDC. The example of my sister who cashed in, invested in a motor-able RV and lighted out for who knows where, wherever she pleases. What’s right for me, us, me? How’s the weather in Maine right now, the village where my ancestor Andreas Wäller arrived via sailing ship from Germany in the 1700s and worked at shipbuilding - - ? Is the wreck of that six-masted schooner still on the rocks a quarter mile offshore of Bath? I’ve loved Sydney, in 1978 considered buying there eventually to resettle, now priced out of my reach! How about a perpetual cruise on Disney, Carnival, whatever? What do you think? Too old to start over, to begin again, maybe I’d best stay home. Or, escaping, hide in the woods! IDK. In fact, IDK nothin'.

Ship on the horizon offshore of PCB. What's on my horizon?

Your witness.

T