Age 63, recently attained, is presenting some interesting (that Chinese curse) dimensions -- including some fond memories.
The (dirt) roads in Death Valley are so rough one can only surmise they keep 'em that way to discourage travel and save the taxpayers from the costs of rescue or worse, like the Dutch couple below who succumbed in August of 2011.
But there was a time when I traveled with a young woman (I was young then too) who, whenever bouncing o'er washboard, became aroused.
JUST THE TWO OF US
No doubt it was the similar action on my way to The Racetrack (in Death Valley) that inspired the recollection of a Spring day in New Mexico when her inferential glances segued into caresses. The road was remote, my proclivity for "the wilds" being fully-formed even then, so it was with confidence that we pulled off the track. (NEVER block the road!) We spread our blanket and eagerly shucked the socially-useless threads which, in the warming of the early afternoon, were completely without purpose.
Later, as we lazed in the mid-day glow, we were suddenly wrenched back into reality when a truck rattled out of the nearby juniper-pinons. Disentangled, our raised heads made us all the more aware of our nakedness. There was nought but small sage and cheatgrass to hide behind and our clothes -- shorts and t-shirts -- tangled and beyond reach, were impossible to don in the seconds available.
We smiled, waved and did our best to look modest as three generations of Native Americans passed by. Their cognitive dissonance almost made us laugh with them as they alternately tried to ignore us while satisfying their curiosity. I mean, we were less than 100 feet apart!
Time, normally berated for it's fleetness, stood still. Their smiles, the gorgeous turquoise sky, the unique odour of love wafting upon the sparkling light and enveloping warmth helped sustain our dignity as they traversed the expansive horizon that dominated our low-lying vantage.
To this day I wonder how they know. There I'll be, happily lost in thought while "watering the lawn" when they come trundling round the corner. I suspect the perverse humor of Jung's collective unconscious, but danged if I'll try and prove it.
At the other end of the spectrum was the millionairess who, although fully emancipated, enjoyed playing at traditional roles. Thus, whenever out for a spin, yerz trooly was at the wheel.
Eggbert, lacking a phone console and with narrower seats, enabled me to reach her more easily. But on the highway enroute to a B & B, the Lexus, with it's large windows and sunroof provided the better medium for indulging her exhibitionistic tendencies. She'd remove her top and sometimes her pants and ask me to slow down as we pulled alongside trucks and other high-stepping vehicles. Satisfied their drivers had received a good eyeful, we'd zoom ahead to the next lucky sailor. She also enjoyed the top of the kitchen counters. There, with lights ablaze, the huge windows, custom-crafted from sliding glass doors afforded any passerby a clear view.
Perhaps it's the recent walking on of Michelle's Mom that's prompting some of this. The first gal is, as far as I know, living happily near Seattle while, as I've mentioned elsewhere, Frayda left here in the Spring of 2006. And maybe *that's* what's prompting the memories of her; she died at the end of April.
Recently I discovered I'd lost another. She coordinated the Tamkaliks celebration in Wallowa, Washington and taught school there. It was around Valentine's that I went online to look up her mailing address and found her obituary. The cancer she'd been wrangling for several years had taken her.
Perhaps it's the cold I came down with a few weeks ago. The deep, wracking coughs and long trudge back to health. Or maybe it's just the age...and it's like the Chinese curse. I hadn't thought of the Seattle woman in years and if it hadn't been for the road I might not ever have again. And though some are poignant and ache with loss, it's nice to discover most of them are fond.