Being Out – Day 2

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Without a sound, we woke from our internal alarm to find the house reflecting its age with quiet. It’s only when moving into the parlor that the tick-tock of a clock becomes our companion to the emerging day. The place settings that were put out the night before identify where breakfast will be, but that’s still being concocted if Clayton and Deborah’s movements in their kitchen are indicators. Coffee is brought out with the promise of being strong in order to appeal to our European sensibility. We start to wipe away the remnants of sleep with this jolt of caffeine and the serenading of opera flowing from the kitchen and wait patiently; Caroline knits a sock, and I am writing.

Breakfast must be identified and accounted for as it is a labor of passion and investment of skills. Initially, we were informed that the cooking services were on hold for the duration of the virus, but it turns out that my rhapsody about the wizardry of tastes that enchanted our memories of a January visit was enough to have Deborah inquire of the man behind the frying pan if he’d be willing to grace us with a new ensemble of flavors to help us break the overnight fast. He agreed.

Simpson Hotel in Duncan, Arizona

Aplomb cannot be the right choice of words as I do not believe Clayton finds his time in the culinary alchemist’s lab to be demanding. Our breakfast arrives, radiating the skills of the maestro. We are brought a small ramekin of fresh fruit, a carafe of juice, and a plate separated into threes, which could be a nod to the father, the son, and the holy ghost, or is it a reflection of academia where there is your opinion, my opinion, and someone else’s opinion? On second thought, maybe nothing at all was implied with our servings of veggie frittata, field roast sausage, and chia seed pancakes about to be topped with prickly pear agave syrup, but it’s nice to dream. As for the appeal of the palette? Gluttony would have me asking for seconds while manners dictate I simply gush over the exquisite meal.

Speaking of dreaming, it is time to temporarily leave this house to wander over to the Gila Cliff Dwellings and visit others’ faded dreams.

Gila River at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

In the distance, long before we ever reach our destination, we start to see where normal used to be. Driving into an adjacent state reminds me of the freedom to roam. Our sense of place has an inherent need to take ourselves to the end of the road in order to look out and wonder what’s beyond the limits of what we can see and know. Our exercise in exploration offers us a footing to better understand what the toil at home is for.  This journey over to Silver City, New Mexico, where we’ll connect to State Road 15 going north through Pinos Altos and up into the Gila National Forest area, where the cliff dwellings are, will literally deliver us to the end of the road.

Caroline Wise at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Nearly two hours of twisting, windy road in an air-conditioned car traveling between 25 and 45 mph allowed us to arrive in the middle of nowhere in comfort; we even had iced drinks in the backseat along with snacks for our visit by way of absolute luxury. The entire way, I thought about those who would have lived in the cliff dwelling we are visiting for the second time in our lives. How far did they venture away from home? Had any of them ever gone so far as to walk to the ocean? What was the totality of their universe? I’d wager that they likely did not have concepts for the need to escape on a weekend sojourn to change things up.

Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

From the clues that remain in the area, researchers have surmised that people known as the Mimbres lived in this area, with the Gila River running through it, from about 1,000 to the year 1,250. Only 25 years later, the members of the Mogollon people took up residence on the cliffside, building a series of 46 stone rooms within five caves, but then abandoned the area a bit over 100 years later. We have little certainty about what was in the minds of indigenous peoples of North America since before we could learn of their customs and history, our ancestors tried to annihilate all references and appearances of what they might have contributed to our culture. Such was the weakness our forefathers felt about their own religion. Funny, not funny, how that holds true to this day.

While I stand upon lands they were forced to give us, I cannot stand in their footsteps. I watch the shadows of birds whose ancestors flew over the same adjacent canyons as their descendants. Lizards scurry about just as they would have when the Mogollon and Mimbres people walked amongst them; I can’t help but wonder if the lizards and birds don’t know more about the people of these lands than we ever will.

Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

I’m jealous of the stones that knew the touch and felt the warmth radiating from the people and their hearths, taking refuge from the elements within these homes fashioned by ancient architects. I listen closely to the silence but cannot hear the echoes of knowledge of the band of humans brought to this corner of remoteness.

I don’t mean to infer there was ever anything in North America like a hub or city for the millions of indigenous people that strode among the trees, mountains, rivers, and animals over the centuries. The one thing I can surmise, though, is that while they likely knew hardship, they also knew how to occupy a quiet place upon the land, which has me questioning if they didn’t find a kind of enlightenment in the quiet of the mind when one soars effortlessly within one’s environment.

Caroline Wise and John Wise at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

But this is all speculation and flights of fantasy, as my own mind is a hive of parasitic jingles and messages conditioned by consumption that were supposed to deliver me to happiness and success. I can have everything shipped home from Amazon, Walmart, musical instrument shops, all kinds of food, even marijuana, but I cannot have anyone bring me the vastness of being from a place that conveys the spectacle only nature can deliver to one’s eyes, ears, nose, and touch. For this reason, I will always be poor.

Wild grape at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Had it been the Mimbres or the Mogollon living here, they did so without fee, without tax, without deed, and without anyone to answer to. All they needed to do was survive, and maybe that wasn’t all that easy as, within about 100 years, they abandoned their perch with a view. I don’t believe they all perished, but would like to think they moved on as circumstances had become difficult, which necessitated a relocation, and that their descendants are now in nearby communities. As a visitor to these lands, I’m allowed to take nothing besides my memories and photographs; I cannot even pick a wild grape that would have been free for the taking in the centuries before my ancestors arrived.

Caroline Wise at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Caroline has continued in her effort to know something more about the place we’ve been visiting and on our arrival, she inquired about the local Junior Ranger program only to learn she could earn her Senior Ranger badge today. Needing to understand what could be gleaned from a visit to this National Monument, she ventured up the trail, trying to capture every clue from the details on display so that when the park ranger tested her knowledge, she might qualify for the honor of once again taking the oath to help protect what is held as important to our culture. With her right hand raised, socially distanced, and masked up, Caroline is now a Senior Ranger.

Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico

Our own time here was extraordinarily brief, and the timing was perfect, with beautiful skies on hand until they started to darken with the threat of storms on the horizon. We managed to visit another small dwelling and almost missed some incredible pictographs had my eye not caught a hint of them after we’d started to drive away. I reversed back to the Lower Scorpion campground and pulled into the parking lot again so we could take a different trail that delivered the reward of more than a dozen cliffside panel pieces with meanings lost in time or at least lost to the invading forces. We can admire the messaging from afar, but deciphering their intrinsic value is a guessing game that I cannot claim to know how to win.

Driving south toward Silver City, New Mexico

Our signs, on the other hand, are easy to parse, “This windy road pissed off others who passed this way which required them to leave their vehicle with a weapon and attempt to murder the sign.” We’ll pass through old town Pinos Altos on our way back through Silver City, where we’ll need to get dinner. This town is not very well equipped for serving people food on a Sunday. Most restaurants are closed. I can only guess that Silver City is not really on anyone’s map of places to go, and so with a depressed economy, the locals cannot support these businesses seven days a week. If there was a demand from tourists, I’m sure owners would have brought on staff.

Once we’d decided on where we’d pick up food, we started hearing a commotion outside of our windows; it was the buzz of cicadas sounding, unlike the ones we have in Phoenix. Their screams were like a sine wave of volume modulation that would wax and wane, and at the top of their crescendo, you wouldn’t be blamed if you were slightly frightened into thinking some kind of imminent explosion of their species was about to occur. I say, unlike their Arizona brethren, as the chirp is significantly different.

Caroline Wise dining el fresco in Silver City, New Mexico

After our incredibly mediocre Mexican dinner, taken al fresco in a local park, we licked the wounds of having missed out on one of New Mexico’s famous green chili dishes, but there will be other visits to this part of the Southwest in the future. On the bright side, we are enjoying the idea of taking our food to go and finding a picnic table to have a private dinner in the great outdoors.

Driving west towards Mule Creek in New Mexico

Our options to return to Duncan were to go back the way we’d come or take a longer route up north on a road we’d not traveled in years. Of course, we took the long way. Were we rewarded with some spectacular sunset for our efforts? Nope. But, there was one moment when a deep, beet-red sun peeked through a keyhole in the clouds and let us have a tiny glimpse of our star far out in the distance. We’d never seen such a phenomenon and sadly do not have photographic proof as the road we were on was not amenable to pulling over safely to indulge our sense of capturing an aesthetic we’d not experienced yet in all of our years. Such is the magic of the little moments that pass without documentation, images, icons, or words. It feels like the Mogollon people and so many other native peoples from these lands can only be seen as the fleeting image of something profound and beautiful glimpsed through the tiniest of keyholes.

Heading Out – Day 1

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

San Carlos Apache Reservation in Arizona

With a good dose of apprehension manifesting as some low-level tension on the verge of aggression, we are nearly ready to go. It’s Saturday morning and instead of being ready beforehand like we typically are, today we had to tend to a lot of last-minute details prior to our departure. Consequently, we are getting out later than I might have otherwise desired, but at least we are forging ahead with our first nights away from home in over half a year. While sitting here at my desk a minute before heading to the car, there’s not a minor amount of ambivalence about going through with this. Pandemic conditioning has had its impact, but we can do this.

It takes about 45 minutes to get far enough away from home that I can start relaxing, which then allows Caroline to crack open Magic Mountain and get to reading me some Thomas Mann. We are down to the last 150 pages of this 720-page tome and hope to put a good dent in what remains while we are out on our little sojourn.

Passing through Miami yet again, it was time for lunch we pulled up to Guayo’s El Rey restaurant for a great carne asada that we shared at a nearby picnic table in the shade. You might remember that we came out this way on a day trip for my birthday, hoping to eat here but had to go to Guayo’s on the Trail down the road in Globe, except they weren’t serving carne asada then nor on my solo trip a month ago. Today, we hit pay dirt.

Smoke blankets the landscape as wildfires take their toll on the Southwest. The pallor of the sky, though, doesn’t dampen our enthusiasm to be out here now that we’re seriously underway. For a quick minute, we thought we might be stymied in our effort as an overhead sign warned us of a road closure outside Globe, which was our direction. Fortunately, it was the way north and not eastward, so we were good to go, as a detour in this area would have added 5 hours to our driving at a minimum.

The photo above was taken on the San Carlos Apache Reservation and, while a relatively non-descript image, it shows that every street into the reservation has a security person at a small shack ensuring that everyone who enters is a tribal member due to the worry of outsiders bringing COVID-19 into their lands.

Caroline Wise and John Wise roadside near Duncan, Arizona

Our plan of visiting Mt. Graham today had to be put on hold. The plan is instead to visit on Monday on our way home. For one, the smoke was pretty heavy, but more than that, we had told our hosts that we thought we’d arrive around 4:00, so it was apparent we’d have to give up on that visit.

After getting into Duncan right on time and being greeted by the inimitable Clayton of the Simpson Hotel and possibly the alter ego of one Don Carlos, we were quickly falling into the familiarity of being awed by this man’s wisdom and wit. Somewhere between referencing Oswald Spengler and Marcel Proust, he quite correctly repeated a quote from Heinrich Heine that reads:

Mine is a most peaceable disposition. My wishes are: a humble cottage with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, the freshest milk and butter, flowers before my window, and a few fine trees before my door; and if God wants to make my happiness complete, he will grant me the joy of seeing some six or seven of my enemies hanging from those trees. Before death I shall, moved in my heart, forgive them all the wrong they did me in the lifetime. One must, it is true, forgive one’s enemies–but not before they have been hanged.

With our hosts wishing us a good dinner, we were soon on our way out again, back the way we’d come, for a 38-mile drive to dinner in Solomon. We were heading to La Paloma restaurant for more Mexican food because the nostalgia of a great meal is a powerful draw to return. Along the way, we stopped to take the first selfie of ourselves since April 26th, when I posted a photo of us in our matching face masks that Caroline made us before the industry of artful masks exploded. Our dinner did not disappoint.

Mt. Graham in distance near Safford, Arizona

The serenity found in a place that is nowhere is unmatched when the forces of man-made chaos are kept at bay. The wind can blow, hail can fall, and lightning bolts from above can threaten one’s existence, but the machinations of nature often arrive with such astonishing beauty that, more often than not, we have to give the world around us a pass for its occasional tantrum that disrupts our well-being.

A cascade of delight is available out here for those who desire to see what is just before them, but first, we have to acquire a sense of what it is we need to feed our souls. For us today, it is the palette, the eyes, the memories, and a dry river bed with remembrances of sandhill cranes flying overhead this past January. I don’t mean to imply that the memories have to come from previous visits to the area but from the collective memory of a life lived in the search of the unseen and unknown. Until you see something a second, a third, or multiple times, how do you know you’ve really seen what you think you have?

Love is not found in singular glances, although it can first arise from a simple gaze upon just about anything, but we must look again and again, reach out and touch, smell, and bring into our sense of expanding emotional knowledge that inspires our love to conquer our reason, thus becoming a part of ourselves. Repetition of familiarity is key, but it can also be a curse should you come to believe that you now know this thing, person, condition, or possibility. Certain knowledge is a kind of death of potentiality, and it is the uncertainty of what one might find that brings us back to stare into the eyes of a loved one or into the sunset as we’ve never seen it before, though we may have already seen 10,000 sunsets before.

Skull and Loaves

JWise Photo of the Day

Cat Skull found in Phoenix, Arizona

The whiskers and canines should be the giveaway that Caroline harvested this cat’s head from its rotting corpse that for the past six months has been baking next to the road where we walk every day. The first few days, we were certain the poor cat was going to be picked up by some sort of animal control service, but that never happened. A concerned citizen moved its body from near the street to the other side of the sidewalk and that’s where it stayed. For some weeks, the smell of dead kitty was a wretched one and the sight of the ants followed by maggots devouring it while leaving its fur intact was an interesting process. A month after it died the fur still looked like you could pet it and then it rained.

Matted and disintegrating it just laid around all day and night. Occasionally a dog or maybe some kids with a stick would disturb its resting place but for the most part, it just became more and more desiccated in the hot desert sun. Yesterday was different though as Caroline fell behind a second while I was ahead picking up trash with my bucket and grabber so I thought nothing of things until I turned around and saw her squatting over the open grave with her hand at ground level extracting the skull of the cat from the broken and twisted pelt with bones that had been a living creature half a year ago. No, I can’t believe it either that she just reached down and collected her cat skull trophy. That though is not the worst part. As I approached her with the obvious intent of taking a photo of her grave-robbing prowess, she fished out whatever it was that was still filling its eye socket so it would look more skull-like instead of rotting animal-like. She was about to de-beard it when I stopped her, saying the whiskers made it look more natural. She brought it home with plans to finish cleaning it and then I have no idea what she’ll do with it, maybe it’ll become a candle holder?

Caroline Wise and a braided loaf of bread in Phoenix, Arizona

This ginormous twisted braid of bread fresh out of the oven is a whole wheat egg loaf that almost resembles real challah except this one is industrial size. Next time she’ll halve the recipe. Well, that was my wife’s weekend, what did yours do?

A Yarn About Yarn

JWise Photo of the Day, Thoughts

Caroline Wise and John Wise in Newport, Oregon

As this is a yarn about yarn, I need to begin this post with the two characters that are featured, Caroline and John Wise. The hats and scarves we wore in this photo up on the Oregon coast were made by Caroline. The beany she’s wearing has some indigo-based blue stripes. That yarn was dyed by her, while the rest of the colors were naturally dyed yarns from France. My beany is made of yarn gifted by Stephanie Engelhardt, my sister-in-law, and was handspun over there. My scarf was knitted from yarn we picked up from a shop in Luneburg, Germany; on a previous visit, Caroline sprang braided her scarf from yarn she won at a guild raffle here in Phoenix.

Driftwood Farms Yarn from Reedsport, Oregon

You see, when Caroline and I travel, we stop at yarn shops. We’ll go out of our way to visit these stores, such as this one that was temporarily set up at a Chowder Fest in Coos Bay, Oregon, by Driftwood Yarns and Candles, which normally finds its home a bit up the road in Reedsport, Oregon. As a matter of fact, that green and yellow skein has now been transformed into my newest pair of socks.

Monome Grid in Phoenix, Arizona

While I had just unboxed an instrument that was picked up on our way to coffee, you see in the background some yarn being transformed into socks. That yarn came from Newport, Oregon, but not from the same trip as the yarn above. This is an older photo, and while we visit many familiar yarn stores along that Pacific Northwest Coast, we try to get at least a skein or two for me so I get to wear souvenirs from our various journeys. While I rarely, if ever, remember where the yarn has come from, Caroline has a pretty impeccable memory for these details, often filling in information about what we were doing before and after our visit to a particular shop and maybe even a quirk or two from the owner or their shop pet.

My "Alsek" socks were just finished here at Alsek Lake by Caroline Wise while in Alaska

These became my favorite pair, although all of them are mostly my favorites. What made these (which happen to feature yarn from Portland, Oregon) special was that they were knitted while we were whitewater rafting the Alsek River from the Yukon west to Alaska. They were finished on the second to last day of a two-week adventure as we were camping at Alsek Lake. I took this photo from our campsite looking out towards the Alsek Glacier.

Yarn from WollLust in Berlin, Germany

Last year, I was in Berlin for a music conference a couple of weeks before Caroline and I met up again in Frankfurt; she asked that I visit Woll-Lust for her. She’d eyed some yarns she fell in love with, so I simply had to go. The funny thing is that the majority of the yarn in this photo were things I chose as impulse buys for socks I’d like to see Caroline make for me in the future. None of them are socks yet, but that’s okay as it takes her 40 hours to knit me a hand-fitter pair; I can be patient. On the other hand, two skeins, one variegated with orange and one of the very orange skeins, are currently being knitted up.

Yarn from 1001Fonal in Budapest, Hungary

While in Budapest back in 2018, we stopped at 1001 Fonal, which translates to 1001 Yarns. There is a bummer about picking up so much yarn when we are traveling, especially when it involves flying, as it all has to fit in our baggage to get it home. However, when I was in Berlin, I requested to have it shipped to America and not to send it until a few days before we left Europe. We’ve had the same problem when visiting bookstores such as Powells in Portland, Oregon, and wanting to leave with 25 pounds of new reading material. The burden of nerds.

Caroline Wise knitting socks at Insomnia Coffee in Cannon Beach, Oregon

Here we are on a rainy day on the coast with Caroline wearing another handmade beany. This one is yet again made with yarn collected on the Oregon coast. We have a soft spot for Oregon, and the more memories we can carry around with us, the better. The yarn that is on the five needles required to make a pair of socks is from Wollmeile in Vienna, Austria. Do I need to tell you that they are one of my favorite pairs?

John Wise wearing handmade socks in Phoenix, Arizona

Another pair of socks being worn for the very first time. Can you guess by now where the yarn might have come from? If you guessed Oregon, you’d be correct although these are not from the coast, the yarn came from Knitted Wit in Portland, the same as the Alaskan socks above.

The socks of John Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

These are just some of the socks Caroline has made for my feet. She had a pair at her desk that needed repairing of the sole as they were getting thin, and had I seen them, I would have collected that pair, too, for my photo. The socks just above these are currently on my feet, so I figured that was okay as I had the photo.

The top row of socks, starting with the green-striped pair on the left are from Fiber Factory that was right here in Arizona. The pair of orange and blue to the right came from the same shop. The 3rd pair from the left is from somewhere in Oregon, while the fourth pair is too, but from Newport. The red and green are from the Espanola Valley Fiber Arts Center in New Mexico. The sixth pair is from Knit Happens in Scottsdale, Arizona. The yarn provenance of the next pair with blue, dark red, and green is lost in the fog of time. The last two pairs on the top right are from yarn bought in Haines, Alaska.

The bottom row of socks from the left starts with the Oregon socks I described in the second photo. The second pair are the socks from Wollmeile in Vienna that I wrote about a couple of photos ago. The dark purple socks are from Germany. The blue-gray socks are from Germany and were knitted by my mother-in-law, Jutta, with help from Caroline and Stephanie, my sister-in-law. The blue and red socks in the middle are from Frankfurt, Germany. The colorful yellow-red-blue glitchy pattern is also from Knitted Wit in Portland. The light gray and dark gray pair is also from Frankfurt while the next gray pair is also from Germany. The second to last pair is from Fiber Factory. The last pair is from the Yarn Barn in Florence, Oregon.

Hand Knitted Robot for John Wise on the Polish Border

Not only do I have nearly two dozen hand-knitted pairs of socks, but I also have two made-with-love plushies. This Love Robot (Mochimochiland pattern “LuvBot”) was smuggled into Europe back in 2013 without my knowledge, and then, at an opportune moment, Caroline surprised me on the Polish border with this gift celebrating my 50th birthday. You can’t see all the binary digits around my birthday gift, so I’ll just share what it translates to J 50. What else the reader cannot know, and I may not be able to adequately relate to you, is the tenderness, love, and delight that Caroline brought to this moment of pulling Mr. Robot out of hiding. Not only had she made it without my knowledge, not only had she slipped it into our luggage prior to leaving the States, but she’d kept it under wraps until just the right moment in a unique location that would forever punctuate her presenting this gift of love. You would have had to see her eyes and the emotion that came with getting one over on me while surprising me at the same time.

Hand knitted gift of love from Caroline Wise to John Wise

And just as this yarn about yarn started with the two main characters spoken above, so it ends. This was a gift to me ten years ago when Caroline knitted this caricature of me, notice the gray hair, with her wrapped in my snug arms, the embrace of love (Mochimochiland pattern: “Hugs and Squoze”).

Virtual Whitewater Rafting

JWise Photo of the Day

Virtual Yampa River Rafting Group

For the past few days at 10:00 a.m. Caroline and I get to board our virtual raft and head down the Yampa River for some digital adventures during this time that none of us get to travel in real life. Our whitewater guides Chris and Charles reached out to a bunch of former clients who’d been on river trips with them in the past and asked if anyone would be interested in a bit of an experiment. Without hesitation, we signed up. The premise was that we’d explore what it would be like to venture down the river using Zoom and segments of the river trip itself that Google captured with StreetView some years ago.

On Saturday, May 16th we joined with Chris, Charles, and fellow guests Jen and Steve and headed over to the virtual put-in. A couple of guests didn’t show sadly so it was an intimate trip, but we understood that it took a different breed of brave souls for this first descent down the Yampa River at near flood stage. The put-in was familiar to all of us as Jen and Steve had also traveled the Yampa, but have been lucky enough to run the Gates of Lodore up the Green River too. On each day the guys took over the virtual oars and took us into a story about the river or engaged us to share memorable moments from our own river trips. Along the way, we learned a bit more of the history and refresher lessons about particular aspects of the river and the geology that the river flows through.

Yampa River in Colorado

This photo is from the Yampa trip Caroline and I were on back in 2014; was our virtual journey as spectacular? Of course not, but the interesting aspect of this undertaking is that we spent nearly 4 hours with this group of river enthusiasts who, like us, love rivers. That commonality between us allowed the six of us to share moments of the magic found on river trips and reminded us of our own specific adventures in years past. Listening to the passion of each person was a potent reminder of the effect rivers have on people. So in that sense, the boatmen succeeded in creating a memorable moment that took us outside of our comfort as we had to quickly adapt to a situation that involved others we didn’t know beforehand as we navigated a process and path that was unique to all of us.

We’d gladly join another virtual river trip if for no other reason than to support boatmen who are out of work during what should be the busy season but also because river trips are all about finding it deep within us to see things differently. I would be a fool to scoff at the idea that this wasn’t valuable as first and foremost it was the passion of Charles and Chris and their need to share from their experience that is one of those human traits we should all aspire to. Thank you guys for the effort and for getting us out of our stay-at-home routines during these difficult times.

Hidden in the Shadows

JWise Photo of the Day, Thoughts

Shadows of Caroline Wise and John Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

We no longer live out on the stage of what was a normal life; we are not on vacation in some iconic location; we are not on our way anywhere familiar. We are instead existing at home, living in our minds, traveling beyond the shadows of who we were. On the other side of those former persons that were us, of the people who saw the world through the eyes of “things are the way they are,” are different people who cannot take for granted that those “things” will stay the way they were. The waves of the ocean no longer crash upon the shore we knew but, instead, roll in towards senses hungry to feast on such rarities momentarily forbidden.

Of course, it’s always been this way, but we didn’t want the brevity of our experiences and time on Earth to stand in front of our consciousness, flailing the arms of certain death that this is all temporary. We trick ourselves and reassure our inner dialog that we can do this or that tomorrow, next week, next year, or simply, someday. We remain largely unaware that as the day passes, the shadow of our life expectancy grows shorter. Early in the morning, our shadows stretch far, and likewise, early in our lives, the horizon is difficult to see, while comprehending it may forever elude some. What are we supposed to do with an infinite horizon where time has no meaning?

Disappearing from our normal lives in this state of self-isolation, threatened by the hostility of an invisible stalker called COVID-19, should awaken those who cannot see beyond their noses. Fear of the unknown and desire for the familiar have them waiting for a return to their routines. This has not become the opportunity to find new regard for the transient nature of life and the ephemeral, fleeting impressions brought to their senses by novelty. It is the control mechanism of the oppressor. It is the abusive father, the demanding teacher, the tyrant found in one’s boss. This though is a myopic view of the person who never learned of their own agency. They have mastered the role of the victim and have grown comfortable hiding in the margin of life, not emerging from fear.

Granted, there are those who are in dire need of counseling, continuing education, or financial assistance who simply must do what it takes in order to survive, but that, too, is a consequence of living in the moment of not understanding what’s ahead. The inability to have been prepared for life is the same as walking towards the cliff and hoping that the hand of God will be there to catch you before you fall into the void. If we can understand the folly of such a stupid act, how do we blind ourselves to the need to have life safety nets? The answer is relatively easy, even if assumptive: nobody really cares about those around them. In that sense, we are not holding one another’s hands and helping each other along.

Masked John Wise and Caroline Wise in Phoenix, Arizona

Too many live behind masks even when they are not wearing ones of a physical nature. When I go shopping, I see many men obviously not comfortable wearing a surgical mask, and yet the masks they are wearing, as a consequence, speak more about them and their selfishness than simply being out shopping can portray. How well do these people really know themselves if they cannot empathize with those who are looking to live? Am I suggesting that those without masks are likely narcissistic, angry assholes? Yes.

The funny thing about my gross characterization is that I’ve often been called a narcissistic asshole myself because of my determination to get what I want. I don’t try to get things in life at the expense of others (though there are those who would call bullshit on that); then again, they want someone who will do for them what they fail to inspire themselves to do, so there’s that. Their masks are the ones of having lived under a shadow of isolation where love was something found in movies for women or was experienced as a good fuck, but still, their lives remained empty.

I’m taking inventory of things I might be taking for granted, though I thought I was fully appreciative of all that I stumbled upon. For example, Caroline and I were always pinching ourselves at our good fortune of being able to travel so much that we had the means. Maybe I didn’t quite understand how lucky I was to have eyes, ears, and other senses that are able to be present at places of beauty, historic importance, or some other element of grandeur. I knew that I had the characteristics of a person who wanted to explore, but I thought those were common. I’ve assumed that others, if they had the financial capability, would indulge themselves in a lifelong ambition to seek out knowledge and experience, but COVID-19 is showing me, or maybe to some degree reinforcing, the idea that those who want to remain in old habits have no interest in what the unknown has to offer.

It’s easy to know that Caroline and I on a desert island would need 60 rolls of toilet paper per year or that we eat about 200 pounds of onions between us over those same 365 days, so we can now plan accordingly before we’re shipwrecked. Yes, this has been gleaned over the past 44 days of self-isolation. As a matter of fact, seeing how COVID-19 might return later this year, this knowledge may prove helpful during the fall and winter. What’s not easy to know is how we are changing after hearing so many birds in our neighborhood or seeing so many lizards growing fat as the days grow warm. We could not have known how generous we’d feel to help others during this crisis or how mistrustful of those who are not aware of the space they are in. There’s almost no food waste in our lives right now and we are happy to be frequently making our own cereal and bread. We are happy to explore our hobbies and wish there was even more time in the day to explore the interests that feed our minds.

Once we are able again to venture out to other places we’ll be in our car and heading somewhere, likely to the Oregon coast. This next trip, though will be aware of what part of us we have to leave behind and of that part of us in self-isolation that was dormant as our new routines had us stuck in our immediate environment. I hope our senses will be flush with the symbiotic and profound awareness of awe that our real freedom is always there and is ever-present so long as we maintain intellectual forward motion. Our happiness seems premised on the idea that we can neither live in the shadows of hope nor behind the mask of fear and uncertainty. We cannot trade one form of self-isolation for the illusion of freedom found in another flavor of self-isolation. We must go forward and deeper within every day.