A Postcard From the Basement

I don't actually have a basement--the basement I'm speaking of is not a physical place but a state of mind. Sometimes as men we have to go into the cave, the basement, the brooding quiet place where we don't shave and wear the same shirt for two days. It's a guy thing. We go to lick our wounds and rest, to plan and to pray. David did it. Job did it. I think it's totally all right to go to such a place, emotionally and spiritually, as long as you emerge. Sometimes, you just have to retreat, and even hide, for a while. Partly to restore your spirit and be still. Partly to take stock. And partly because we hurt, and we just don't want to engage the world much.

I do that from time to time. It reminds me of an old Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson song, "...maybe it's time to get back, to the basics of life." In the time in the basement you can get some sleep and eat a good bowl of soup, catch up on your laundry and write a long email to the person you trust the most. I won another $200 playing $2 tournament poker and caught up on my laundry.

While I've been in the basement I've had some wonderful people check in on me. Brad from Eugene, my friend Gretchen, Arlene, my daughter Stephanie, and William have all sent comments, and their interest in the blog and in my life is a deeply encouraging and heartwarming thing. It's wonderful to me that this little web journal has caught the interest of such fine people, that they would take time from their amazing lives to touch mine. It's really a lift to check my email and find another little gift from them. I remember the joy our whole family felt when were kids and my mother got a package from home. It feels like that. An email from one of you is like a good bar of German chocolate or new matchbox car. I am so thankful for the gift of your readership and responses.

In the days I've been away Marie and I have left a couple of voice mails for each other and text messages, and we talked once on the phone. I think she's just worn down by all the distance and uncertainty, and has reached a point where she has to focus on what's best for her and her daughter Austin, who just scored a 100% percent on her learner's permit test and had a 3.8 grade average for her freshman year. Marie needs a new job and a fresh start, and the endless loop of our troubles, conflicts and stuff has just worn her down. She's in self-protection mode. I understand. More than anything I want her to be happy, and I'm just going to trust--trust her, trust God, and trust that I'll emerge from this cave time a better and stronger man.

My friend Frances at work, a dear, sweet woman and grandmother of five, heard me talking the other day about how I was going to buy a bicycle on Craigslist, and this afternoon she turned to me and said, "Dale, one of my kids has left a ten speed in my garage for ten years, and none of my grandsons want it. If you'll come over to pick it up you can have it." How much do you want for it, I asked. "Nothing," she said, "I just want it out of my garage." It's an inexpensive bike, a Murray ten speed, probably the kind you'd buy at a variety or discount store, but the tires took air and the brakes work, and it will get me back and forth to work for $0 a week. There's a beautiful off-road bike trail that will take me most of the way.

So after work tonight I picked up the bike and drove to a bike shop on Division, the nice one with the fancy bikes, to find out how much it would be a get a tune up for it, you know, some new tires and tighten the brakes, grease the chain and tinker with its gears and knobs. To me the most terrifying words in the world are "some assembly required" so this is the kind of thing I have to hire out. It's just better that way. It saves the skin on my knuckles and an extensive use of my golfing-words vocabulary. The fancy bike shop had a nice sign board above the repair counter. Tune ups ranged from $65 to $135 dollars, depending on how detailed the work. Plus parts. This bike, new, wouldn't have sold for more than that. I can take my car to Firestone for a basic tune up for that. Yikes. I decided I could buy a crescent wrench at the Dollar Store and make do.

I had the top down on the Vista Cruiser and I laid the bike upside down in the back seat and took it over to my new place, the room at Richard's. The bikes are kept in the shed. We talked for a few minutes, and I met his son and dropped off some coats, a few books, and my golf clubs. I love my room and the location, just minutes from work. There's space for my desk and computer, a nice wide closet with a shelf for shoes. Richard has a gig this weekend at a bar at 82nd and Division and I promised him I'd go over and catch a set. That's sounds nice actually, have a cold beer and listen to some music. It will be my first venture out of the cave.

Of course this weekend after I finish moving I'm going to Selah for grandbabies, barbeque and The Backyard Olympics. I have to defend my world number one ranking in horseshoes, golf and badminton, and avenge my humiliating loss in bocci ball. Kourtney and I will probably go over to Yakima to the Par 3 for a game of golf, and Ethan is now looking around and engaging the world and needs to be held and kissed. I think I will email or call and invite Marie to go. It's a little thing, maybe too late. But there isn't any harm in asking.

Well, that's about all the telling that will fit on the back of this postcard. I'll send you another from the road, and from Applegate Country Club, the site of the prestigious Backyard Olympics. It will good to be among family and fully engaged in life, and be away from the headset for four precious days. My love to all of you and good night.