What Lies Beyond, Part Eleven

Some Place Cut Out of Time

Joan Ann Lansberry

August 21, 1998

Nostalgia

I was missing Tucson, its mountains, the rich culture, the life we led there. No point mentioning it to Laura. What's past is past. But sometimes I like to remember it fondly.

Out of the blue, Laura decided to take Julia to work and spur of the moment decided we'd go to Tucson for the day. We forgot how long the journey was. Exit 254 should have arrived much sooner than it did. Upon exiting, "Where is the city I remember? These are just ugly buildings!" Finally we reached Oracle Road, but it seemed dreamlike. The physical reality seemed to have no substance. Eventually we came to the restaurant. Sitting there in the small room off the larger restaurant, with a view through a windowed door onto large floral plants, it seemed we were in some place cut out of time. We enjoyed that space, that savory meal, looking deep into each others eyes.

We left the quiet intimacy of the restaurant to go to the Co-op, where we stock up on noodles of various kinds, shells, vari-colored spirals, wheels and chamomile and peppermint teas. I emptied their jars of all the tea bags. They'll have to restock. But we so seldom get to this store.

All their wares had been re-arranged attractively, to better let the light in from the window. New canisters replaced some of their old ones.

Next Laura wanted to go to Egghead Software, but the store was gone out of business. Another business was there in its place. When did this happen?

So then, on to Borders. I was disoriented at first. I'd gotten used to the lay-out of the one at Alma School and Southern. I found one CD I'd been looking for in the classical section (Andrea Bocelli's Romanza, which I knew I'd wanted ever since I'd heard it at the Pizza shop in Florence) curiously enough in the International section.

While listening to it over the head phones provided for customers, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Wendy, who I'd known since my college days and who I sang with in Desert Voices, was there. She looked good in a lavender outfit, holding four paperbacks. She had spoken of liking to read. She and her spouse Mary are doing well. Their daughter is growing tall. She glowed with pride as she spoke of Meghan's musical accomplishments in violin, flute and choir. She said she'd tell everyone in the choir she saw me.

We spent enough time in Borders so that we could just head up Oracle Rd. as it turns into Highway 79, leading to Florence, in time to pick up Julia. This route goes right by where we used to live north of Tucson.

Laura, too, was inspired with nostalgia and took us to the old house. It was for sale. Some construction was going on to make the large doublewide permanently set on a concrete foundation, as is the one in which we currently reside. Perhaps it is a new requirement of homes in Catalina. Laura walked up to the weeping willow tree she had so lovingly watered and tended. She was saddened to see it half the size it had been. The land was again overgrown. The rock pyramid she'd built "for her father" had fallen into an indistinct rock pile. The torrential rains have washed away all the potting cement which had held them together .

I walked up to the shed. It was unlocked. Strangely I expected to find the box of sheet music that had gotten lost in the move. But, no, there were just painting and construction supplies. One odd strand of dirty silvery metallic braid trim was on the floor. I picked it up to examine. I'd sewn some of that on a belly dancing costume of Laura's. One old strand of us remained. I left it there.

I drank in the mountain views again, and we headed back up route 79 into our present world. The buildings on the way home seemed to have a greater solidity, somehow.

August 22, 1998

Suzuki Shosan was a samurai who served under the Shogun Tokugawa leyasu in the seventeenth century. At the age of 41, he became a Zen monk. His philosophy is imbued with the warrior's spirit of facing death at any moment. This began early in his life.

". . . when Shosan was four years old, a playmate died, and he asked where his companion had gone. Though not an unusual question for a child, it may be seen as a possible source of Shosan's lifelong inquiry into death. . ." (from the introduction to WARRIOR OF ZEN, edited, translated and introduced by Arthur Braverman.)

Here's Shosan's words:

From the beginning, my character has been such that I cannot forget about death. Wherever I am, I can never let my guard down. I surpass others only in my aversion to death. That's why I practice with the warrior's glare. Actually, it is because of my cowardice that I have come this far. . ."

We never know when death may strike. Or who death may strike. Laura's mother called yesterday, very distraught. Her boyfriend Glen, who we have known for eleven years, went to the doctor with a bad pain in his back. This is a man that never goes to the doctor. Perhaps he thought it was something muscular. The doctor performed all sorts of tests. He has a tumor in his lungs, cancerous. The cancer has spread through his body. When asked if quitting smoking would help, the doctor said, "Don't bother. It's too late now." He has only three to six months to live.

Perhaps he can prove the doctor wrong.

August 26, 1998

What a full day! James successfully got the deadbeat tenants evicted.

(He had tried renting his place out to make some money. Unfortunately, he ended up paying for them to live there. And they stole things besides!)

But they keep lingering around the neighborhood. Suspicious.

Laura's Mother and Glen came down. Glen is doing his best to make sure Mother is set up in a good, secure place before he is no longer able to do anything about it. She knows she can't live alone in the big house for very much longer, so it's time to find her a new place. Greg, Laura's brother, wanted to put her in an old folks home! So shocking, maybe he doesn't realise how awful those places can be. It's such a depressing environment. All those old folks just hang around, waiting to die. So James will reclaim his place, now that the deadbeats are out, and fix it up and stay there. That leaves the two rooms "next door" in the adjoined, but separate place for Mother. We all agree it's where she should be. The rooms are new and spacious and she can keep her favorite things and arrange them as she likes.

*      *      *      *      *

The Stronghold,

I reach up,
You reach out.
Our hands meet
                           and clasp.
Stronghold
against the agony
Of void.

-- JAL, 1978

*      *      *      *      *

August 28, 1998

Quite often, in movies, advertising occurs within the movie itself. For instance, we watched "The Borrowers" the other day. It was a cute story, but the first few minutes, we were treated to several blatant ads for Energiser batteries, L'Eggo waffles and Breyer's ice cream because the characters were using those items.

Have advertisers found a way to hawk products within our own dreams? I had a strange dream this early morning. I was going to school. But instead of a large university campus, my old grade school was the main building. My last class was cancelled, so I was trying to call Laura to pick me up sooner. I was in a convenience store that was in the old candy and supply store across from the grade school. The pay phone was located right next to a Coke machine. I couldn't get the pay phone to work. First, another party hogged the line. Then I dialed the wrong number. Then my coins got stuck in the machine. And all while I struggled, tall black basketball players in red and white uniforms kept getting drinks. Their matching tall red and swirly white Coke waxed paper glasses of dark thirst quenching liquid beckoned. But I didn't have enough money for a drink and to make my call too.

Frustrated with the pay phone, I left and looked for another. When I found one, I discovered I had no more money! The gray haired cranky clerk at this store had no patience with me, as I begged to use the store phone. As I was pleading with her, I woke up. Thirsty.

4:06pm

August is almost over, but you wouldn't know it from the weather. It's 113 degrees (45 C) on the shade of our porch. I double checked to make sure I was reading the thermometer right. But, no, it's 113 baking degrees.

August 29, 1998

On the way to pick up Julia yesterday, the sky in the distance ahead was a deep bluish gray. Yet the sun behind us shone yellow on the open fields. The bright illuminated ground contrasted with the dark sky, making a sight I've only seen in Arizona. We hoped to arrive home with Julia before the storm hit. But on the way home, huge clouds of light brown dirt obscured our sight. It mixed with the rain and made mud on our windshield. It was nearly impossible to navigate. Laura had her head out the open side window to see better. I looked out the passenger window to watch our alignment with the side of the road. All the way home, Laura instructed Julia, who's not an experienced driver, to pull over by the side of the road and wait the storm out, should one surprise her travelling alone. We got through it, and, turning my head backwards, I was able to look back again on the dark clouds, which were more brown-hued then. But the storm caught up with us later in Casa Grande. It raged all night. Hopefully more than huge piles of dirt strewn all over our porch will be the result and we'll get some cooler weather.

September 1, 1998

I am soaked, permeated, saturated, cold through and through with moodiness. Is it merely a shift in the hormonal climate? Or are other factors involved? Perhaps it's a combination of the two. I feel so tired. I just want to lay down while the interior rains fall. Let the floods come. I just want to float on the drifting raft. I don't care where it drifts. I'll just lay down and let it take me. I'm so tired.

I think I'll lie down.

September 4, 1998

Julia's Mother, brother Chris, Uncle Bill and her ex Myriam are visiting Arizona. The three of us met them at Lucky's Chinese Restaurant tonight. In four years we hadn't seen even one picture of any of them, except one of Myriam. So we were quite curious to meet them. Julia looks a lot like her Mother. Her mother is a little shorter, but has the same basic facial structure with close deep-set brown eyes and arched eyebrows. She's a reserved and refined lady who wears her silver hair elegantly on top of her head in a way Julia sometimes did when her hair was long. Her brother Chris is about as tall as Julia, and heavy set with blond hair. He has a gentle smile and a friendly easygoing manner. Dark haired Myriam is shorter than I expected, possibly only 5ft 1in. I could see hints of a fiery temperament in a brief exchange she had with Laura. Julia's Uncle was very quiet. He seemed a sad, tender soul. Perhaps he was tired.

I enjoyed meeting them very much. The proprietors of the restaurant always give us special treats when we dine there. Today's treat was some unusual pineapple from Thailand. It was so sweet, with no hint of the sourness that Hawaiian pineapple has. The slices were attractively arranged on a platter, each with one of the tiny forks pictured here skewering it. Laura said to save the forks to remember the pineapple, so I scanned them as well.

I wish we had more time to visit with Julia's people tomorrow, but we are going to a special SCA shindig. Julia will visit with them some more, and possibly take them to see Sedona and Montezuma's Well. Chris went to school here fifteen years ago and learned then of our state's beauty. So he can help guide them as well to the scenic places.

September 4, 1998

5:56pm, Sunday

I'm looking out the windows while droplets of water are caught and held in the squares made of intersecting screen wires. New drops hit the screen, pushing old drops onto the window itself, where they slide slowly down until they reach the bottom. The rain falling off the roof makes a constant staccato against the sidewalk. In these moments is time to ponder the weekend.

Saturday morning we all got up early, each readying ourselves for our excursions. Laura and I left first, meeting Anton and Cynthia at their house and we followed them out of Casa Grande. They had no room for a friend of theirs seeking a ride in their car, so Jason went in our car. He needed to make a pit stop outside of Chandler, which I took advantage of also.

We took the lead after we got back on the road. I noticed the white car ahead of us. It had an unusually large oval back window. "How odd," I thought to myself, "That looks like Julia's mother in the back seat of the car." I paid no more attention until a few minutes later. That REALLY looks like Julia's Mom. Look, it's her white hair, piled in a bun on the top of her head. COULDN'T be though. . ." My dialogue with self was interrupted. Then I returned to close inspection of the car's occupants. To the right of the white haired lady sat a short lady with dark brown hair. Then there was a gray haired old man. "That's odd! Let's see, who's in front? Why that's Julia's super bushy permed hair, all right. Look at those hands gesturing! Julia talks with her hands like that. Who's driving? Hm-mm-m, it's a thick necked middle aged man. . ." I blinked and blinked again. I counted each of the people and observed them again. . . I had to mention this to Laura. A couple of minutes went by while Laura and Jason were discussing cars. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to interrupt. Laura said she noticed it was Julia with her folks right away and followed them. She said nothing, for she waited to see how long it would take me to learn this. Once I announced my discovery, Laura drove into the right hand lane beside them and we caught their attention. Julia and her brother flashed bright-eyed surprised smiles.

The pitstop gave them time to catch up with us. After that, we sped on ahead. The SCA event was held at Chauncey Ranch, a picturesque place nestled in lots of trees. Anton put up our tent for us and then did his own. At noon, the exiting King and Queen of Atenveldt held their last court and awarded their prizes. At 3:00, the coronation of the new King and Queen began. Or I should say 3:10. Douglas and Amanda had splendid matching red velvet costumes with fancy sleeves. Her sleeves were cut short in front to reveal the gold satin lining of the long back drop. His sleeves had small triangular dags set off by a black lining. The regal couple glowed with happiness. They passed out many awards. Members of their court received a white sash with a red rose embroidered on it.

It was a great spectacle of pomp. I enjoyed examining everyone's fine garments and the display of true bonds of kinship. But after a couple of hours, the award we'd come all those miles to see had not yet been given. Anton, along with a couple of other guys in our shire, were to be made Lords. I'd made him new black pants and a tapestry `doublet' jacket with full upper sleeves and a split peplum trimmed in the black fabric of the pants. I wanted him to look the part.

Laura was getting really tired. When Queen Amanda said she wanted to postpone the rest of the awards until after the feast, Laura wanted to leave. I had a bad feeling about this. But Laura desperately needed to pee. We laid down on the sleeping bags and rested, awaiting the arrival of Anton and Cynthia. Several times I heard the loud cries of "Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" in the distance. The last long cries were "Long Live the King and Queen of Atenveldt!" Then we heard no more until Anton's and Cynthia's footfalls. Anton showed us two beautifully illuminated awards. TWO?? Anton had suspected he was to be honored, but Cynthia was totally shocked when both she and Anton were called up to the throne at the same time. For she was made a "Lady" as well. . . So now we have Lord Tyrannis Woufe and Lady Anna Dierdre of Wessex!

Cynthia's parents also came shortly after the coronation began. Later, we sat with them at the feast that evening. I ate too much and had to discreetly unhook my tight plaid skirt and loosen the laces on my vest. Although only two-thirds into the feast, after the turkey and ham, but before the beef, we pulled ourselves away from the tables. Well, for I couldn't trust myself to say "No!" when I should. Laura was exhausted, so we readied ourselves for bed. The campground was quiet. Crickets made a relatively loud contrast to the stillness.

But not for long. The drummers began. They drummed into early morning. I was able to fall asleep fitfully to the mostly repetitive patterns they created.

Only the rainfall brought an end to the drum beats. Light at first, the gentle water taps on the roof of our tent woke me up enough to close all the window flaps. I was grateful my fears of diarrhea made me think to bring a pail.

By morning, it was quite damp and chilly. Laura, contemplating archery shoots on Monday, had been considering staying another day. Jason, who needed to be back by Sunday evening, had to go back with his parents Saturday evening. He wasn't happy about it. But it was fortunate, for the cold damp weather was no climate for a teen just beginning to recover from strep throat. Even we changed our minds Sunday morning about staying until Monday. We woke up quite stiff on our humidity soaked hard bumpy beds. To loosen up, we took an early morning walk around the grounds to see what the campsite looked like before everyone was up. Only a few groggy people were up, and none too cheery after their late night revels.

On the way back, I was contemplating a future journal entry. I'd seen lots of critters: a huge inch and a half long black beetle, inchworms slowly inching up our tent wall, lively grasshoppers leaping about, fleeting butterflies. . . I was counting, when out of the trees to the left bounded a graceful doe with a white tail. She was not more than fifteen feet from us before rapidly disappearing into the trees on the other side.

It was a lovely stay in another place and time. I treasured both the wildlife and the romance of earlier ages. One cabin there proudly proclaimed "HONOR BEFORE VICTORY" on a large banner. Besides the chance to re-invent the past, part of what is so alluring about living this dream are those chivalrous ideals. Maybe that gets forgotten in the present. The past had its evils too. But it's fun to fantasize a world of noble Knights, and Lords and Ladies, when heroes with courage and courtesy reigned. I truly relished the retreat to another place and time.

But part of what is good about getting away is that you appreciate home more when you return. The modern inventions of easy to sit on toilets that flush and a comfortable, non lumpy warm beds are not to be under-estimated.