As I drove from Faraway City to Sticksville, I stopped to visit Debbie. It was a long drive and she's only kind-of on the way ... but stopping at her place meant I had to drive only nine hours Friday instead of over ten. Then I had another three hours today, but still it was worth it.
It was different from my earlier visits in a couple of subtle-but-visible ways.
I arrived in the evening, close to dinner time, more or less. Debbie let me in and asked about my drive, and of course I was exhausted. At the same time I had wound up a lot of energy keeping myself awake and alert the whole time. Tired but wired. So I started rattling off at high speed what a long drive it had been and how tired I was, and after a couple of minutes Debbie chuckled.
"Gosh, I feel like I should offer you a glass of wine, or a beer or something."
Wait, what? Is this Debbie? Back when we were dating (fucking) one of the few hard disagreements we stumbled over was about alcohol. I drank; Debbie didn't. It was never an actual problem between us, because we didn't live together and I was always perfectly willing not to drink when I was around her. But the one or two times we ventured to talk about it at a theoretical level, I quickly realized there was nothing to gain from pushing the question. Back when she was a little girl her parents both drank too much, and they fought violently when they were drunk, and so Debbie said she saw alcohol (in the words of the Buddha's five precepts) as a source of great suffering. When I have visited her in the last few years I've noticed that she might keep a bottle of wine or a couple of beers in the fridge, but I've always assumed that it's because her son-in-law drinks occasionally and so she keeps it for him. (The first time I visited, I saw a bottle of wine and asked about it, and she hurriedly said that it was a gift and she was looking for someone else to give it to. Ever since then I have made it a point not to ask.)
Anyway, I waved away the offer. No, of course not, don't worry about it. And went on with my story. (If you've been following this story in a linear way, I had better add that I've fallen away from the dry living I wrote about a month ago. So I turned it down for Debbie's sake and not my own.)
Then after dinner, as we were sitting down for dessert, she pulled out a bottle of Frangelico. She only poured us each a very little bit, but still -- it's the first time Debbie has every poured me a glass of alcohol.
We started to talk about liqueurs. There's a pecan liqueur called Rivulet that she really wants to find a bottle of, but she has had the damnedest time tracking it down. I mentioned that earlier this year I had made a batch of limoncello using this recipe I found out on the Internet. She asked, "Is that the recipe where you start with vodka and soak the lemon zest in vodka for several weeks?" I told her, "Yes, exactly." And she said she has made the exact same recipe. She agreed that it turns out very well. Wait, what? Debbie bought vodka to make homemade liqueur? This visit was shaping up to be different from earlier ones.
When I first arrived, as I was telling her all about the long drive to get there, she said, "You know, I thought about that today. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before, but I started thinking, If he were your boyfriend this would be really romantic. Look how far he's driving, just to spend time with you! Isn't that sweet? I'd be telling myself, He must really love you to do this!"
She said it like it was a joke, like I was supposed to laugh. So I did. But like a shot I added, "Of course, I do!" Then I dropped it. We've acknowledged that the love is still there, but I think she's probably more comfortable if we don't dwell on it.
Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems like Debbie was more physically demonstrative than she has been during earlier visits, though she still kept it all within the bounds of propriety; that means we hugged and kissed more often but all the kisses were strictly closed-mouthed. I think this must have been at least partly because we've all had to draw back from physical affection during the age of COVID-19, and so we are all slightly starved for it. Debbie and I treated this visit like an exception because Debbie recently recovered from COVID-19, and so we figured she was neither susceptible (no vector pointing to her) nor contagious (no vector pointing to me).
On the down side, we didn't work together in the kitchen as smoothly and effortlessly as we have in the past, which made me realize we have gotten out of practice. Nothing serious, but we had to pay more attention not to bump into each other, and I didn't always know right away what to do next. Little things. But it wasn't a big deal for Debbie. She still commented on enjoying how well we worked together.
And there were little domestic moments that worked very well. Saturday morning while she was still in the back of the house, I wanted a cup of coffee. I know where her cups are, I know where she keeps her coffee -- and so I just made it. When she came out she remarked how happy it made her that I felt so at home there. And it made me happy too: honestly, that cup of coffee meant way more to me than just waking up in the morning, exactly because I knew where everything was and I knew it was fine for me to go ahead and make it. It was a little bit like being at home.
I've told you so much about how the visit felt, but what did we actually do?
We meditated together each morning. Saturday we packed a lunch and then went for a long hike around a nearby lake. I was fine on the level parts, but there were a couple of sharp inclines that really winded me; and at one point I actually had to stop to catch my breath. It's really clear to me that my level of physical activity has dropped way down since COVID-19 hit. Meanwhile Debbie has started talking about hiking the West Highland Way in Scotland next summer. She wants me to come along, and in principle I'd love to. But I'm going to have to get in much better shape if I want any prayer of making it to the end. How about if I start exercising tomorrow? (I have mentioned this proposal to Marie, who has so far said nothing much about it. As a memo, I had better make sure it's not a problem for her.)
As we were harvesting vegetables, Son2 called to ask me a question about his job-hunting. So far he has had no luck finding a job (possibly this isn't the best economy to look in right now), so what would I think if he joined the Peace Corps? He and I discussed it a little bit, and then after he hung up I discussed it some more with Debbie. She thought it sounded like a great idea. I wondered if it would be an obstacle to his finding employment later (if he looked too much like a starry-eyed idealist) but her point was that any job interview is about whether you can tell a compelling story. And she thinks Son2 could tell a compelling story about the Peace Corps, if he were to join it. So maybe ...?
Sunday morning we meditated together again, and then I made ready to continue my drive on towards Sticksville. But we also talked a little bit about the visit. I told her how much I always enjoy my visits there, that they always give me a chance to slow down, shift gears, and recharge. She said yes, in fact she knows her house can function like a retreat center, some kind of little monastic island. I hadn't thought of it in those terms before, but it is a good comparison.
And so the visit wound to a close. I packed my car. We hugged and kissed a last time. And I drove away. Back to my Grand Tour. But spending the weekend there, outside of Work and the World, was priceless. It always is.
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