The Distant Peaks

The Distant Peaks

In my new office I have surrounded myself with things to make me feel good. That’s what we do in life, right? To my right is a NixPlay digital photo frame that shows a continuous array of pictures that my family can send in for my viewing pleasure. I can also download a bunch of travel snapshots and therefore I have my own little memory lane. This helps a lot with my two current weaknesses, which are my involuntary quarantine (which we all share) and my voluntary “retirement” to San Diego and away from my granddaughters and kids. I just sent out an email to my motorcycle group asking for a vote on our planned Silver Anniversary May Ride to southern Utah. I am not expecting a very sanguine response as that mid-May date seems much closer today than it did when Coronavirus first darkened our collective doors. So, the pictures on the NixPlay frame from our October motorcycle trip through Turkey are also a nice reminder of better times.

I also have many pictures of personal importance all over the alcove that separates my office space from the rest of the study (where Kim is presumably some day going to come and use at her desk). I have a black and white shot of a tree-lined road through a sunny Italian field of golden grass to remind me of my formative years in Rome. I think of how unnaturally lonely those streets of Rome are at present. I have a stylized reprint of a photo of my house in Ithaca, which I named Homeward Bound. The University cancelled reunion this year so who knows when I will see Homeward Bound next. At least my youngest son is planning to go there for a solitary week with his girlfriend in a few days, so it will get some use. I have a 360-degree panoramic photo of the East River looking back towards Manhattan. I can see the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. It was taken long enough ago that the obnoxious “sliver buildings” on the upper east side are not in evidence. I am told all the streets of Manhattan are quiet as a church these days. I have a painting of my mother and me that warms my heart. I am glad she cannot see what is becoming of her country and our handling of the people in need around the world. There is a wonderful caricature of Mike Bloomberg and me up in a Ferris wheel in the stratosphere. Not only is the New York Wheel a distant and fading memory, but so is Mike Bloomberg, unfortunately. I have a signed picture of Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson on the road in Easy Rider. Peter and Dennis are gone now. Only Jack remains.

As I have described before, I have one window pointing west to the Pacific Ocean, where I can see forty miles out to the horizon and enjoy the searing sunsets. To my right is a window onto the loveliest cactus garden you can imagine with a stone pagoda and a metal bird feeder, reminding me that Dr. Seuss’s whimsy is not so far from any of us if we let our imaginations run. But straight ahead is my desk window. I have resisted adding multiple or bigger screens to my desktop computer specifically to avoid blocking this view. There is a huge boulder in the foreground with an occasional sunning lizard to amuse me. Then there is a set of ravines that fall away from the house and show boulder-strewn hills that are sparsely inhabited by daring homeowners who want the same sort of views I enjoy. The nearest is probably a quarter mile away and the furthest is perhaps a mile. Framing those hills on either side (NW and NE) are the San Gabriel and San Jacinto Mountains, bot just over 10,000 feet in height.

Today, for some reason, the mountains are glorious and clear as a bell. I am used to seeing the San Gabriel Mountains, about 75 miles due north, and it is not so unusual seeing them with snow caps. But the San Jacinto Mountains, which are only about 50 miles away and are the warmer SW backdrop for Palm Springs usually only have a little snow on the peaks. Not so today. All the moisture we have had the last few weeks has loaded up those peaks and they have formed a long white barricade that seems to hover in the sky beyond Mt. Palomar. They remind me of the Wasatch Mountains above Salt Lake City. They look invitingly close and yet romantically distant. I find myself momentarily thinking that we should take a drive over to Idyllwild and throw a few Spring snowballs and then I remember…we can’t, we’re locked down. Even though we would be in our car and could take our own picnic lunch, I somehow feel that it goes against the spirit of our quarantine and other than a brief respite of mental distraction, it is hardly essential travel. Am I taking this too seriously?

In my letter to the motorcycle group, I asked everyone if they were prepared to throw in the towel on our southern Utah trip for mid-May and if so, would they like to plan it for the Fall or just postpone until next May. I have several answers so far. These people are all motorcyclists and as such are natural risk-takers. Some also fly planes and do other acts of daring-do. The preponderance of opinion is that we should postpone and just do it next May since booking a Fall trip with continued uncertainty is no fun if we have to go through this on-gain off-again program all over later this year. But there is this one guy. He is a real adventure seeker. He has me by a decade and still he goes everywhere on his bike. He has gone across Africa, up to the Arctic, through the Pyramids of Egypt and across the Silk Road. You might call him a man’s man. He has spent his life in the construction business and he actually owns a working toll bridge. He is not a big man, but as I like to say, he is well over four feet tall and probably weighs in at 135 pounds soaking wet. He still skis the trees at Steamboat with his grandkids (something I gave up a while ago). He tells me that he is still hoping to go to the Far East (Singapore and Bali) in June and he is game to try for a trip in September after our planned (and not yet postponed) motorcycle ride across the Pyrenees of Spain and Portugal. He tells us that things are not so bad in Florida and he can golf, fish and shoot sporting clays, so he is not feeling too bored just yet.

While I stare at the distant mountain peaks, some are hunkered down more than I am and some are getting on with their lives as though they were only allotted so many active years. I don’t want to lie down and play dead, but I don’t want to be cavalier about the trauma that has been inflicted on the world and has yet to be inflicted upon the world by this pandemic. I do not know exactly where I fall on this spectrum, so for now I will look at the mountains and not forget that I have always had an adventurous and risk-taking spirit and that I would like to feel good about reengaging with the active world as soon as possible.