Complicate My Life, Please

I am in a relationship with Denise. Ours is not a unique love story because we come from different sides of the railroad tracks, but rather, in spite of those tracks. Dang, there aren’t even tracks-just a five-mile dirt road, leading to another 595 miles of asphalt separating us. 

Bell Springs Road going north, from on
top of Blue Rock, or the railroad tracks...

As rocked as my world was to lose Annie, I had known for more than seven years that this was going to happen. I had also known that I was not going to go into any shell and smoke myself into oblivion, no matter how cozy that shell might have seemed. I was simply staggered by the degree to which I suffered from being lonely.

I even posted a piece of writing last March (https://markyswrite.blogspot.com/2020/03/mature-women-only-need-apply.html) in which I informed the readers of this space, of my intentions to pursue a mature woman, 

with whom to become involved in a committed 

relationship. I did not want to be by myself for the rest of my days.

Denise, a friend of mine who walked across the same high school graduation stage in 1970, was in a similar life position. As fate would decree, her home is in Westminster (Orange County, only four miles from the coastline), whereas my home is on a ridge-top in northern Mendocino County, five miles up a dirt road, off the grid.

Fortunately, Denise is a savage when it comes to her ability to maneuver around in today’s complex world. She is an independent woman who lives alone and enjoys traveling, which is why she wanted to come and visit the farm in the first place. 

And why was that? We have much in common from our background in SoCal as kids, graduating together and already being friends. We had each been recently involved in the hospice experience, we were both living by ourselves and we were what might be termed, geographically safe. Neither of us was moving anywhere. 

When she first proposed the visit, I interpreted it as someone who was out for a lark and I welcomed the diversion. The rest is history, as they say, as our correspondence seemed to have a life of its own.

As it is, Denise’s sense of adventure is in direct contrast to mine. I'm the guy who went more than four months without leaving the mountain, during the early part of the pandemic. Though I have flown to Asia (Japan and Korea), Europe (Ireland), criss-crossed the country twice and made many flights up and down between NorCal and SoCal, it had been a solid ten years since I had been on a plane.

As for the proprieties, I had made it clear in my blog piece that I was not interested in a casual relationship, and Denise had already made reservations to stay in Laytonville, so I didn't think any eyebrows would be raised. 

I did warn Denise about what she might expect from country life but I left certain tidbits for when we were up here together, and I could sense when the time was right. Some things about country living just need to be approached carefully, lest too much be revealed too soon.

The kitchen wood stove (and Ellie Mae)

Generally, when country living is compared to city living, the assumption is that living in the country is a simpler lifestyle, while the city is more complex. Let’s look at heating our respective homes. I heat my home in winter via two wood stoves, only one of which I burn when I am here by myself. Pretty simple, I guess, until I look closer.

Firewood must be obtained, whether by me when I was a minute or two younger, or by paying someone to cut and deliver it to me, up on the mountain. I am most fortunate in this regard, because one of my sons cuts, splits and delivers it, while the other two, through the farm, pay for it. 

I must then wheelbarrow it to the back of the house, stack it and then move it an armload at a time into the house, as needed. I spend a minute each day removing ashes from the previous day, and then I build a fire using kindling I have split up and stored, and slightly bigger pieces of wood to get the fire ready for bigger chunks of oak/madrone. After a while the house begins to warm up.

In contrast, Denise goes to de wall and pushes de button with one finger. Heat pours into every room in the house, unless she doesn’t want it to do so. If that is complex, I’d like to complicate my life accordingly.

I live five miles up a dirt road so I might see a half-dozen vehicles on the commute up or down the mountain, if it is during rush hour. By comparison, the only time I struggled in SoCal was being driven from the airport to Dee’s home, when I first arrived, during late afternoon rush hour traffic. We were in the diamond lane for vehicles which had two or more passengers, so we were going faster than the other lanes of traffic, by design.

There is no need for a diamond lane on Bells Springs Road.

I found the experience unnerving until Denise gently suggested that I simply shut my eyes. From behind closed eyes, I thanked her, saying I hadn’t wanted to be rude but that I had been struggling. There were way more than six vehicles on the freeway down in Orange County.

February, 2019

So no, I do not have indoor forced-air heating, a dishwasher, clothes dryer, microwave, garbage disposal, mail delivery, recycling/trash/green pickup or remotely comparable internet access. I am not plugged into PG&E, which sounds less complex, but actually requires far more personal involvement in providing my home with power. On the other hand, with a generator backing up our solar power system, we don’t have to worry about blackouts because of bad weather. We just have to [carefully] remove the snow from the solar panels. 

Denise and I have not yet figured out a way to be together at both residences simultaneously, so one of us has to visit the other if there is to be an “us.” Until my excursion down to SoCal last week, all the heavy lifting had been done by Denise. In addition to leaving her modern, beautiful home, she also has had to leave behind her beloved dog, Clyde, with whom I got well-acquainted while down there. Her adult kids have sparkled when it comes to supporting Denise in this department.

I think it is because Denise is kind, compassionate, generous, giving, beautiful and loving. The idea that she would venture 600 miles from her comfort zone to visit me, was simply intoxicatingly sweet.  We then proceeded to exchange pleasantries via email for six weeks before we met in person. I felt wanted and even desired. That is what solid relations are based on, or so say the girls I go with.

Next: SoCal through NorCal eyes