Kathleen, Queen of the Desert

These two balcony stories did not happen to me, but the cautionary lessons are many, so I repeat them here.

Story #1 comes from Mexico: Ms. Y and Ms. Z were sleeping in a rented beachfront condo and had locked all the first floor doors. Encouraging ocean breezes to lull them through their slumbers, they’d left the second floor balcony doors unlocked. Sometime in the night some people climbed up to that second floor balcony, entered through the unlocked screen doors, and took cash and laptop computers (including one work computer).

My comment: Mses. Y and Z slept through it all and were never molested. Just traumatized and troubled for all future Mexican–and everywhere else–vacations till the end of time. Lock everything that can be locked when traveling perhaps? Leave the laptops at home?

Story #2 comes from the US–albeit a warmer part of the US than where I live–and happened to Mr. X. I’ll let his e-mail tell it. “I went out [on my balcony and] accidentally bumped the door shut and was locked out. This was a serious problem as the balcony is on the second floor, sits high above a hard concrete slab on the interior of the complex, and has no reasonable down-climb. I had no key, no phone, no supplies, no jacket and nobody looking for me.

“When I realized I was totally f&%*ed, I started whistling and yelling loudly until I finally got a neighbor’s attention . . . my hero of the day. He came to see if my front door was unlocked (no), called the building manager to see if he had a key or a suitable ladder (no and no), called my friends to get someone with a key to come get me (finally), and checked in on me periodically. Fortunately, the stove was off. He brought me a sweater and a book. Nobody had a ladder or a rope, so I waited for someone with a key to come. I thought I would get off fairly fast so I did not call the fire department. . . .

“The five CDs blasting in the stereo completed, and the stereo automatically stopped. I got cold and managed to get another jacket and blanket thrown up to me. I found a zip lock bag to use as an impromptu urinal so I did not have to pee out into the patio area. I stretched and ran in place to stay warm. I finished the book in the dark using the light coming out the window. I finally got off the balcony at 10 PM.”

My comment: I am pretty amazed that the building manager seemed to opt out of any problem solving with his own tenant (where does the “manager” part of this person’s title kick in?) and that Mr. X was on the balcony for seven hours altogether. As far as the decision to not call the fire department, I would have thought this emergency might come under the “kitten in a tree” rescue heading, but it was his decision and apparently only Mr. X was affected by the event.

Locked or unlocked, the wonderfulness of the balcony is up to debate.

Actually it was East Elfinwild Road, Glenshaw, Hampton Township, Pennsylvania, and it was a hell of a place to drive–or learn to drive–a stick shift. A windy two-laner east up the ravine from the river bottom, East Elfinwild Road was lined with trees, so a sunny day threw quick, blinding shafts across a driver’s eyes: sun and shadow, sun and shadow, sun and shadow. Elfinwild was slick with ice and snow in the winter, so you needed to take it at a consistent pace with a steady foot on the accelerator. A false move could land you thrashing and smashing down over the side through the trees. Once you got to the T intersection at the top, you had to ride the clutch or the emergency brake, ready to rocket into first gear once you were pretty sure the coast was clear to make a left onto Middle Road. Elfinwild wasn’t particularly unique to the Pittsburgh area’s twisty ravine-and-valley roads, but it was the convenient ravine-and-valley road in my neighborhood. (Continued)

It’s such a simple thing, a staircase. Yet I spent a good half hour with a two-year-old recently using the library stairs as a giant fascinating toy. Up, down, jump, fall, hold onto my hand, DON’T hold onto my hand, go up, turn around, step back down, do it again, repeat.

Fischer-Price doesn’t make stairs, and Toys R Us didn’t get a dime from our play that day. No toy company in China benefited financially from Ben’s delight in this old school exercise, yet he delighted in every risky step. Adults passed up going up and going down, barely registering the extreme concentration Ben was marshaling for his feet and legs to work together. (Continued)

Masculinity comes in many forms. Height, build, protectiveness, resolve, muscles, decisiveness, sensitivity, strength, courage, taking charge, heroism, bravery. And I witnessed all of those things in my man one day 16 years ago.

We were living on a bayou in Dickinson, Texas. Our estuary was alive with fish, ducks, and herons, and our neighbor’s geese patrolled the waters regularly for insects. Dark, furry nutria and their young came out from the bayou’s banks at twilight to feed, like lumbering Lovecraftian rats patrolling the water’s edge. Floodwaters had once filled our house halfway up our living room wall. A neighbor told us she’d seen an alligator climb out of the water and grab and eat somebody’s puppy. Happy Texans in motorboats, jet skis, and canoes plied up and down our bayou. It was raw nature out there. But one day the bayou washed up something that wasn’t so happy or so natural. (Continued)