“Crackers + Coffee”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-17)

I moved to Thompson in 2002.

Said more accurately, I crash-landed in this rural community after my first marriage blew apart and home became a four-wheel-drive, Ford pickup truck. Instead of counseling, I chose defiance. But the price of separation was greater than I could have imagined. Family, friends and household lost. It was a life lesson delivered with gusto. Proof of an old adage with my father liked to repeat when I navigated difficult situations:

“Actions have consequences.”

I revisited the state of being homeless, something first experienced as a young man, living under a bridge in New York. The modern twist on this condition was that somehow, I retained my position as a salaried business manager throughout this ordeal. Work responsibilities kept me focused on survival. I balanced my checkbook and wrote newspaper columns, in the office after hours, as my night crew labored away at our store.

Weeks elapsed with my credit being refused at several local banks, as I tried to finance some sort of living space. My possessions remained in limbo. I felt like a non-person. Like a political dissident, seeking asylum. My only address was the post office box that I used for the newspaper. I did not have a cell phone.

Relief came only after much embarrassment and many sleepless nights. I purchased a trailer at a distant park by the county line. It was named ‘Rustic Pines.’

My first evening on the east side of Geauga came in this empty mobile home. I had no common household fixtures. No couch or bed. No television or radio. No kitchen table. No towels or washcloths. No blankets. Not even a wastebasket. I sat in a used rocker bought from a customer at my grocery store. A box fan from Kmart provided an artificial breeze. I made a meal of Oscar Mayer ‘Little Red Smokies’ on my new George Foreman grill, acquired for ten dollars. Though bleak, the moment constituted a victory of sorts. Liberty from weeks of sleeping in my pickup or on the couch at my sister’s home. I could not have imagined that fifteen years later, my address would be the same humble patch of ground.

On a recent night, I pondered such things. And ate Oriental crackers.

Coffee came from my familiar Bunn device. The snacks were ‘Hapi’ branded, wasabi treats. I had found them at an Amish salvage store, near Middlefield. It was an improbable, yet perfect meal for 2:30 in the morning. With memories whispering from the ether, I sank in my living-room chair.

“Fifteen years… how could it possibly have been fifteen years?”

Much of my life in Thompson consisted of being away at work. Neighbors literally wondered if anyone actually lived in my trailer, because I never seemed to be home. As a store manager, I had little time for myself. When I did spend a leisure hour at home, it meant partaking of Labatt Blue in copious amounts.

Friends from work were also in the park. But I rarely shared their company. The job routine ruled my life. It provided safety from the drama of real living. And a sense of purpose.

I suddenly found myself on unemployment after a company sale, in 2006. The break offered time to pursue writing projects with greater zeal. Yet I struggled to rediscover my sense of discipline. After serving as a newspaper editor, I returned to retail management. The old habits reappeared. I lived at work. Home was once again, the place to drink beer and sleep. Neighborhood bonfires added a bit of social adventure to the mix. Still, true solace came from my place in the machinery of business. I felt useful, if empty.

This existence exploded once again, last year. Another business sale and another management reorganization occurred. The need to complete a ‘reduction in force’ (RIF) had me walking out the front door, into early retirement. At 55, I did not feel ready. But the opportunity to create an online newspaper was something I welcomed. For the first time, I was my own ‘editor-in-chief.’ I convinced fellow wordsmiths to join in the venture.

“The Geauga Independent – Free speech celebrated here!”

The approach of my Thompson anniversary provided cause for reflection. And for the overnight meal of crackers and coffee. I counted the personal milestones during that period. Two divorces. Four employers. Two newspapers. Four pickup trucks. Twice at the point of bankruptcy. Many times tempted to roll the relationship dice again. Many more times feeling relieved that I did not. Each memory helped chart my position in the continuum. Knees and left hip in decline. Mobility with a cane. Sleeping in my clothes. Dog walks by moonlight. A long farewell to the self of yonder days. A tender embrace for the middle-aged man in the mirror.

My rocker was broken now. I used it to hang baseball caps and seat a plush, M&M figure in the household collection. The Foreman grill had burned out years ago. I could not find the ‘Little Red Smokies’ anymore. Still, there was a sense that I had proved my worth by surviving. After a decade-and-a-half, my mobile home had not moved from its spot. Nor had its occupant. Like Popeye, I took strength from the fine art of being myself.

“I yam what I yam!”

Nine months into early retirement, I had relearned my editing skills. In the home office, I worked away at a new series of newspaper columns. Samples of my product went to every publication in the area. Time, at last, was an advocate. Without a schedule to keep, I wrote by moonlight and slept in the sunlight. On again/off again/on again/off again. Breakfast at midnight. Sleep in the morning. Chinese buffet for lunch. A nap for dinner. No master counted my steps.

And no voice chided me for the ill-advised pairing of Oriental crackers and Java.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

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Published weekly in the Geauga Independent