Traveler's Life

A Difficult Question

A sharp pain, focused on the right side of my neck, spreading to my head and halfway down my back woke me up. I was cuddled beside my beautiful wife, under a Hudson Bay trapper blanket and down comforter, topped with a quilt my grandmother made as a child. We were at our second home, a small condo nestled in the woods at 9300 ft in Summit County, Colorado. The fire in the front room had gone out and it was cold. I told myself, “I’ll just go back to sleep, all I need is rest and this awful headache will go away. It didn’t work. Sitting up, I felt the cold rush over my naked chest. I cocked my head to the side, praying to hear that wonderful pain-relieving crack. I stretched from one side to the other, again, no luck. It felt as if I had only made the vice on my neck tighter. I decided to try the chemical, hot shower and positive thinking approach. It was 4:23 in the morning. I was 37-years-old and I knew this entire headache was a result of my own self-induced stress.

Twenty-nine days ago, while sitting on the big leather sofa watching the Sunday political shows, I waited for my wife to return from our final diagnostic test at the fertility clinic. The extensive barrage of tests had all come back positive, meaning it just wasn’t our time yet to have a baby. As I watched the spin-doctors work their magic on the morning talk show, my wife came home, opened the door and bursts into tears. “I’m killing your sperm.” We hugged each other and I just wanted to comfort her. It killed me to see my wife in pain. We talked and I tried to listen, not fix, not finish sentences, just listen. As we cuddled on the couch and I watched the woman I loved in such pain, I learned that I am not to be a father. At first it didn’t really hit me. I was focused on my wife’s tears. Her pain. I could not begin to understand how she must have felt. Every strand of her being had been programmed from before her own birth to reproduce, nurture, and defend. In essence, to become a mother. This wasn’t to suggest that I was like an old Grizzly bear–fulfill my physical needs, move on and then if we should meet again, I might eat the little ones. I simply realized that I could not comprehend what my wife was feeling.

That Sunday was a long day.

Contemplation Begins

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This is a self-indulgent update of who I am and what I have been up to.

After being raised and graduating from high school in Omaha, Nebraska, I attended the University of Wyoming. Since that time I have moved around the West a fair bit. I have settled in one place for now, in Denver, Colorado.

I am very happily married to my English wife and best friend, Mourbareka Nurmahomed Kluver, aka Reka, aka Trouble. We met on a freighter in Patagonia, Chile in 1998. She fell in love with me immediately and followed me around like a little puppy from country to country, (This is a lie, but it is my story and I am sticking to it). We have had the good fortune to travel. My wife and I have been to all seven continents and visit London regularly.

With the exception of travel, we really try and embrace a simple life. We don’t have cable, so we watch Netflix and read a lot. We like to try and take 1-3 months off–or at least away from our home base–a year. Unfortunately, kids were not in the cards for us, providing my wife and I with the unique privilege of being the “cool” Auntie and Uncle. We can focus full attention on the kids in our lives and then when they get grumpy or crash, leave them to their parents.

At 39, (yes she married a younger man), Reka made a major career change. She used to be an accountant, but went back to school and will soon graduate with her Masters Degree in Counseling. As far as my own career, Reka likes to say I am distracted by shiny objects and don’t work well with people I don’t respect. I have been self-employed for many, many years and have owned over a dozen businesses. It is challenging working for myself, but I really enjoy it and the lifestyle self-employment allows.

As far as I know I continue to get better looking every day. However, I have gained a few pounds. I have an annoying knee after four surgeries, which has slowed my cardo down a bit. Other than that, clean living and no more drinking or smoking are the norms for me now. I first had to prove to myself that I had perfected those pursuits, but finally learned that it was time to try something different.

I figure with our life expectancies now predicted to be around 100-years-old, for me time is getting close to the end of the 2nd quarter. I can definitely say there are things I shouldn’t have done, but I honestly wouldn’t change a thing. The first half has been a great adventure.

I can’t wait to see what is around the corner.

Keep Smiling

Let’s Begin:

The Nasty Bastard Mr. Noah Webster defines middle as: Equally distance from the extremes or outer limits.

Scientists suggest that those of us born into the free love sixties and swinging seventies are likely to live to be around 100 years old, (damn, that sounds really old!). This isn’t to suggest that we live a healthier lifestyle than those before us, although martinis and Camel straights at lunch are out of fashion. Oh, how I pine for the good old days! It is simply a fact that we are suppose to live longer. Who knows how enjoyable and productive the last 20 years of a 100-year life will end up being, but we’ll still be around. No matter how you look at it and like it or not, many of us will make it there.

Quite frankly, I awoke one day in my mid-thirties and realized I was still around. While in my late teens and early twenties I never expected to see my mid-thirties–that was really old–let alone anything after that. My mind’s eye had never seen myself as old or middle-aged, or achy or tired. I had lost my best friend to cancer when we were 18 and for many years I always figured I had to live twice as hard to make up for it. As a result of this well thought out and considered lifestyle, I mastered the fine arts of Pabst Blue Ribbon, Jim Beam, Camel straights and hand-rolled smokes. Because of this mastery I eventually came to a crossroads of either going pro as a drunk or retiring from these fine debaucherous arts all together. I retired from these pursuits and now endeavor to find new and more productive vices. This is why I write. Sounds dramatic doesn’t it? Boozing was easier.

Living with this realization that I was still around and dealing with the physical manifestations of my younger lifestyle, (I am now older and I ache and I actually get tired), has been an eye-opener. I now am beginning to think that I am going to make it to a ripe old age. I set a new goal to become the grumpy old bastard that I always admired. The old guy who was gruff and short-tempered but would always help you out if you needed it and you knew he was probably not really as grumpy as he acted. But you also knew sometimes he was having fun at your expense.

Reka, my wife, and I do not have kids. So what we do have is more energy and time to consider, reflect, mentor and help. (And for all those with kids, we also have time to sleep, eat long uninterrupted meals, travel and still have time for a little fooling around. (“Ha-Ha,” to be said like Nelson from “The Simpsons” and yes that was a “dick” thing to say.) This time and energy is mostly put to the evil use of building and operating small businesses and making myself feel important. However, now that we have kicked the TV habit, I will begin to express my thoughts and wisdom and actually write more. (This is the intention, however it may come across more as sarcastic rants.)

Who am I kidding? Sarcasm is what this is all about.  However, if I can make even one person, other than my Mom, smile or  look at a challenge from a different perspective, or go and travel out of their comfort zone, then this new endeavor will be a success. (This is will be my evil subversive plan. If done correctly, no one will even suspect the manipulation) UUUUAAAHHAHAAHAHA (evil laugh)

The evil subversive plan has been born. Now I will begin to cultivate it.