Mural in the lounge outside the Union’s Rathskeller

Clare called me on the phone and immediately asked, “Dad, are you still at home?”

“No,” I replied, “I’m at the Union.” Clare knows that, for me, there is only one union, and it is Memorial Union on the University of Wisconsin campus. There was no reason for me to be more specific when I told her where I was.

“Oh,” she said, “we missed the nine o’clock bus.”

After four months in Asia, Manyu was finally coming home. Clare and Clare’s boyfriend, Chase, had joined her in Taiwan for the last part of her trip, and now all three of them were coming back to the States on the same flight. The plan was for them to fly into O’Hare and then take the 9pm bus to Madison. They’d arrived at the airport with what should have been enough time to catch the bus, but then got hung up in customs. Fortunately the nine o’clock bus to Madison is not the last one of the day, and they’d just get in later than they’d hoped. Manyu thinks that I hate flying. I don’t. I hate airports.

Clare and Chase live in Madison, and their apartment, even when pulling suitcases and carrying duffels, is within walking distance of the bus stop. I was supposed to drive to Madison, meet them at the bus stop, visit with Clare and Chase long enough to hear about the highlights of their trip, and then return to La Crosse that night. Now that they had to catch a later bus and not get to Madison until after one in the morning, I’d be in no condition to drive for two and a half hours. Manyu and I’d be crashing on the living room floor of Clare’s apartment, which was something I’d never done before.

                                          *       *       *

Manyu and I made it to La Crosse the following day, and this morning I am writing this blog from my normal writing spot at home. Last night Manyu slept in her own bed for the first time since November. It was a restless sleep as she is very much jet lagged.

Now she and I enter our annual honeymoon phase. For about a month after Manyu’s return, I will ignore her annoying quirks, and for almost the same amount of time, she will ignore mine. Already she’s pointed out that my definition of a clean house differs from hers, but over the years that criticism has become more of a joke than a point of contention. Today I expect her to clean the kitchen and, if she has the time and the energy, the bathrooms.

Manyu’s honeymoon is not only with me, but also with the city of La Crosse. For an unspecified period of time, she will enjoy, even relish, the peacefulness of a small city and the fact that everything we need is within a ten-minute drive. Eventually the peace and quiet will lead to boredom, and then we will get back to our ongoing discussion about moving to Asia. Until then, I live in the moment.

My water heater, my phone, and my car broke down on consecutive days. My otherwise quiet February suddenly filled with small tasks in need of my attention. Over the past week, the water heater’s been replaced, my phone’s been repaired, and I am still waiting to hear from Pete, my mechanic, about the car.

With my car in the shop, I rode my bicycle to the volunteer job I have at the nature center. It might be the first time I’ve ever ridden a bike in the winter. The roads were free of snow and ice, but the sidewalks were spotty. It wasn’t until I came upon a poorly cleared stretch along Losey Boulevard that I realized I was wearing a balaclava and a hood, but no helmet. 

My days of small annoyances have me thinking about whether life is easier or more difficult with age. Until my mid-forties, simultaneous leaks to the water heater in my house and the radiator in my car would have left me wondering where the money was coming from. Now in my seventies, I have the money, but barely the energy to deal with disruptions to my routine. My conclusion is that retirement has as many rough patches as a wintry sidewalk. For every pension check that magically shows up in my bank account, there is an aching back from shoveling snow. For every day without obligations, there is the realization that even the most carefree day will not include red wine, hot sauce, or any efforts to stand up quickly. The cost of a car repair does not worry me, but I was bothered when I got home after dropping off my car and realizing that I’d left my house key on the key chain with my ignition key. I have a spare house key hidden away, but I shouldn’t have made such a basic mistake.

There are two ways to look at all of this. One comes from my friend Shu, who is an expert on the Chinese zodiac. She said, “This is just a taste of things to come. You are a horse in the Year of the Horse, so be ready for a rough twelve months. It’s also a Fire Year, and fire intensifies everything. Horse and fire come together only once every sixty years, and this is the year.” The other way is from Pete, my mechanic. He told me, “You might be the luckiest guy in the world. Your radiator should have blown when you were in the middle of nowhere on your vacation up north. Instead it held together until you got home.”