Our Story

by

Lawrence Abby Gauthier

ace reporter

The Westphalia Periodic News

Glimpsing

a Future's

Past

New Year’s Day, I’m going through old photos on my iPhone and come across one I took while driving my truck on January 1, 2014. It’s the one attached to this week’s column.

I was eastbound on I-90 crossing the northern plains. The sun was coming up. I was 65 years old -- an over-the-road trucker making good money with lots of freedom to think the way I wanted to think.

I had lots to think about.

The kids were doing good. The grandchildren were doing good.

I was just starting to think about retirement. I wouldn’t do it until I was at least 70 and got full benefits. There were still old timers out there on the road in their 80s because they got tired of “just sittin’ around.” But that wouldn’t be me. I was a writer. I’d always have something to do that might even be useful, so’s long as I did no harm.

I thought maybe I’d bum around the country, hitchhiking and by bus, or buy a motorcycle… live for months at a time in still standing old hotels by the railroad yards in still standing old towns, writing and drinking wine with Depression-era hoboes.

But I was in no hurry. I liked my life on the road for months at a time. As long as I picked up and delivered my loads on time, nobody bothered me --  perpetual change of scenery, New Jersey, the Mohave… eastbound on I-90 crossing the northern plains, the land treeless in all directions to the horizon, like a blank sheet of paper, a child with dreams, and the sun-painted glow you could touch if you reached, another chapter, turn the page.

I took a picture.

Of course, that was before Covid and my son’s TBI, a medieval siege, BRICS and an emerging new world order where everybody gets to have a say. It was before I met Culley Jane on the dating site.

I believe in investing in infrastructure. We had new redwood fencing put up around our backyard this past year, and a new furnace and electrical supply system. I got some foundation work done up at our camp in the mountains. We got a new bed last month, King Size, like sleeping on a football field. We each have our own side that goes up and down independently like in a hospital. We’re both writers, so we don’t have to feel guilty about wasting a whole day on one paragraph.

So much has changed since the day I took that picture of the sun coming up out of the northern plains. But when I take a closer look I can see that that’s not necessarily true.