Resolutions and Random Adventures

Someone recently challenged me to come up with some New Year’s resolutions. I have a couple of problems with that particular idea.

First of all, how can you resolve to become a better person when you’re already so good that there’s nearly no room for improvement? If you are, as Mary Poppins reckoned in her own self-assessment, “practically perfect in every way?”

You can bet that my wife has a radically different opinion regarding this. I would normally dismiss that as mere second-guessing except for, dang it, she’s almost always right.

Another issue is that the future is inherently chaotic and random. How could you possibly know how you might respond to something that’s as totally unlikely and unforeseeable as the solar eclipse that took place last April?

For instance, last January my plans included stepping back from my duties as an ad salesman and writer for the Dairy Star newspaper at the end of June. My second goal was to travel more and spend more time with our toddler grandson.

I was able to accomplish the first goal with ease, but Fate had a surprise waiting for us regarding the second part. This surprise came in the form of tonsil cancer, something I’d never even heard of until I was diagnosed with it.

I still had a full-time job come the first of July. But it transformed from writing and selling to attending chemotherapy and radiation sessions. And then dealing the aftereffects of both those things.

We received some outstandingly good news when my most recent PET scan showed no signs of cancer. I asked my oncologist what he thought of my case, and he replied, “I think that you have an excellent chance for a full cure.”

My wife and I shed tears of joy during our drive home.

We’re now free to do some of the things we had resolved to do last January. Foremost among them is to travel and have more random adventures.

We’ve learned that random, unplanned adventures are the best kind. A good example happened some years ago when we were driving across Iowa on our way to visit our youngest son, who was living in Illinois at that time.

My wife and I were cruising along somewhere in Iowa when she abruptly veered the car onto an exit ramp. I at first thought that we were pulling over for yet another emergency potty stop, but my wife said, “I saw a sign back there that mentioned a Frank Lloyd Wright house.”

A short detour found us at the aforementioned house. In a stroke of random good luck, we arrived just as a tour guide was starting a tour for an entourage of tourists.

The house, which is located at Quasqueton, was designed by Wright for Lowell and Agnes Walter. It’s one thing to see photos of a Wright house; it’s like entering a whole other universe to experience one in person.

We learned that the Walters moved into their elegant new home in 1950, bringing with them only their clothes. Wright had insisted on designing every last detail of the house, including all of its furniture and decorative touches. We also learned that Wright could be a real pain in the patoot.

Wright installed a ceramic tile with his initials embossed on it by the front door of the Walters’ home. This marked it as one of “his” houses; he kept a key for it and could drop in on the Walters, unannounced, at any time. Wright might look around, move a vase a few inches and tell Agnes, “THAT vase belongs HERE.”

We later randomly decided to motor down to LeClaire, Iowa, to check out a store called Antique Archeology. This seemed like a natural thing to do, being somewhat antique-ish ourselves.    

We were perusing the merchandise at Antique Archeology when a tall man entered the shop and began to chat with patrons and sign autographs. It was none other than Mike Wolfe, the star of a new (at the time) TV show called “American Pickers.”

This happy accident led to a photo of my wife standing next to Mike. They look rather chummy if you were to ask me. My wife said that this was all in my head, although she also mentioned that Mike smelled really good.

This is a bit cliché, but I’ve had an idea for a novel rattling around in my cranium for some time. I might eventually start writing it someday, even though it’s a task that currently appears to be akin to digging the Panama Canal with a teaspoon.

Enough resolutions for now! I promise to make better ones next year.  

Jerry’s book “Dear County Agent Guy” can be found at www.workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.