Nick and Deedee, Part One

For years I thought the mini-blind over the kitchen window was lopsided because it continually tilted slightly to one side no matter how often I tried to straighten it out by playing with the cord. Finally at some point in the ongoing struggle to achieve symmetry, I realized it was the window that was off center, not the blind, and the realization- insignificant as it seemed- had a rather marked effect on my general perception of things. I began to realize that an alteration of one’s comfortable world view- indeed, of reality itself- could very well be applied to relationships as well, and specifically to the one we had with our friends Nick and Deedee.

When Nick and Deedee were in their thirties, and even later on in their forties, they gave off the distinct air of being unwaveringly in the right at all times and able to carry on with their lives in this manner of surety for an infinite period of time. Such an image of life lived as a series of decisive acts with no doubts aforethought was both enviable and somewhat contagious, though few could carry it off exactly as they did, if at all. Most of us still had doubts, lots of doubts. In truth, they were a little bit like method actors on a Becket stage in how they approached even the most prosaic of subjects. No matter how ordinary the topic they had real purpose when they spoke and were unusually definite about almost everything, from their opinions on politics to the kids’ curfews or where you should buy your vegetables. It was during a time of self-actualizaton craziness- the me generation- and these two were natural human potential trainers.

As a consequence of being so certain about everything, Deedee and Nick never showed any need whatsoever to explain themselves, or justify their views; this act would go contrary to their whole persona as a united, impenetrable front. From the outside, they were the perfect couple, and by extension, the perfect family with their two perfect children, a boy and a girl. Upon a closer look however, their personal lives were a little less constant, or at least Nick’s was, and I suppose the kids’ and Deedee’s too as a result. Their son was a bit of a bully, the daughter a well behaved sneak. To the world though they displayed an espirit de corps bordering on fanaticism. 

Our kids, a boy and a girl, were not ostensibly as perfectly polite or neat as their kids, but they were nicer. As a family however we definitely were messier, psychically disheveled. Our neurosis proudly hung out there quite inconveniently for all the world to see. We were far from perfect and could not pretend. It was mortifying. I was anxiety ridden, Tex a wild man. This is just how it went in those days. . . .

Nick and Deedee, Prologue

It’s oft said that we live on borrowed time. The age old adage so redolent of high flown, philosophical notions of mortality however also rings true in more prosaic ways. It’s not always about eternity- even though eventually it does seem to wind up that way- sometimes the phrase simply presages the plain ol’ stresses of everyday living.

When will the next toothache emerge? An ingrown toenail that totally zaps your peace if mind? A back going out! That pulled hamstring, torn meniscus, or other such exercising disaster undertaken initially with the happy intent of staying alive and in perfect health forever. A miserable cold, ugh! It takes so damn little to upset the equilibrium, the illusion of harmony, yet most of the time we continue to act as if the greatest problem of all that we ever could encounter is the occasional boredom and frustration of daily life and the planning of what to do next to distract ourselves. How about an unexpected splinter to suddenly demand your full attention. . . .

Each time we have to face the inevitable, such as a scary lab test to rule out the very worst, a worrisome symptom of some sort, we vow immediately to start living life more enthusiastically. We swear that if the results come up benign and we are given a reprieve once more from the looming awfulness, we surely will stop wasting time and squeeze out the very last drop of joie de vivre, whenever, wherever, however. You know, make the most of each day, seize the moment blah blah.  But as soon as we receive the desired, non-scary news from the doctor, we’re back to the same old neurotic routine, pointlessly busy with the daily cares and anxieties of our hum drum, quotidian existence.

And yet there always are some people who somehow manage to seem as if they’ve got if all sewn up, every silly anxiety and moment of useless indecision safely stowed behind a neat little package of competent exuberance. . . which brings me of course to my tale.