19 The Isaiah Compromise

4 07 2009

Watercolor from Fisher's Deck toward the community cove

THE ISAIAH COMPROMISE

I cruise into Napa late in the day Thursday, June 6th. I’m looking forward to seeing Heather and Alex, although they aren’t expecting me until Friday morning.

I’ve just been through some great grass and live oak covered hills separating the Sonoma wine country from the Pacific, and traveled along the Old Napa Highway into Napa itself. Those aromatic eucalyptus groves along the road. The maps are put away and I’m traveling on strategy my friend Bill Johnson , from Carrolton , Ga. (They live on Hog Liver Road) once exclaimed, (as our map blew out the window in the German Alps back in ’72); “I’m flying on “end stink”. The evening rush hour traffic in Santa Rosa in the heat was a bit stinky also. I was ready for the day’s end.

The exit and local streets are familiar; Moto and I motor our way right up to the door. No U turns required. No stopping for directions at the gas stations. Too, bad, because I had been looking for a nature break since Santa Rosa.(I will clarify here that there is a strategy I call the “Isaiah Compromise”. It goes like this: My self delared grandson, Isaiah, at 3yrs old, would play outside when visiting our farm, and procrastinate running indoors to the bathroom until he had an accident. I’m thinking, hey, we’re on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Why does he need to find a bathroom? The cows are letting loose fifty feet from us. “Isaiah, drop trow, buddy.” Isaiah now gets in occasional trouble on the preschool yard. Mama blames Jerry.

Actually, the Isaiah Compromise has worked well before. On lonely mountain Highways you can go minutes without seeing another car. I‘m doing the math, lets see, its been 2.5 minutes since the last car came by. ..I just hop off. Let Moto stand interference. If a car comes by, I just smile and wave. Pretend I ‘m adjusting the luggage.

Apparently, State Troopers assume most bikers have radar. They will send a hello blast as you meet or even if you are stopped, say to take photos. I stop to ponder the Isaiah Compromise. A car passes by, I wave. It’s a California State Trooper. He gives a hello blast on the radar. I waive a second time. It seems to be a workable strategy.

No one home. Door locked. Darn, I didn’t plan for this to happen. No problem. The Isaiah Compromise is the order of the day. Heather has bushy palms in the back yard. Im over the fence. Slipped and fell. Look up to an unlatched gate nearby. Guess Im more anxious to find the palms then I first thought.

It seems every neighbor on the cove chooses Thursday evenings to work on their boats. I’m waving and smiling, they’re not so eager to extend the friendly greeting to a stranger dressed in biker’s gear that has just vaulted the Fishers fence and is laid out in the flower bed.

I’m now doing the math. Explain to the neighbors; 15 min. Get on the bike and find a station; 15 min. Act like your Heather’s father wearing biking gear and just fell out of the sky. Walk up to the back door, slide it open and go in like you own the place. 2 min. What is the probability of the door being unlocked? Say, one in a thousand. I’ve done the math. Like the odds. Door slides open. I’m in. I wave to the neighbors again.