It’s been a mundane afternoon. I’ve been pulling nails out of beadboard pried from the cabin interior so Dave can get a better look at the carnage that lies within. He needs to figure out what is going on with the existing electrical and is losing hair quickly every time he scratches his head and mutters dispiritedly.

Stella the woodstove is alert and engaged, the interior now warm enough to remove our toques.

I’ve had it with de-nailing. A monk-like mind monkey suggests I just pound the crap out of them, flattening the nails to Become One with the Board. Would Dave even notice when they are re-purposed as ceiling cover?

Luckily, there is a bottle of medicinal brandy perched on the makeshift workbench. Problem solved. I call out to Dave and we plop down on the couch. I figure I’ve been working harder than him so I claim the warmest seat closest to Stella.

Stella and I have a love-hate relationship. She prefers Dave’s gentle coaxing; I tend to just throw stuff in there and expect her to fire up immediately. As a woman, I really should know better.

We pass the bottle and share a flattened sandwich salvaged from the bottom of my backpack. Stella lets out the odd snap and crackle of love Dave’s way and a pop of begrudging acceptance mine. For a crappy cabin, it’s actually pretty cozy.

Dave is down to his last bite. He holds it up, nods and says, “take a bite and throw it in.” His tone suggests I know what this means.

I don’t.

“Have I never told you the take a bite and throw it in story?” he asks incredulously.

He hasn’t, but if there is one thing I’ve learned about the karma cabin, it is the perfect place from which to wax philosophical. It will also give me an excuse to delay the torturous nail pulling.

Take a Bite and Throw It In

When Dave was a wee lad, he and his parents were on their annual pilgrimage to Chicago to visit relatives. On this particular day, the sedan had become too hot and parental patience too low. They decided to take a break at a rest stop.

It was a pretty idyllic scene, according to Dave’s memory. Lots of families, a pond with ducks. Spirits were high that this was just the break they needed.

Obedient Dave peeled his thighs off of the plastic-clad back seat and shuffled out, the dog in tow. His mother grabbed a picnic basket from the packed trunk, his father lit a cigarette, and off they went. The perfect 70’s summer moment.

As they approached the duck pond, Dave’s mother handed him an apple and said, “take a bite and throw it in.”

So he did. He took a bite and chucked the apple into the pond.

His mother lost it and started yelling at Dave.

His father lost it and started yelling at Dave’s mother.

Dave shrugged his shoulders and wandered off to the fading audio of:

“…you told the lad to take a bite and throw it in! What did you think he would do! He took a bite and threw it in!”

“Not the whole apple! The bite! He was supposed to throw in the bite!”

“Then you should have said take a bite and throw in THE BITE!”

With his parents quarreling, the ducks all bottoms up frantically searching for the apple, and anyone within a 5 mile radius staring, I hope that Dave was able to catch the eye of a nearby kid and share a secret smile that acknowledged the Ridiculousness of Adults in only a way kids can do.

Eat Your Salmon Sandwich

“That is a fine story,” I say. I can picture him in his polyester shorts, little tube socks and a t-shirt that probably read “I’m a Pepper.” I really hope he did share a secret smile with a comrade. Poor kid.

Dave’s story has unlocked one of mine, so I take a wee sip and pass the bottle.

Our family summer trip, besides tent-trailer camping at a local KOA campground with no shade, involved visiting our grandparents a few hours north of Kingston where we grew up. My sister and I would be stuffed into the back of the family VW Bug, Lada, or other such vehicular projects that our father was proudly driving. We prayed for the day that he would upgrade to a roomy station wagon.

Inevitably, one of us would become violently car sick. Gas fumes, close quarters and summer heat all contributing forces.

One of us would start to succumb, lean forward over the console and mumble into our mother’s permed hair, “I don’t feel so good.”

Mom would deftly lift her feet off of the turquoise igloo cooler they rested upon, pry open the top, throw some items into the backseat and instruct:

“Eat your salmon sandwiches and read some magazines! You’ll be fine.”

Do you know the worst thing for motion sickness? Salmon sandwiches, BONES IN, and casting your eyes downwards to read Teen Beat.

Vomiting in the back seat of a cramped Lada takes skilled dexterity and team work: the suffering sibling has to move quickly out of the line of fire while maintaining gag reflex control.

Waxing Philosophical

I love Dave’s story. Memories, like the ones just shared, are a lot like his apple : we all take a bite and throw the rest away. The bite we keep ‘n’ eat, and the part we throw away, is dependent upon many factors. It helps to explains selective memory (from a non-neuroscience standpoint) and why the retelling of events, particularly familial, can vary greatly. We bite and throw away far different parts.

I wonder if Dave’s parents were still alive, how they would retell this road trip gem.

I also wonder, in years to come, what we will recall about the renovations of the karma cabin. I have a sneaking suspicion our bites are going to be quite different.

If Forrest Gump thinks life is like a box of chocolates, then I think memories are like Dave’s apple. Our recollections are the little apple bites kept and savored. It may be prudent to acknowledge that a semi-whole apple floats nearby, just below the surface, containing more of the story.

Life satisfaction is often decided through those morsel choices; bitterness, resentment, acceptance, sweet laughter all hang in the balance as we line up our apple bites on a sun-strewn window sill in an attempt to make sense of it all.

To all well-intentioned parents, fatigued by constant offspring judgements and torturous summer trip recounts, bravo to you for managing to (mostly) put aside your own painful crap in order to bravely raise the next generation. Your duty and love are duly noted and officially appreciated.

This bite is for you.

Karma Cabin Lesson #5: Don’t stop to take a mid-day break with a bottle of brandy, unless of course you are at the karma cabin. Then drink and reminisce to your heart’s content. These walls have heard it all.

Karma Cabin Giveaway Contest Winner!

Congratulations to Kathy W. for winning the first giveaway! Your copy of Richard Wagamese’s Embers will be shipped directly to your door. Our much loved neighbor chose the winning name. He also offered his advice on what the next giveaway should be. Shipping may be a problem.