During that time, I had a neighbor named Robert. Robert was 80 years old, a retired marine. He served in the second World War, Korea and Vietnam, and he loved to tell stories. On summer evenings, Robert and I would sit on my front steps drinking beer while Robert spun tales of combat and strategy and victory and incompetence. I was quite interested in Robert’s stories, though I often got lost in some of the vocabulary and names that Robert freely threw around. But Robert didn’t seem to mind whether I knew exactly what he was talking about or not. He loved to talk.
Soon after we first met, I began referring to him as Bob. And although Robert had never in his life allowed anyone to call him Bob, he let me get away with it. Apparently there was something about me that made it okay.
Robert’s wife had died several years after I moved into the neighborhood, and now Robert lived alone in a house that was far more than he needed. But he had lived in it for 32 years, had raised four children there, and had never considered the possibility of selling it. Robert’s children had all moved out of the area, leaving him with no family around. None, that is, except for me.
I eventually became like a son to Robert. In fact, I was far more interested in Robert’s tales and life than his children were. And soon those evening chats on my front steps became important to him. He would often glance out his living room window after dinner to see if I was outside. And if I was, and I didn’t look too busy, Robert would grab a six-pack and walk across the street. It was a routine that Robert looked forward to each spring when the weather grew warmer, and it was something he lamented when cold weather returned in the fall.
For the past year, Robert’s health had been going downhill. It started with his breathing, and soon after that his arthritis began getting worse. Over the winter, Robert did very little. He spent his days in the living room and his nights in the bedroom, though he did walk around the block once or twice a week.
Other than that, Robert did almost nothing. He had a cleaning service that came every month, which his wife had arranged years ago and which made even more sense now that she was gone. Robert wasn’t about to start cleaning or dusting or vacuuming any time soon. Robert also had groceries brought to his house once a week. This saved him the effort of driving to the grocery store, which had become even more difficult since his arthritis had gotten worse.
Most days, Robert watched TV and read the newspaper or an occasional book. He watched baseball, and sometimes football in the fall, but he had little interest in other sports or activities. He had been a career military man, and once he retired and moved into civilian life he found that there was little in civilian life that interested him. The military had been his professional and social life, and once that was over he struggled to fill his time. And then his wife passed away, and he had even more difficulty keeping himself occupied.
So I became an important source of activity and interaction for Robert. Those evening conversations woke him up, reminded him that he still had something to share, something to give. They allowed him to relive the many interesting adventures he had experienced in his life, and he felt more alive while sitting and talking to me than he did at any other time. He hoped I enjoyed our evenings together as much as he, and of course I did.
Though his children didn’t know it, Robert was rather wealthy. He had saved all his life, had lived frugally, and had received some very good investing advice from his brother-in-law over the years. By the time the stock market made it’s run in the 1980’s and 90’s, Robert was heavily invested in the market and benefited greatly. His assets tripled in eighteen years, and when the end of the century came around and the Y2K fears were being talked about, Robert (against the advice of his brother-in-law) sold all of his stocks, and even his bonds, and moved virtually all of his assets into cash, where they remained ever since.
Robert had saved and accumulated over half a million dollars, and none of his children knew it. They were all successful in their careers and had no need for it. Robert had recently decided that such an inheritance would not be in the best interests of his children. He had seen too many families torn apart by fighting over inheritance, and he was determined not to let that happen to his family. His children had no idea he had so much money, and he made sure it stayed that way.
One rainy afternoon, Robert was sitting in his living room watching TV, as he always did. Out the window, he noticed a figure moving outside in the rain across the street. He stood up with a struggle and walked over to the window. He could see a hooded figure at the back corner of the property across the street. It was my house, and Robert could see that the hooded figure was me.
“Now, what the heck is that boy doing out there in the rain?” Robert said to himself. He couldn’t imagine what could be so important that I needed to be outside in the pouring rain.
Robert sat back down in his chair, but he continued to watch me out the window. It was far away, and Robert’s vision wasn’t what it used to be, but it looked to him as though I was carrying something. I disappeared behind the house, and then several minutes later I returned to the back corner of the yard and picked up something else.
Robert’s curiosity grew and grew. Finally, he could stand it no more and he stood up and walked into the hallway to fetch his raincoat. He looked in the bottom of the hall closet for appropriate shoes, but there were none. Didn’t he have a pair of galoshes somewhere? He couldn’t remember.
He walked back into his bedroom and looked in the closet. No galoshes. But there was a box in which he found an old pair of boots from his days in the marines.
“Haven’t worn these in ten years,” he said as he pulled them out of the box. “Not since I stopped marching in the parade.”
Robert carried his boots out into the living room and sat down in his chair. He looked closely at the boots. They were well-worn, but otherwise in good shape. He was anxious to put them on. He kicked off his slippers and placed his right foot in the right boot. It felt a bit tight. The leather was hard, but he knew it would soon soften. He laced up the boot, then did the same with the left one. When he was finished, he stood up and took a few steps. It felt strange to be wearing those boots again, but it also gave him a thrill.
He walked up and down the hallway, working the boots in. Then he put on his raincoat, grabbed an umbrella from the hall closet, and walked to the front door. It was raining, though not as hard as it had been earlier. He opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The air was warm and humid and smelled like summer rain. He closed the front door behind him, put up his umbrella, and walked down his front steps and across the street to my house. He walked up the walkway, then around the right side of the house.
When he reached the back of the house he stopped and surveyed the yard. It was full of puddles, with patches of grass here and there. It had been raining for days, and had poured heavily all morning. The yard was a marsh.
Robert spotted me, standing atop the large mound of dirt at the back of the yard. I didn’t see him at first, so Robert stood at the back corner of the house and watched. I had a brick in my hand and was pushing it down into the mud at the top of the mound. Robert could see that there were other bricks on the top of the mound, forming a flat platform on which I was standing.
When I had placed the brick in the appropriate position, I walked back down the side of the mound and over toward several piles of bricks in the back corner of the yard. As I walked I noticed Robert standing there in his raincoat and boots. I smiled.
“Hey there, old man!” I yelled above the sound of the rain landing in puddles.
Robert waved. I walked toward him and said, “Are you here to help?”
“Help with what? What on earth are you doing?” he asked, a confused expression on his face.
“I’m building my mountain!” I said with a smile. Robert looked confused. “Come on,” I said, “Let’s go inside. I need to dry off.”
The two of us walked up the back steps and through the door into the laundry room.
Robert watched as I began taking off my wet jacket and boots. “This ought to be good,” Robert said. “Tell me, what’s so important that you need to be out there on the rainiest day of the year?”
I was thrilled by the question. “Well, Bob, some things are so important that they can’t wait for a sunny day. And this is one of those things.”
“What is? Putting bricks on a pile of dirt?”
“Actually, its a pile of mud. But all the more reason to cover it with bricks.”
I finished taking off my wet gear, and Robert took off his own raincoat and boots. Then the two of us walked out of the laundry room and down the hall to the living room. I continued on to the kitchen. “Something to drink, Bob?”
“I could use a hot cup of coffee,” Robert answered.
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed, and I began washing out the coffee pot.
“So tell me,” Robert said as he sat down at the kitchen table,“what are you doing out there?”
“Well,” I said smiling, “I had an idea about that mound out there. I’ve got loads of bricks from the old house, and I’ve got lots of free time right now. So I’ve decided to cover the mound with bricks. It’s my favorite place to sit and watch the sunset, so I figured, why not build a platform up there to sit on? That’s where the idea started, and it grew from there.”
Robert thought about it and nodded. “Are you gonna have enough bricks?” he asked.
“Not sure. If I cover all four sides with bricks, probably not. But I’ve got a lot of good ones out front in the walkway. I can always use those if I have to. Or I could buy some. But I have enough to get started. I decided to work from the top down, shaping it as I go."
Robert thought about it. “Well, I’d love to help, but I don’t know what I could do,” he said.
“You don’t need to do anything. Maybe just some moral support. I’m sure it will take me months to finish it. You can provide the entertainment.”
Robert smiled. “And the beer.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I’ll do the rest. I want the top to be big enough to put a few chairs up there. And maybe a pole of some sort. I haven’t thought that far ahead, though. I’ll be happy just to have the top platform and a set of steps at this point. Then I can get you up there.”
“Yes,” said Robert. “I’m anxious to check out the view.”
I poured us each a cup of coffee, then brought my sketches of the mound over to the table and placed them in front of Robert.
“This is what I came up with so far. I thought the first few steps would be deeper, then some shallow steps, and then a few more deep ones at the top. So the slope would start off gradually, then get steep, then gradual again before leveling off at the top.”
Robert studied the sketches. “I like it,” he said nodding. “Its different.”
“I agree,” I said.
“But,” said Robert, “that doesn’t explain why you picked today to start working on it.”
I looked at Robert for a moment. “To be honest, Bob, I couldn’t think of anything else to do. The lawsuit doesn’t appear to be going anywhere at this point, and as you know I’m not working right now. I sort of hit bottom this morning, and working on this project was the only thing I could think of to lift my spirits. Which it definitely did, because I feel great now. A little wet and chilled, perhaps, but otherwise wonderful. Right now, I feel the best I’ve felt in days. All because I just spent two hours out in the rain carrying bricks. How about that?”
“Yes, how about that,” Robert replied laughing. “It sounds pretty weird to me, but what do I know? I just sit on my can all day watching TV. But I can see that you’re in a very good mood, so obviously you’re doing something right.”
“Oh, I feel great. I’m probably done for the day, but I can’t wait to get back out there tomorrow. I’m just about finished with the top, and then I think I’ll do a staircase going down the south side, toward the bricks. If all goes well, I’ll have you up there tomorrow night and we’ll toast our first sunset on top. If this rain ever stops, that is.”
“You’ve got a deal,” replied Robert, and then the two of us spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the project and about other things. Robert and I could talk for hours, about pretty much anything. There were rarely any pauses, or disagreements. Robert loved to talk, and I loved to listen.
Eventually, Robert went home. I spent a relaxing evening reading and watching television. I was in a very good mood, and even when my thoughts turned to the other circumstances of my life my good mood remained. I noticed that I was able to think about the very things that had made me feel depressed earlier that day, only now they didn’t affect me the same way. I saw them as simply interesting (though challenging) aspects of this stage of my life.
I no longer had any idea where my life was headed, but that was okay. I knew intuitively that it would all work out, and that eventually I would look back at this time of my life as being important, productive, and valuable.
I decided that I would do my best to remember that state of mind, and the next time I felt depressed or angry or frustrated I would try to return to it. I didn’t know whether or not I would be able to, but I decided that I would try.
I felt so positive, so appreciative of my life that evening that I knew I had stumbled upon or arrived at something important. Something that had to do with choosing my state of mind, rather than allowing my mood to be dictated by my circumstances or my runaway thoughts.
I didn’t yet know it, but I had arrived at a significant realization. One that I would forget and remember many times in the years to come. The initiation of my mound project was closely and symbolically tied to that realization. I was beginning to build something stable, something lasting, something of true value to me.
There in my backyard, on a typical street in a typical town, I had begun a journey toward an existence and a state of awareness that was decidedly untypical in the world in which I was living. I was embarking upon a journey toward a state of being that I was unfamiliar with and unaware of. One that would gradually grow more familiar to me.
And eventually, in the years to come, I would feel the need, the desire, and the obligation to assist others in discovering that state of being for themselves.
