When he was 19, my dad left a note on his bed and took off on the motorcycle he shared with his younger brother and headed west from Ohio. I don’t think he really had a plan, just knew which direction to go. A high school friend had recently moved to Albuquerque, so that’s where he pointed the bike.
In a box my sister and I found after he passed away last September were pictures of the bike posed in front of state signs, panoramic views and other various places he probably wasn’t supposed to be.
His first job in the land of the unknown was selling Rainbow vacuum cleaners.
This eventually led him to Colorado Springs, Colo., where he met my mom and then years later I came along. The Rainbow vacuum cleaner we had when I was growing up made it all the way to college with me.
My sister was the one who got the most use out of it. I am the younger child so naturally, I got away with everything and was responsible for pretty much nothing (except for splitting and stacking firewood, which we all took part in to all our dismay). She would fill the bottom of the R2D2-shaped machine with water, connect the long hose and sweeper and roam through our house for hours while I watched MTV.
When I eventually moved into an apartment with her after high school, and then she eventually moved out, I had to learn the workings of the Rainbow. A couple years later,the Rainbow took its final sweep across the carpet of my two-bedroom apartment off campus. I said a few words and even shed some tears, and reluctantly chucked it into the dumpster in the parking lot.
On the white dry erase board outside the door that was normally used for friends to leave messages when they stopped by, I told the Rainbow to rest in peace. A few days later, some Jehovah’s witnesses came knocking as they do and extended their condolences to the loss of Rainbow. I bet they felt silly when I told them it was a vacuum, not a hippy friend, but I appreciated their sympathy nonetheless and was still mourning such a family staple.
In November, I took off on a similar voyage. I headed west with no plans, just a lot of emotional swimming to do and I needed open desert to do it in. I passed through Albuquerque as the sun was coming up over the mountains and bathing the city in morning light.
It’s a funny thing when memories creep into your mind when you don’t expect them and how something as simple as an old time vacuum cleaner can bring you a smile on a sunny morning outside of Albuquerque as you are pulling off the road to take a picture of your car on the Continental Divide.
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Editor’s note: Cassi Lapp is the former news clerk/ staff writer of The Times of Northeast Benton County.
A Colorado native, Lapp graduated from the University of Arkansas, and is currently working on earning her master’s degree. She can be reached at prtnews@ nwaonline.com.
Opinion, Pages 4 on 02/09/2011