Penny Simonson: Lookout, she’s had another of her ideas

My husband thinks I make hasty decisions; that I run off half-cocked, chasing stars, inventing crazy dreams. In my defense I say it’s just that I’m so full of good ideas, I stumble across opportunities – open to new experiences I’d be foolish not to pursue.

And, for the most part, I can promise him that no amount of enthusiasm for the shiny new object of my affection, the grandiose plan hatching in my imagination, will outweigh my common sense.

Just the same, when it’s time to share my joy of an idea (read: plead my case) I know I need to have my mental list of reasons ready, my argumentative ducks in a row, my rationale as to why it (whatever it is) would work.

Because if there is anything that will cause my husband to cast an exaggerated, burdensome expression in my direction, it’s when some new impetuous intention of mine arrives on the scene.

Like the little vintage travel trailer I bought without, let’s say, his blessing a few years back. Sure, I bought it sight-unseen, and sure, it wasn’t in a condition as good the photos alluded to on the internet. But gosh, that has worked out just fine. And the truth is, he takes a lot of ownership in its care and repair, making it safe for me to use.

Plus, he says, it means I leave on occasion so he can miss me.

Or when I got it in my head I wanted to own a dog again. We hadn’t had a dog in our lives for a dozen or more years, since his old shop dog, Larry, took his final lap on his three remaining legs. And my husband was quite adamant about not wanting to deal with the care that comes with the commitment. So while I respected that, I was longing for a little traveling companion on my camping trips.

That time, my case was simple to present: It would be my dog, not his.

Still, every time I mentioned that I was out test-driving dogs, it was met with the heavy sighs and heaving shoulders I have come to know and expect.

But by staying strong and overriding his objections, now when the little-dog-that-became-mine jumps up in his lap, his protests are long forgotten. We’re both gobsmacked with the joy she has brought us – you just can’t be in a bad mood when someone is dizzy with happiness simply because you woke up in the morning.

See, I was right again.

And you know, we’ve both put up with a little cuckoo from the other here and there, as well as being responsible for a fair number of poor decisions made even after deep discussions. No one gets to point a finger at the bad lake property idea or the wooden boat fiasco. He said yes to one, I said yes to the other – we both owned those deals, it’s territory that’s been covered.

But I am able to admit, with age and with retirement, that I can temper my enthusiasm much quicker than in the past.

Which is what happened this week, when I stumbled across a retired fire lookout tower for sale on a large piece of property in North Idaho. It had it all – timbered acreage, remote but accessible, and really (in my mind) quite affordable. My own lookout tower – something I never knew I always wanted.

It didn’t take long for my imagination to wander off, and before the afternoon was over I had envisioned myself moved in, absorbed in my new hobbies of spotting forest fires and watching birds. The long nights would be spent reading and writing, and when the tower was not in use, I would rent it out to hunters and hikers. By the time I made the phone call to the Realtor, I was working on names for my new venture and doodling logo ideas.

It wasn’t until after I had committed to an appointment to look at the property the next morning, that I realized I now had to announce my intention to my husband. And when I heard, in my head, the words that would need to come out of my mouth, I knew there would be no disguising the lunacy of my idea.

In the middle of a perfectly normal Tuesday afternoon, I would be marching out to the garage and announcing, “Honey, I want to buy a fire lookout tower and turn it into a bed and breakfast.”

I laughed all the way to the dog park.

Penny Simonson lives in Spokane Valley, and is filling in for columnist Shawn Vestal, who’s on vacation.