Disheveled Driver

December 8, 2013

     Raw, scraped knuckles are a direct result from an hour long freeway drive with seven hundred other vehicles, dodging snow flakes, skidding over ice patches on the off ramps, listening to my heavy breath since I am too nervous to have the radio on, praying I get to my appointment on time. Slide from one lane, avoiding the 20 mph brake lights only to be tailed by people in an OJ chase scene reenactment. The onslaught of real winter weather sets me in panic mode. I hesitate to go out at the slightest threat of snow, despite my tree-climbing-capable vehicle. I have never used four wheel drive in my life and I don’t intend to start now.  

     They cracked the wine bottle at 10:00 this morning so I was already behind upon arrival. I declined the bottle and requested coffee with cream (yes, milk is fine but, skim? I shudder and pour a splash in my cup, discouraged by the horrible taste and add white sugar, to make it even more despicable. The food consists of cut cheese, Ritz crackers, a bowl of dog chow (crispy Chex cereal sprinkled with powdered chocolate milk, I believe) salami and ham slices and canned pineapple. I was feeling sorry I didn’t eat before I left the house. Stabbed a few squares of cheddar and threw in a coupla crackers to appease the crowd. It is going to be a long day. I add more white stuff to my coffee for good measure.

     A couple of knuckleheads follow behind me, just off the trailer hitch. Little do they know I nailed one car on that baby in my driving career. The passenger must have made some noise because after I raised my arms in surrender, he backed-off a tad. He could not get around me on the single lane highway so he must have been ranting and raving for some time, before swinging into a turn after weeks of hugging my bumper. The sweat trickled off my brow and I meandered down another route only to find yet another guy in a big hurry. I let out a sigh that no one seemed to hear.

     Passed the Co-Op in frustration, realizing it is too late to stop and pick up real chocolate and/or pizza, pretzels, chips and salsa, authentic cheese and such. Drat! The dog and cat are surely waiting by the door, waiting to be served dinner or supper, depending upon where you are from.

Love, your fair-weather driver

Dodge a Bullet

December 7, 2013

     Michelle inquired about my Xterra. She wants to know if it is still for sale. I nearly deleted the message, thinking it is a crazy person from Craigslist and yet, a sensation in my gut, one that compelled me to put my vehicle on the market in the first place, urged me to reply to her. If in fact, it is a ”her.” She responded before the ink dried, with a slew of questions about the history of the car, which I do not know very well. In fact, I bought it from the parents of the owner, since she was unavailable, a veterinarian student, I was told, who drove back and forth, over the mountain passes, from Boulder to Seattle, to visit her folks. Story seemed viable enough. Dog hair is the second layer of the back seat and rear of the vehicle, impossible to vacuum out so I simply pass the wand over the top of it, hoping for the best. I explained to “Michelle” what I knew, promised to take photos of the interior, when it isn’t sub-zero temps and light enough to focus the camera properly, and sent the reply along the VIN.                   

     My first car was a three-on-the-tree Dodge Dart Swinger, yellow and rust. I didn’t even know how to drive a stick so my roommate, Ann, an auto mechanic, helped me pick it up. Dan, the bartender I worked with at The Valley in Dinkytown, asked if he could drive it and I let him behind the wheel, in exchange for driving lessons. He took me to a railroad crossing, happened to be on a perilous incline, and insisted I start it up. Soaked through my shirt that day but ended up back at home, intact, and here to tell the story. 

     Since the Dodge Dart, I have owned numerous Toyotas (solo new car was a Corolla) a few Volvos (wagons and sedan) and one Subaru. I drove a company car, at one point in time, in Dallas, a Fiero, black and sassy. It went back to the leasing agency, once the pragmatic company decided corporate cars were not cost effective.

     Tyrus has been limping a lot these days, jumping out of the tall vehicle seat. I choose to get something more gas efficient and lower to the ground, for the poor beast to travel comfortably.  He has one hundred pounds crashing into his shoulders. Not a good combination, in addition to long walks twice a day, chasing cats and squirrels in the neighborhood. I will take him along to test drive the new car, to be sure he approves.     

Tow Required

December 6, 2013

     Mrs B was angry with me for washing her blue bath towel tonight. I could not understand her reasoning. Maybe she thought I was wasting water and her clothes soap or because it might delay her bath time. I told her about an episode on New Girl” my new favorite show. One guy always came out of the shower to find his bath towel  damp and eventually one of the other guys suggested it was because HE  used that same towel. When was the last time you washed the towel, the first guy asked and the second chimed “You wash your towel, why?” She didn’t get the significance of the share. Yes, every once in awhile, I decide to throw her bath towel in the washer, to mingle with the other clothes in the basket. I gave up trying to figure it out and apologized for the inconvenience.

     My bad ankle is throbbing and swollen. Has been since I realized it was HOT in the shower, red and puffy. Dang, I kind of freaked out a bit, thinking something is terribly wrong, the bones aren’t healing properly, who can I call, what should I do. Spoke with my Essentials Oil Guru and she told me what to dribble on it, for good measure.  Slathered it in Frankincense  heat rub, tightly would an ace bandage around the sore foot, up to the knee and elevated it. Doubt I will have to extract the screws and plate but time will tell.

     No out of control sliding happening today, at least from behind my wheel. Crawled past two women on Highway 13, standing next to a car turned perpendicular to the ditch and the other vehicle slammed into its passenger door. The ladies, both young, dressed professionally, on their respective cell phones, appeared calm and rational. I tootled by, thanking my lucky charms it wasn’t me standing there, in a bad way. Also very grateful my car was parked in the garage from the night before and I only had to be subjected to the frigid cold long enough to unhook the gate and drive through the opening. For many years, I had to park on the street or in the driveway, often exposed to the elements, scraping the ice off the windshield with a credit card, nostril hairs freezing with each inhalation of bitter air.    

Class Mates

December 5, 2013

     Since when is a hoodie and a pair of tennis shoes sufficient for an eight degree evening? I am astounded by a van, careening up the hill, the bottom half of the windshield encased in snow. I stand, staring incredulously as the driver waves at me, oblivious to his palpable demise. Cars lurch around the slick corners as though the driver is Mario Andretti and completely in control of the precarious two-wheel spin situation. Ha.

     Spent another day hunkered down in my sub-zero duplex. I feel like the Goodrich fellow, padded in several long-sleeved shirts, sweaters and at times, my fleece robe over the top,  waddling around with a grin plastered on my face, cup of tea in my paw.

     Made pumpkin/peanut butter/duck jerky holiday cookies for the dogs in our lives. They are wobbly and a strange color but Donut from upstairs ran around in circles, I assume in delight, after experimenting her first warm snack. She came right up to me, begging for more. Tyrus didn’t even bother to chew, his treat went down with the intake of his breath.

     Signed up to take an on-line business class, only to discover it began on the 2^nd of December and I am three days behind. In a panic when I take the test, but come around and remember to breathe when my score of 9.52 out of 10 comes up on the screen. Where I got the additional .02 is beyond my comprehension. At least I could recall my name, which is a great feat since it normally escapes me at the announcement of a test. The back of people’s heads show up on the screen as the instructor (Mr G) covers the material from the front of the classroom. They look, sound and emit youth, bumbling around with responses as Mr G tosses, seemingly theoretical questions, like a football player zinging his ball into the crowd after a touchdown. We discuss companies like Netflix, the popular and crazy lucrative tech Dell, Google, etc as well as examples of innovative start-ups from students in years past. We have a lot to live up to!

     For the next six weeks, I will be flinging the cat from my lap, watching class on video, taking exams and meeting up with virtual groups on Facebook. When I woke up this morning, I didn’t intend to put my self at risk. It just happened. Like eating a whole box of ice cream bars in one sitting. It cannot be explained.

Winter Wonderland

December 4, 2013

Shoveling is an art form. I stab at the dense fluff, attempting to get the ergonomic shovel to cooperate. The eighty something year old neighbor shows me up with his perfectly edged sidewalk and driveway while my space looks as though DeJohn pushed the snow removal equipment. The shame of it all.

I find myself peering at the computer screen at 1:00pm and realize it is barely light inside. The clouds overpower the sunlight and I exit the cave to walk the dog after maneuvering around the chunks of snow in the drive. There is a snow blower parked in the garage yet I fail to start the machine, flooding it immediately. Machinery and I do not get along well. I feel better when the guy upstairs arrives home from a short day at work, and cannot crank it either. We shovel the remaining piles in the driveway together, though I managed most of it on my own before he arrived. He owes me, big time.

Hopefully there will be more snow so he can take his turn with the bright orange socially responsible shovel. My left hip is hurting, shoulders pinched and cramped but I cross the day off the calendar with vigor. First big snowfall and I didn’t whimper once. Eggnog and shot of whiskey before a bath is my home remedy for winter ailments.

A Shot Rang Out

December 2, 2013

The snow shouldn’t scare me like it does. I worry most about the other drivers on the roads, who panic behind the wheel at the first sign of flakes. The Smith bridge appears like sheer ice in the cold of the night and the cars creep along as though there is chance of a break in the ice and we could all fall through to our death. Even the sturdy SUV’s inch forward at an agonizingly slow pace. The dog races out in the new flurries, careening along the wet grass, bathing in the fluff. Acts like a puppy again, barreling around the yard like a boy let out of school early.  

The police are calling an emergency meeting for the neighborhood to talk about the recent crime activity in our area. They are asking for us to reply to an email address with our contact information to know all of the attendees. Taelor and I heard three shots as we walked the neighborhood one night this weekend. It didn’t sound like a gun but I phoned in the incident. The clerk suggested someone was already investigating the matter. I didn’t hear anything of it on the NextDoor Block Club messages. Feels like Mayberry since the cold came-on, the parks and streets are vacant of the usual suspects. I will attend the meeting and give you an update as I have more information on the situation. Doesn’t hurt to be informed.

Heading out to put my Maple Syrup sign in the front yard. Need to get it out there before the ground freezes. Counting on the neighbors having a sweet tooth.

We Don't Have a Money Tree

December 1, 2013

My client’s nine year old great grandson was making a lengthy Christmas list. His mother glanced over his shoulder at the items he rapidly scratched-out on the paper.  “Wow, those are expensive gifts. You know we can’t afford to buy you all of those things,” she insists. “Oh, then we can ask Grandma B to buy them for me,” he decided. His mom shot back “No, Grandma B doesn’t have that kind of money either!” “Haven’t you ever heard of a credit card?” he flung back at her. “Then you don’t have to pay for it now.” Got that right.

Cyber Monday tomorrow. Heard there is a chance to purchase inexpensive flights to Chicago so my daughter can go to the Turkish Consulate to get her VISA for the coming Spring Semester abroad. I can’t keep track of all these new holidays. They fly past and I live, unaware, in the dark recesses with the other non-shoppers.

I saunter down infamous Summit Avenue with the mansions in the backdrop, crisscross through alleys, just beyond the gorgeous homes, admiring Christmas decorations and well-tended lawns. My mind wanders to the lifestyle “they” lead. I laugh, chortle, giggle and nearly choke in the absurdity of my thoughts. I honestly do not have a clue how “they” live, what their income levels are, how much they dole-out for utilities, placing the angel statues on the rooftop, lawn care, shoveling services, what kind of food “they” eat, how they keep themselves entertained etc.

I suspect I have the wrong idea about “them.” Or perhaps not. It is a perspective (that I know what goes on behind closed doors) I am shifting, about me, them, and all in between. I simply enjoy what “they” have to offer me-a joyful passage witnessing the comfort of their homes, in all their glory.