Driving / MOON
Remember that *rush* you felt, when you were 16, and you'd just passed your driving test? That license -- still warm from the laminator -- fresh in your hand, gave you a new-found freedom. You could DRIVE!
Rat-a-tat-tat went the manual typewriter -- pounding on my 16-year-old nerves. Then another officer came in the building. He looked at me and my mom, smiled, then said, "Hey, if you're here for a driving test, I can take you." I jumped at the opportunity.
Officer T. was younger than Officer P. He was all business, but friendly. I made sure to fasten my seatbelt before I started the Plymouth Fury III. I followed his instructions: drive here, turn there, make a 3-point-turn at the end of this road, now go back to the office. I tried not to notice how much he was scribbling on the clip-board, making notes about my driving skills.
When we got back to the office, I put the car in park and waited for the verdict. Officer T, looked over at me and smiled. "Congratulations, young lady, you passed! Let's go inside and get your license."
Across the years, driving took on different meanings besides that first rush of independence as a teenager. There were commutes to college, weekly trips to the grocery store, carpools, travel to work, beach trips, and I confess to a couple of speeding tickets.
Ok more than a couple.
A few years ago, David and I bought my "dream car" -- a Toyota Solara convertible, with heated leather seats and satellite radio. My mother says the color is "Hello Officer Red" but I try very hard NOT to speed. I figure God gave me cruise control to help with my lead foot.
When Myasthenia Gravis struck this spring, my eyesight was the first warning sign. Double vision, depth perception issues, peripheral confusion -- all of these combined to create a distrust of what I thought I saw. I realized that until I got my vision issues resolved somehow, I shouldn't drive.
Driving -- a big sign of independence. Not driving -- a big LOSS. Suddenly, I couldn't just hop in my little red car and "zoom-zoom" down the road, as my neighbor Marge says.
Eventually, medications began to help with my vision. Eye patches relieve the double vision problems. After a few months, I trusted myself to drive in my neighborhood again -- to church and back, or to a friend's house.
The week prior to Thanksgiving, I drove to North Carolina to spend a few days at my parents' home -- about a 2-hour drive. My dad had just had shoulder replacement surgery; David had gone up on Tuesday to help when he came home. I had another obligation here, so I drove up by myself on Wednesday. It took me most of the day to get the car packed and loaded because I had to take frequent breaks. By the time I left at 3 pm, my vision was doubled but I put on my pirate eyepatch and off I went!
I made it, arriving before dark, no problems! Major victory for me!
We stayed at my parents' home through Sunday, assisting my mother as Daddy recovered from surgery. (We have been amazed at how well he's done!) We celebrated Thanksgiving with the family a bit early. We do not always adhere to a specific date for our family gatherings -- we try to schedule around some crazy work schedules so that we can all be present. Lots of love, laughter, good food, and grandsons gave me lots of blessings to count!
Sunday afternoon, we loaded up both cars and headed back to Lake Wateree. In spite of the fact that we'd had several busy days, I felt pretty good. I turned on the radio and headed south, David following me.
The fall colors were gorgeous reds, golds, and oranges as I drove through the country. It was a marvelous afternoon, temperate weather, good music on the radio. Then the radio began playing the opening notes to one of my all-time favorite songs: "Jungleland" by THE BOSS, Bruce Springsteen. There's just something so poetic, so story-like, about the lyrics to this song, and I pick out the different instruments as they lend character to the melody: the lilt of the piano, the growl of the organ, the rasp of the Boss's voice, the pounding drums, the wail of the sax -- I love it all. The musician in me often "directs" as I'm listening and I found myself getting into the music, smiling, moving my hand with the beat of the song.
For a few glorious, precious minutes I realized: I actually felt almost *NORMAL* again, almost as though I was myself again. A glimpse of the me that used to be -- no matter how brief -- was a gift.
Thanks, Bruce Springsteen. It was a magnificent afternoon.
For your listening pleasure: JUNGLELAND by Bruce Springsteen
I remember the day I got my license in 1972. The examining officer in our town had a reputation for NEVER giving a 16-year-old a license on their first try. I was nervous when my mom took me to the little white cinder-block building that served as the Highway Patrol Office. Sure enough, there was Officer P. -- sitting at a cluttered desk, typing rapidly with his index fingers only -- which I thought was absolutely absurd, and stifled a giggle! He growled at us to sit down and wait, he was busy. I wiped the snicker off my face and did as he ordered.
Rat-a-tat-tat went the manual typewriter -- pounding on my 16-year-old nerves. Then another officer came in the building. He looked at me and my mom, smiled, then said, "Hey, if you're here for a driving test, I can take you." I jumped at the opportunity.
When we got back to the office, I put the car in park and waited for the verdict. Officer T, looked over at me and smiled. "Congratulations, young lady, you passed! Let's go inside and get your license."
To say I was thrilled would be an absolute understatement!
Across the years, driving took on different meanings besides that first rush of independence as a teenager. There were commutes to college, weekly trips to the grocery store, carpools, travel to work, beach trips, and I confess to a couple of speeding tickets.
Ok more than a couple.
At times as a working mom, the only time I had to myself was in the car, driving to work after I dropped the kids off at their schools. Driving the car became more "automatic" as I'd spend much time in thought.... Once or twice, I was so deep in thought about my life situation, I drove right past the house and found myself in the next town. I'd sigh, turn around, and head home.
A few years ago, David and I bought my "dream car" -- a Toyota Solara convertible, with heated leather seats and satellite radio. My mother says the color is "Hello Officer Red" but I try very hard NOT to speed. I figure God gave me cruise control to help with my lead foot.
When Myasthenia Gravis struck this spring, my eyesight was the first warning sign. Double vision, depth perception issues, peripheral confusion -- all of these combined to create a distrust of what I thought I saw. I realized that until I got my vision issues resolved somehow, I shouldn't drive.
Driving -- a big sign of independence. Not driving -- a big LOSS. Suddenly, I couldn't just hop in my little red car and "zoom-zoom" down the road, as my neighbor Marge says.
Eventually, medications began to help with my vision. Eye patches relieve the double vision problems. After a few months, I trusted myself to drive in my neighborhood again -- to church and back, or to a friend's house.
The week prior to Thanksgiving, I drove to North Carolina to spend a few days at my parents' home -- about a 2-hour drive. My dad had just had shoulder replacement surgery; David had gone up on Tuesday to help when he came home. I had another obligation here, so I drove up by myself on Wednesday. It took me most of the day to get the car packed and loaded because I had to take frequent breaks. By the time I left at 3 pm, my vision was doubled but I put on my pirate eyepatch and off I went!
I made it, arriving before dark, no problems! Major victory for me!
We stayed at my parents' home through Sunday, assisting my mother as Daddy recovered from surgery. (We have been amazed at how well he's done!) We celebrated Thanksgiving with the family a bit early. We do not always adhere to a specific date for our family gatherings -- we try to schedule around some crazy work schedules so that we can all be present. Lots of love, laughter, good food, and grandsons gave me lots of blessings to count!
Sunday afternoon, we loaded up both cars and headed back to Lake Wateree. In spite of the fact that we'd had several busy days, I felt pretty good. I turned on the radio and headed south, David following me.
For a few glorious, precious minutes I realized: I actually felt almost *NORMAL* again, almost as though I was myself again. A glimpse of the me that used to be -- no matter how brief -- was a gift.
Thanks, Bruce Springsteen. It was a magnificent afternoon.
For your listening pleasure: JUNGLELAND by Bruce Springsteen
*** *** *** *** ***
Untethered Time Travel: MOON
It is 1990. I am 33 years old.
It's 3:30 pm and it's PAYDAY.
I get my paycheck from my school mailbox and jump in my minivan and head west.
I have just enough time to pick up all three kids and make it 30 miles to the Credit Union in Monroe before it closes at 5 pm.
These were the days before direct deposit.
First stop is the daycare pick up my 3-year-old son. No time to chit-chat, I get my baby boy strapped into the carseat and pray there's not a train coming through town as I head towards the elementary school to pick up my 11-year-old and 8-year-old daughters. The three of them chatter as I head up the road.
I pull into the parking lot of the Credit Union at 4:55. FIVE MINUTES to get my check deposited. Knowing it would take at least that to get all three kids herded inside the bank, I decide they will stay in the car.
(Don't judge, it was almost 30 years ago, times were different then!)
I quickly read them the riot act about NOT UNLOCKING THE CAR for anyone but me, and tell the oldest that she's "in charge" of the younger two, then I literally run into the bank with my check.
WHEW.
It's deposited just in time; as I walk out the door they lock the door behind me.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and relax.
I walk towards the minivan and what do I see?
A tiny set of white butt-cheeks, pressed against the window of my car!!!
I stifle a laugh, put on a stern Mom face, and unlock the van.
The sisters are giggling hysterically.
Baby Brother thinks he is Hot Stuff, mooning the General Public
in the town of Monroe.
I act all horrified and chew them out briefly--
but inwardly I am laughing as hard as the sisters!
I pick up a bucket of KFC for the evening dinner, and we head back home,
laughing all the way.
No one ever owned up to telling Baby Brother that he should show his butt.
I suspect it was a team effort.
It's 3:30 pm and it's PAYDAY.
I get my paycheck from my school mailbox and jump in my minivan and head west.
I have just enough time to pick up all three kids and make it 30 miles to the Credit Union in Monroe before it closes at 5 pm.
These were the days before direct deposit.
First stop is the daycare pick up my 3-year-old son. No time to chit-chat, I get my baby boy strapped into the carseat and pray there's not a train coming through town as I head towards the elementary school to pick up my 11-year-old and 8-year-old daughters. The three of them chatter as I head up the road.
I pull into the parking lot of the Credit Union at 4:55. FIVE MINUTES to get my check deposited. Knowing it would take at least that to get all three kids herded inside the bank, I decide they will stay in the car.
(Don't judge, it was almost 30 years ago, times were different then!)
I quickly read them the riot act about NOT UNLOCKING THE CAR for anyone but me, and tell the oldest that she's "in charge" of the younger two, then I literally run into the bank with my check.
WHEW.
It's deposited just in time; as I walk out the door they lock the door behind me.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and relax.
I walk towards the minivan and what do I see?
A tiny set of white butt-cheeks, pressed against the window of my car!!!
I stifle a laugh, put on a stern Mom face, and unlock the van.
The sisters are giggling hysterically.
Baby Brother thinks he is Hot Stuff, mooning the General Public
in the town of Monroe.
I act all horrified and chew them out briefly--
but inwardly I am laughing as hard as the sisters!
I pick up a bucket of KFC for the evening dinner, and we head back home,
laughing all the way.
No one ever owned up to telling Baby Brother that he should show his butt.
I suspect it was a team effort.
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