Sunday, February 20, 2011
It is a first… I watched three episodes of the TV show House on part of a six hour plane ride. That left three hours for one nap, a trip to the bathroom, consume one bag of chips and now some time to write.
So far I would have to say this trip has been pretty crappy. Crappy you say? Yes! When riding an airplane is almost exactly like sitting at home, that is crappy. Airplane rides are supposed to be exciting and a bit scary. TV does that, distract from real life. TV access should not be allowed on airplanes or in homes for that matter. People on an airplane are suppose to be interesting and maybe even weird, but here I sit writing this and I realize I could not tell you what the guy on my right even looks like. I don’t know if he is tall, short fat or skinny. Does he wear glasses? I DON’T KNOW! See how bad TV is – at least for me?
I might add no distraction could keep me from noticing the lady on my left. She is exceedingly attractive and equally charming. This part of the airplane ride would be the opposite of crappy. I can describe her easily from the top of her head down to the bottoms of her feet and BTW that is not a very long distance, she is only five feet nothing. Of course I am married to this lady and it is appropriate I would know such things.
Here she sits her arm slipped around mine, her head on my shoulder. I sense her slow breathing more than I hear it. The cadence brings along with it a familiar feeling of softness and warmth. I don’t have to look at her to know the expression on her face or what she looks like, I have it memorized. The number of times this scenario has taken place – I wonder. Trying to be still is an effort, not wanting to wake her peaceful rest.
Over the years this lady has been on a long walk with the writer. She has put up with wonderful fun times, countless regular and mundane times, then of course those hard excruciating times – we won’t talk about those. My first girl friend she was. Back in the eighth grade we would sit together in awkward silence eating our lunches. Later in the tenth grade I would stay after school and be in the library where she worked, just so I could be near her. Those two years had transformed her into a lovely creature which was far beyond my plainness. But at least now we were friends and the awkwardness was gone. She now had a different boy friend but I would still spend time talking to her as often and whenever I could. She was for sure the prettiest girl in our small school, while I was still the smallest boy in my class and my big ears and buck teeth exaggerated the differences between us. Friendship was the best I could hope for.
Not feeling any different about myself, two years later, a fateful ride in my 1963 Ford Falcon, took my life in a new direction that has now included this lady in one way or another every day since.
She is still the prettiest girl I know and having her head on my shoulder is a real nice feeling, reminding me of a sweet ride years ago, in a baby blue 1963 Falcon. This is one sweet airplane ride.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Well it happened! And, it happened Tuesday! Not last Tuesday but it was a Tuesday.
It is really quite sad, as I had such high hopes that I had moved beyond such nonsense. I guess it was not to be.
Did you notice that last sentence with its trace of denial? The words, “I guess….?” Nope there is no guessing, it is now in the record book and there is no taking it back.
It was later than normal when I stepped outside to start my drive home. To my delight and surprise the darkness had hidden the snow storm. Snow was falling steadily and already the area was blanketed with over an inch. Even at night I don’t think there are many prettier things than a hemlock draped with fresh snow. An hour ago there had only been the promise of the weather man but now the white magic had appeared and was reflecting a sweet illusion that the world had become pure, clean, and for a time the promise of peace would surround us mortals.
The sound of my tires rolling across unblemished snow toward the street was pure delight. I love the snow and I love driving in it. When the snow is fresh, the road noise is almost none existent. It brought back feelings of a past time when as a young teen I took a long walk one night in fresh snow. It was just me and my German Sheppard, Cyrano. We walked with no goal in mind but we walked for hours and nature was balm to my soul that night. Exactly where we walked I cannot remember but that night has left in me a wonderful memory of a peaceful respite from the teenager insecurities I carried.
Driving across town toward the freeway, the snow continued its recital with large heavy flakes peppering my windshield. The temperature was just a mite below freezing and as normal, I was feeling an exhilarated peace. Exhilaration and peace from the outset would seem to be in conflict with each other but both are delightful. Intentionally, I had left the radio off not wanting to miss a moment of my night time drive.
As I merged on to Interstate 5 I picked up speed matching the traffic. Even though I still love this part, tension began to build. I had not really figured out where the sweet spot was for driving in these conditions. Over passes lurk with ice and can put one into a spin quickly. I began to feel comfortable cruising along at 45 miles an hour. Occasionally I had to move out of the slow lane to pass those who thought 35 or 40 was the right speed. Of course I couldn’t stay there because there were those folks who felt comfortable at 50 plus miles an hour and want by.
The miles were ticking by at a comfortable pace. I had eased away from the pack and was now in a comfort zone with no other vehicles close. Up ahead was another bunch of cars and the pack behind pushed me on, closing the gap. The thought crossed my mind, ‘why were there were so many cars on the road at this time of night, in one of Seattle’s somewhat rare snow storms? No answer jumped to the surface. Snow doesn’t change peoples thinking, they still believe they have people to see and place to go. After all I had just seen my people and was now heading home.
I was about half way home when several hundred yards ahead I saw a car spin out, I eased off the gas. My speed slowed to around 35 miles an hour as I approached. He had stopped far off to the left but was perpendicular to oncoming traffic. As I grew closer my stomach tightened when he began to move, heading directly across the freeway, crossing the 4 lanes hidden by the snow. He was coming directly into my line. Stopping was out of the question, so I eased over to the right hoping to make it around him before he reached my line of travel. I had almost made it when his front bumper hit the rear of my truck sending my back end swinging to the right. I quickly turned to the right, compensating. My truck began straightening out. Now my rear end began heading left and picking up speed, cranking the wheel back hard to the other direction was too little too late. My truck ended up going backwards with my headlights facing oncoming traffic. I hit the brakes and eased to a safe stop on the right shoulder.
This is the part I hate, late at night, exchanging information with another person, who is also hating every minute of this. No one was injured, only my truck was damaged, calling the police would have been a waste of cell phone minutes. It would have been hours before someone would have come, if at all. I knew they had real problems to attend to. The whole episode was a bit of an adrenalin rush but mostly just an inconvenience. The other driver felt the same as I about the whole situation. So, within 10 minutes, information had been exchanged and I was turned around heading home. All in all the drive was all what I had hoped for except for the interruption and another dent.
With accident number nineteen behind me and my allocation card punched, I can drive stress free knowing number twenty is a few years off.
One thing nice about driving a 28 year old truck; what’s another dent? Who really cares? Not me.
That night I went to bed with the softness of snow lightly falling and wishing I had a dog to take on a long walk. The next morning I awoke, the quiet was gone and in its place was the banter of rain assuring me the Pacific Northwest was back to normal. Our peaceful interlude had been way to short but I was glad it came, if only for one evening.
Here is the good news. The insurance company paid me $146.00 more than I paid for the old truck 4 years ago, and I get to still drive it. How good of a deal is that?
Number twenty, where are you?