I didn't sleep well last night because the "What if" scenarios would not stop playing in my mind. I hate “What if Hill.” It doesn’t matter if the images are positive or negative. I never seem to make it to the top. I was tired when I woke up, but I was fully prepared to trainerbate (yes, I just said that) when I got home from dropping my daughter off at school. I turned the computer on to do just that, but the door wouldn't open so I could put my trainer video in. AAAUUUGGHH. This whole trainer thing has been a major production for the past 4 weeks. Finally everything is in place and BAMB! I can’t play the video. Have you ever seen one of these things? My friend Eric gave me a copy. I laugh when I'm watching it. It's like they hired a low budget porn production company to film it; complete with slow motion shots of the riders from an upward angle. It looks like they are looking down into the camera, with glistening brow and bulging veins galore. One dude is actually wearing his riding glasses indoors with the dark lenses in. I imagine he is high. Some things are so sad one has to laugh at them.
My frustration mounts because I didn't have time to ride out side or go to the gym. I shoot out an S.O.S via email and phone calls. It's too late now. I left for my hair appointment hoping one of my geek friends will call in the mean time. As my girl was washing my hair I started thinking how she is one of the two people who have come remotely close to touching me in an intimate manner in...Let’s just say a very long time. The other is my gynecologist. I pay them both. Contemplating this made me sad.
I had to drop my SS off at the shop to make sure it’s all good for the warm weather that is coming. This is difficult for me. It’s worse than having a pelvic exam. Although I have only been on this bike about 7 times, we know each other. I don’t like strange hands roaming all over my bike, especially if they are inexperienced. It’s like the equivalent of knowing someone else is touching your significant other. Maybe I should add “knows a bit about working on bikes” to my list of who I’d like to meet. http://ransomedtoride.blogspot.com/2008/10/who-id-like-to-meet.html.
I automatically hold any young pimply faced tech in contempt, and I have preconceived ideas that they don’t know what they are doing. The tech started asking me questions about gearing, which I know nothing about, when Brian the shop manager came out. Thank God he was there. We’ve ridden together before and he is a SS fixed gear freak. I really have no clue about this gearing stuff for a few reasons. One, because I’ve only been on the bike maybe 7 times: two, I am brand new to single speeding, although all last summer I pretty much road in one gear (big ring) fantasizing about a SS bike. Finally there is the reason that beats all reasons. I don’t care. I just want to ride my bike, and I know me. I will acclimate to whatever is put on the bike anyway and possibly do serious injury to myself in the mean time. He said although I’m an animal (we’ve ridden together) I probably should go 34 until I get really familiar with single speeding. With my ego in check I reluctantly submitted to his advice. I left the shop with one last glance at the love of my life. My dining room looks empty without him, and my morning coffee won’t be the same until his return.
I didn’t get to ride today. “What if Hill” is looming large on my pillow. Of all the important worthwhile things my mind could be contemplating it hones in on the unknown calls I’ve been getting since I was published in D.R. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I typically don’t get these kinds of calls. One came tonight when I was on my way home from Fowlerville. They’ve always come at times when I am not home. I’m sure my mind will calculate the millions of different scenarios that could transpire if Private Name Private Number or Unknown Caller ever gets a hold of me. What if....
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Brother
February 23, 2009
I was in English class today not able to concentrate. I thought about staying home, but it would have only made matters worse. Now I am so jacked up on caffeine I couldn't sleep if I wanted to; my brain is full from studying and my heart is breaking with grief. I don't know how I'm going to pull this off. I've tried suspending these feelings until the weekend without much success. I end up emoting at inappropriate times, but I'm fine when I'm by myself. My instructor called on me. I still couldn't tell you what the question was, but I responded. "I'm sorry Mary, I'm not really here. Could you repeat the question?" I'm usually like Horshack, "OOOOH! OOOOH! OOOOH!" with my arm stuck up in the air, chomping at the bit to contribute. It's very frustrating because she always calls on people that don't know the answers. I think my lack of response took her by suprise. I was praying she wouldn't ask, but she did. "How are you?" I was able to maintain an appearance of normalcy for a minute, but as the class started laughing I started crying, and I was forced to say it. "My friend died Saturday." Only a few tears escaped until the lady who sits behind me handed me a bunch of tissue, then the flood gates opened. The rest of the day at school was waves of grief and tears.
I came home to a voice mail of a lady telling me she was thinking of me. She said she was sorry she couldn't get to me sooner, but she's been kinda busy. She said she was sorry that my friend died. I started weeping all over again.
This is the lady on my voice mail. She's been busy making funeral arrangements for the father of her two boys that you see in the picture. That's Gabe and Jake with there Momma Marnie. Jake is one now, and Gabe just turned two on Friday. The pic is a bit old.
This is their Daddy. He is her husband. They love each other with a fierceness I have never seen before.
His Face book page is flooding with comments from lives he touched. Most of the people say things like "I'm a better person for having known you!" Josh was one of those people that as soon as you stepped into his presence you knew that you were loved and accepted. As is. No warranties. No refunds. That made my life better. Whether or not I am a better person having known him remains "too be seen."
February 25, 2009
8:00am
Some time has passed since I started writing this. I went to the funeral home last night. There was no where to park. The line for the viewing was leaking out the doors. He is being buried today. The funeral is at the same church they were married in. That was a beautiful day.
9:23pm
I just got back from the party that was thrown for you. Remember on our rides how we talked about this day? One of our many conversations was about funerals in general. I told you that no matter what, I didn't want anybody blowing sunshine up my ass at my funeral. I wanted them to be able to honor my life with the truth. You agreed. Well,they had an open mic and several people spoke. Some had funny little stories, and some poured their hearts out. Your little sister made me cry, the way she described how you loved her as only you could. She talked about how you told her she was beautiful and that you loved her no matter what, especially when she couldn't love herself. It wasn't so far of a stretch to imagine what it must be like to be your sister. Listening to her I realized you did the same for me. I didn't say anything because I can't talk much without crying. I didn't think it would be cool to blow snot rockets all over the mic at your funeral. Other people wanted to use that thing too ya know? They went on and on blowing sunshine up your butt. One thing is for sure; no one lied about you.
The girl who was sitting next to me in English on Monday during The Great Flood is in my Tuesday math class as well. I guess she told our instructor that I may not be in class because I had a family memember die. When I walked into Class late this week my instuctor told me he was sorry to hear about the loss of my relative. For a brief second I considered correcting him, but he wasn't wrong. I love you brother.
I was in English class today not able to concentrate. I thought about staying home, but it would have only made matters worse. Now I am so jacked up on caffeine I couldn't sleep if I wanted to; my brain is full from studying and my heart is breaking with grief. I don't know how I'm going to pull this off. I've tried suspending these feelings until the weekend without much success. I end up emoting at inappropriate times, but I'm fine when I'm by myself. My instructor called on me. I still couldn't tell you what the question was, but I responded. "I'm sorry Mary, I'm not really here. Could you repeat the question?" I'm usually like Horshack, "OOOOH! OOOOH! OOOOH!" with my arm stuck up in the air, chomping at the bit to contribute. It's very frustrating because she always calls on people that don't know the answers. I think my lack of response took her by suprise. I was praying she wouldn't ask, but she did. "How are you?" I was able to maintain an appearance of normalcy for a minute, but as the class started laughing I started crying, and I was forced to say it. "My friend died Saturday." Only a few tears escaped until the lady who sits behind me handed me a bunch of tissue, then the flood gates opened. The rest of the day at school was waves of grief and tears.
I came home to a voice mail of a lady telling me she was thinking of me. She said she was sorry she couldn't get to me sooner, but she's been kinda busy. She said she was sorry that my friend died. I started weeping all over again.
This is the lady on my voice mail. She's been busy making funeral arrangements for the father of her two boys that you see in the picture. That's Gabe and Jake with there Momma Marnie. Jake is one now, and Gabe just turned two on Friday. The pic is a bit old.
This is their Daddy. He is her husband. They love each other with a fierceness I have never seen before.
His Face book page is flooding with comments from lives he touched. Most of the people say things like "I'm a better person for having known you!" Josh was one of those people that as soon as you stepped into his presence you knew that you were loved and accepted. As is. No warranties. No refunds. That made my life better. Whether or not I am a better person having known him remains "too be seen."
February 25, 2009
8:00am
Some time has passed since I started writing this. I went to the funeral home last night. There was no where to park. The line for the viewing was leaking out the doors. He is being buried today. The funeral is at the same church they were married in. That was a beautiful day.
9:23pm
I just got back from the party that was thrown for you. Remember on our rides how we talked about this day? One of our many conversations was about funerals in general. I told you that no matter what, I didn't want anybody blowing sunshine up my ass at my funeral. I wanted them to be able to honor my life with the truth. You agreed. Well,they had an open mic and several people spoke. Some had funny little stories, and some poured their hearts out. Your little sister made me cry, the way she described how you loved her as only you could. She talked about how you told her she was beautiful and that you loved her no matter what, especially when she couldn't love herself. It wasn't so far of a stretch to imagine what it must be like to be your sister. Listening to her I realized you did the same for me. I didn't say anything because I can't talk much without crying. I didn't think it would be cool to blow snot rockets all over the mic at your funeral. Other people wanted to use that thing too ya know? They went on and on blowing sunshine up your butt. One thing is for sure; no one lied about you.
The girl who was sitting next to me in English on Monday during The Great Flood is in my Tuesday math class as well. I guess she told our instructor that I may not be in class because I had a family memember die. When I walked into Class late this week my instuctor told me he was sorry to hear about the loss of my relative. For a brief second I considered correcting him, but he wasn't wrong. I love you brother.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Clearing Out the Cobwebs
It’s really happening. I’m going to school. I started January 12. I sat down to write about how this whole surreal, terrifying, exciting experience started, so I got out my journal. You should know that I absolutely suck at keeping a journal, but every now and then something I deem remarkable happens and I write it down. Here it is:
January 16, 2008
I was looking through one of those gossip magazines at work the day before yesterday. I casually glanced at my horoscope for kicks. It said to write down my career goals on the 14th. It happened to be the 14th. It seemed strange. I rarely look at these things and the one day that I do, it tells me to do something on the very day it just happens to be. I almost didn’t do it because I don’t believe in these things, and I don’t have any goals. After careful consideration I came up with nothing, so I wrote down “Call SSD and ask them to send information on the “Ticket to work Program.” I tossed the paper in my purse and forgot about it. When I got home the information was in the mail box. *SHOCK* Thank God Thank God Thank God! So I get up yesterday. I look in the mirror. My eyelids are baggy. I sigh, turn around and look at my butt. It’s four inches lower than it was before I went to bed. I turn on the shower. No hot water. It’s going to be one of those days. I call Eric and tell him. He says “I was just meditating and praying about how fortunate we are to have water at all. Poor countries don’t have any water.”
“I’m a poor country” I say. “No you have water. It’s just not hot” “Thanks a lot you Ass!” and I switch the subject to him and Deb. He’s feeling unworthy or something similar. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. I start to tell him that I think he deserves a woman that will be good to him. I tell him I think he’s a good man. I can tell he’s crying. He says he values my opinion. We hang up. The whole conversation lasted about 2 minutes. As I get off the toilet I ponder showering in cold water. I wash my hands. The water is hot. I dial him back. “Your water is hot isn’t it!” he says before I can tell him. Again I say Thank God, Thank God, Thank God!
Now, some may say the horoscope thing is absolutely coincidental. I’ll allow them that, but for me these kinds of “happenings” usually set into motion circumstances that I couldn’t have orchestrated, that are beyond my control. It gives me that feeling that Life is living me instead of the other way around. Feeling a bit like Neo in The Matrix, I do the next thing put in front of me. I called about the “Ticket to Work Program.” They did lots of evaluations, ability, and interest test. This process took months. Once I got things narrowed down I did a job shadow at a rehab hospital. This sealed the deal for me. What I saw during my time spent there was nothing short of progress in seemingly hopeless situations. It reminded me of…my life. I was hooked. Given my circumstances mobility is pretty fricken important to me, which would explain why I get frustrated by people who don’t move when they are perfectly capable. Do you know the type? I’m talking about seemingly physically healthy individuals that just don’t like to move. I don’t like it that I am judgmental like that, and I really try not to be. I certainly don’t know each person’s circumstances, but it’s like watching someone waste food or water when you’re not sure how long your own supply is going to last.
Anyway, it appears that you have to be a math magician to be accepted into the PTA program. Algebra is a requirement. I’m missing that chip, so I’m starting at the bottom of the mathematical mountain and I’m grinding my way up, only now I don’t have any gears. (I don’t just mean that metaphorically. I did finally get a Single Speed! WoooHooo!) Math is painful for me. Even the basics frustrate me to the point of tears. Just when I think I’m going to stall out, that I’m not going to stay on top of that pedal stroke, it breaks way underneath me, and understanding floods my mathematical muscles, but only momentarily. That old saying, “It’s just like riding a bike” isn’t true for me and math. Every time I get back on it I seem to have no memory of the rules it laid down on our last ride. Come to think of it I’ve never been good at following rules. I think my brain actually exploded in class today. We are forever destined to be strangers, Math and I, wondering what makes each other tick.
Math, along with everything else in my life reminds me of when I first learned to ride single track. I was always in the wrong gear. I picked the worst lines. I crashed a lot and I lost sight of what was in front of me frequently. I’d have rather walked down a hill than ride it for fear of crashing. Flow was rare and I needed new brake pads after every ride, and the soreness of, well you know… EVERYTHING was too much to bear the next day. This is how math makes me feel.
Sometimes when I’m in class I think about climbing the double at the ski area on my geared bike. I used to sit at the bottom of that hill and watch the crazy SOB’s that climbed it. I thought I would never be able to do it. Thank God I’m usually wrong about my abilities. I think about how it never gets physically “easier” to climb that hill, but the accomplishment and satisfaction that is felt when I’m at the top is worth the pain. I can’t put into words the confidence that is built just by riding a bike up a hill. I tried to recruit Eric into climbing it. I’ve never actually timed it but I bet it takes an Eternity to get to the top, if not five minutes. He followed me once about a third of the way up, called me crazy and went back down. The funny thing is he’s the one who told me the secret to climbing. He said my only concern is the five feet in front of me. That’s what he told me, so that’s what I do, and I make it… every time. I pray that the same will hold true with math.
Enough about math mountains; here I am a year later going to school. I’m excited and terrified about the decisions I’ve made. It’s taken some adjustment. Juggling kids, school, work and exercise is a double time job, and just as things start to feel right, my car takes a dump. The transmission died on the last day of the first week of class. Things just tend to work out for me like that. It did however carry me all the way back from Muskegon to my apartment in Grandville. In my mind this new development serves as confirmation that I won’t be going to school after all, and how could I be silly enough to believe that I was supposed to? I mean this whole thing developed from a random reading of a horoscope right? Psycho! So I do the next right thing. I discard the idea that I might be able to commute on my bike, and then...I panic. I realize how alone and wrong I am about pretty much everything. I call the ladies from my bible study to inform them that God answered their prayers by killing my car. I had just asked them the week before to pray for it, because it’s old, and I have to drive 80 miles a day for school. While I was telling Sue (our bible study leader) about my predicament she says “Well Jody, my Jodi is in Europe this week. You can just use her car.” Here I go chasing the white rabbit again.
I decide it’s too late to withdraw from classes and get a full refund. My car is too old and the transmission is to expensive fix. I don’t know how I’m going to finish the term, let alone my degree. I’ll never pass math anyway, and I could be in a chair any day now. I may as well give up. It was never realistic for me to go to school. I hate that my thinking takes a nose dive like this. I can chuckle now, but at the time this is all that is real to me. Fortunately instead of succumbing to what my head tells me I jump on her offer. Along with the relief comes the next wave of panic. What am I going to do after Jodi gets back?
I call my friend Speedy, who is a partial quadriplegic. He is in part what inspired my program choice. This guy is incredible. He does more than most able bodied people I know. He used to be a car salesman. He has connections. He said he would try to help me out. As he is hanging up the phone he tells me not to worry and he adds “Think Toyota!” Whatever, I’m just thinking wheels at this point. I don’t care what kind. I spend the next several days looking for a dirt cheap car, and putting the word out that I need help. Fortunately for me, my niece who isn’t allowed to drive lets me borrow her car for the time being while I try to figure something out.
In the midst of all this I get a call from a friend of mine who just broke up with her fiance`. She is very upset and just needs to talk. She goes on to tell me that before she met him she made a list of what she wants in a mate. He fit that description to a “T”. There is only one problem. She’s no longer attracted to him. I did what I do in these types of situations. I said something highly inappropriate but hilarious. “Yeah I feel your pain. The next list I make I’m going to ask that he not look like Yoda!” It worked. She laughed. The only reason I even mention this is because it loosely ties into my next coincidence.
At the end of January I received an email from my friend who works at the church. She told me that she had a friend who had a car he wanted to donate. She sent me pictures. It was a Toyota and the pictures were titled Yoda! It’s a stretch but my brain will make the leap if it means a good laugh. He’s ugly but he’s got a really good heart. The cool thing is the rust feature. The spots are bi-laterally symmetrical. Michelle gave me a “LOVE WINS” sticker when I brought in a thank-you card for her to give to her anonymous friend. On my way to bible study Tuesday night I stopped at the wash so I could put the sticker on a clean surface. Another bonus feature of the car was revealed. I no longer have to wash my left breast or pit on days that I take it through the wash. This could save time in the mornings. I’ve decided to keep toiletries in the console. As I get out of the car to put the sicker on the bumper I am literally overcome by the beauty of rust, and I know as I peel the backing off my sticker I am once again blessed beyond my comprehension.
I was taking my daughter to her friend’s house last night. She’s an 18 yr old Hippie living in 2009. She’s been performing at a coffee house with her friends. She sings to me because my car doesn’t have a radio. She sang “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” by the Fairport Convention. I know …right? She sings from the back seat to the music on her I-pod. When her own voice breaks through her attempts to sound like someone else, I tear up. She’s good.
I briefly wonder if we have the same effect on God.
I got an obscure email from a stranger yesterday about cobwebs on my blog so I logged in. Sure enough there were cobwebs and much to my surprise new followers. I checked out his blog. I love this guy’s dedication to his family and his creative struggles with time. I’m thinking about a picture of his daughter in her bike helmet and the content of this particular entry as mine is singing. It makes me think of her at that age. The song she is singing is so fitting to what is going on in my head although she is unaware. Who knows where the time goes? My little girl is 18. A year has passed since a wish cast into the universe is manifest. My best friend is getting married. It’s been 3 months since I posted a blog. Who knows where the time goes? All this is running through my head as I offer her words of encouragement on her singing. I give her a few pointers on breathing that I learned in choir back in school. As she is getting out of the car she leans down and peers in at me. “I like how you encourage me mom. You’re good at it.” I cry all the way home knowing it’s been far too long since I’ve cleared out the cobwebs. It’s time to use my “voice” again. Just saying.
January 16, 2008
I was looking through one of those gossip magazines at work the day before yesterday. I casually glanced at my horoscope for kicks. It said to write down my career goals on the 14th. It happened to be the 14th. It seemed strange. I rarely look at these things and the one day that I do, it tells me to do something on the very day it just happens to be. I almost didn’t do it because I don’t believe in these things, and I don’t have any goals. After careful consideration I came up with nothing, so I wrote down “Call SSD and ask them to send information on the “Ticket to work Program.” I tossed the paper in my purse and forgot about it. When I got home the information was in the mail box. *SHOCK* Thank God Thank God Thank God! So I get up yesterday. I look in the mirror. My eyelids are baggy. I sigh, turn around and look at my butt. It’s four inches lower than it was before I went to bed. I turn on the shower. No hot water. It’s going to be one of those days. I call Eric and tell him. He says “I was just meditating and praying about how fortunate we are to have water at all. Poor countries don’t have any water.”
“I’m a poor country” I say. “No you have water. It’s just not hot” “Thanks a lot you Ass!” and I switch the subject to him and Deb. He’s feeling unworthy or something similar. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. I start to tell him that I think he deserves a woman that will be good to him. I tell him I think he’s a good man. I can tell he’s crying. He says he values my opinion. We hang up. The whole conversation lasted about 2 minutes. As I get off the toilet I ponder showering in cold water. I wash my hands. The water is hot. I dial him back. “Your water is hot isn’t it!” he says before I can tell him. Again I say Thank God, Thank God, Thank God!
Now, some may say the horoscope thing is absolutely coincidental. I’ll allow them that, but for me these kinds of “happenings” usually set into motion circumstances that I couldn’t have orchestrated, that are beyond my control. It gives me that feeling that Life is living me instead of the other way around. Feeling a bit like Neo in The Matrix, I do the next thing put in front of me. I called about the “Ticket to Work Program.” They did lots of evaluations, ability, and interest test. This process took months. Once I got things narrowed down I did a job shadow at a rehab hospital. This sealed the deal for me. What I saw during my time spent there was nothing short of progress in seemingly hopeless situations. It reminded me of…my life. I was hooked. Given my circumstances mobility is pretty fricken important to me, which would explain why I get frustrated by people who don’t move when they are perfectly capable. Do you know the type? I’m talking about seemingly physically healthy individuals that just don’t like to move. I don’t like it that I am judgmental like that, and I really try not to be. I certainly don’t know each person’s circumstances, but it’s like watching someone waste food or water when you’re not sure how long your own supply is going to last.
Anyway, it appears that you have to be a math magician to be accepted into the PTA program. Algebra is a requirement. I’m missing that chip, so I’m starting at the bottom of the mathematical mountain and I’m grinding my way up, only now I don’t have any gears. (I don’t just mean that metaphorically. I did finally get a Single Speed! WoooHooo!) Math is painful for me. Even the basics frustrate me to the point of tears. Just when I think I’m going to stall out, that I’m not going to stay on top of that pedal stroke, it breaks way underneath me, and understanding floods my mathematical muscles, but only momentarily. That old saying, “It’s just like riding a bike” isn’t true for me and math. Every time I get back on it I seem to have no memory of the rules it laid down on our last ride. Come to think of it I’ve never been good at following rules. I think my brain actually exploded in class today. We are forever destined to be strangers, Math and I, wondering what makes each other tick.
Math, along with everything else in my life reminds me of when I first learned to ride single track. I was always in the wrong gear. I picked the worst lines. I crashed a lot and I lost sight of what was in front of me frequently. I’d have rather walked down a hill than ride it for fear of crashing. Flow was rare and I needed new brake pads after every ride, and the soreness of, well you know… EVERYTHING was too much to bear the next day. This is how math makes me feel.
Sometimes when I’m in class I think about climbing the double at the ski area on my geared bike. I used to sit at the bottom of that hill and watch the crazy SOB’s that climbed it. I thought I would never be able to do it. Thank God I’m usually wrong about my abilities. I think about how it never gets physically “easier” to climb that hill, but the accomplishment and satisfaction that is felt when I’m at the top is worth the pain. I can’t put into words the confidence that is built just by riding a bike up a hill. I tried to recruit Eric into climbing it. I’ve never actually timed it but I bet it takes an Eternity to get to the top, if not five minutes. He followed me once about a third of the way up, called me crazy and went back down. The funny thing is he’s the one who told me the secret to climbing. He said my only concern is the five feet in front of me. That’s what he told me, so that’s what I do, and I make it… every time. I pray that the same will hold true with math.
Enough about math mountains; here I am a year later going to school. I’m excited and terrified about the decisions I’ve made. It’s taken some adjustment. Juggling kids, school, work and exercise is a double time job, and just as things start to feel right, my car takes a dump. The transmission died on the last day of the first week of class. Things just tend to work out for me like that. It did however carry me all the way back from Muskegon to my apartment in Grandville. In my mind this new development serves as confirmation that I won’t be going to school after all, and how could I be silly enough to believe that I was supposed to? I mean this whole thing developed from a random reading of a horoscope right? Psycho! So I do the next right thing. I discard the idea that I might be able to commute on my bike, and then...I panic. I realize how alone and wrong I am about pretty much everything. I call the ladies from my bible study to inform them that God answered their prayers by killing my car. I had just asked them the week before to pray for it, because it’s old, and I have to drive 80 miles a day for school. While I was telling Sue (our bible study leader) about my predicament she says “Well Jody, my Jodi is in Europe this week. You can just use her car.” Here I go chasing the white rabbit again.
I decide it’s too late to withdraw from classes and get a full refund. My car is too old and the transmission is to expensive fix. I don’t know how I’m going to finish the term, let alone my degree. I’ll never pass math anyway, and I could be in a chair any day now. I may as well give up. It was never realistic for me to go to school. I hate that my thinking takes a nose dive like this. I can chuckle now, but at the time this is all that is real to me. Fortunately instead of succumbing to what my head tells me I jump on her offer. Along with the relief comes the next wave of panic. What am I going to do after Jodi gets back?
I call my friend Speedy, who is a partial quadriplegic. He is in part what inspired my program choice. This guy is incredible. He does more than most able bodied people I know. He used to be a car salesman. He has connections. He said he would try to help me out. As he is hanging up the phone he tells me not to worry and he adds “Think Toyota!” Whatever, I’m just thinking wheels at this point. I don’t care what kind. I spend the next several days looking for a dirt cheap car, and putting the word out that I need help. Fortunately for me, my niece who isn’t allowed to drive lets me borrow her car for the time being while I try to figure something out.
In the midst of all this I get a call from a friend of mine who just broke up with her fiance`. She is very upset and just needs to talk. She goes on to tell me that before she met him she made a list of what she wants in a mate. He fit that description to a “T”. There is only one problem. She’s no longer attracted to him. I did what I do in these types of situations. I said something highly inappropriate but hilarious. “Yeah I feel your pain. The next list I make I’m going to ask that he not look like Yoda!” It worked. She laughed. The only reason I even mention this is because it loosely ties into my next coincidence.
At the end of January I received an email from my friend who works at the church. She told me that she had a friend who had a car he wanted to donate. She sent me pictures. It was a Toyota and the pictures were titled Yoda! It’s a stretch but my brain will make the leap if it means a good laugh. He’s ugly but he’s got a really good heart. The cool thing is the rust feature. The spots are bi-laterally symmetrical. Michelle gave me a “LOVE WINS” sticker when I brought in a thank-you card for her to give to her anonymous friend. On my way to bible study Tuesday night I stopped at the wash so I could put the sticker on a clean surface. Another bonus feature of the car was revealed. I no longer have to wash my left breast or pit on days that I take it through the wash. This could save time in the mornings. I’ve decided to keep toiletries in the console. As I get out of the car to put the sicker on the bumper I am literally overcome by the beauty of rust, and I know as I peel the backing off my sticker I am once again blessed beyond my comprehension.
I was taking my daughter to her friend’s house last night. She’s an 18 yr old Hippie living in 2009. She’s been performing at a coffee house with her friends. She sings to me because my car doesn’t have a radio. She sang “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” by the Fairport Convention. I know …right? She sings from the back seat to the music on her I-pod. When her own voice breaks through her attempts to sound like someone else, I tear up. She’s good.
I briefly wonder if we have the same effect on God.
I got an obscure email from a stranger yesterday about cobwebs on my blog so I logged in. Sure enough there were cobwebs and much to my surprise new followers. I checked out his blog. I love this guy’s dedication to his family and his creative struggles with time. I’m thinking about a picture of his daughter in her bike helmet and the content of this particular entry as mine is singing. It makes me think of her at that age. The song she is singing is so fitting to what is going on in my head although she is unaware. Who knows where the time goes? My little girl is 18. A year has passed since a wish cast into the universe is manifest. My best friend is getting married. It’s been 3 months since I posted a blog. Who knows where the time goes? All this is running through my head as I offer her words of encouragement on her singing. I give her a few pointers on breathing that I learned in choir back in school. As she is getting out of the car she leans down and peers in at me. “I like how you encourage me mom. You’re good at it.” I cry all the way home knowing it’s been far too long since I’ve cleared out the cobwebs. It’s time to use my “voice” again. Just saying.
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