What To Do?

Something drastic happened this week leaving me plagued with indecision.  My wife left me…and took the kids (most of them)…on vacation.

Heading to Kentucky, she and the book ends are attending her family reunion.  The middle child’s in East Texas with a couple of friends, jumping off cliffs into a mining pit and other things he’ll be too sane to do when his brain matures.  And I’m home…all alone.

If the last sentence made you sad, you don’t know me.  I love my family, but were it not for a bubbly personality and some well fitting gym shorts I’d be a reclusive bachelor today.  I don’t regret marrying and having children, best decisions I ever made, but deep within always lives a hermit.  And only on the rare occasion does he to be expressed for more than a few hours.

I had the weekend completely to myself.  It was spent in a recliner, strumming and watching TV shows; some awaiting me on DVR for weeks, others just discovered.  I’m almost caught up on “Doc Martin”, a British show about a man who embodies my antisocial ‘Mr. Hyde’.  I discovered a new reality, HGTV-esk show on TLC that has me fascinated, “Buying Naked”, about a real estate agent for nudist colonies (lots of pixelating).  All enjoyed to the softly rolling tunes of a 5-string banjo I’ve had and played since college but, except for my daughter, never in front of anyone.

Later today I pick up the East Texas cliff-diver.  He too possesses the inner-hermit.  Not to the extent that I do, but, certainly more than other 16-year-olds, he’s content to dwell in his own ‘alone but not lonely’ world.  We’ll acknowledge one-another as we pass, have supper together and spending an hour or so engaged in some sort of father-son bonding activity each day.  Beyond that we’ll do our own things, because that’s how we’re made…and because there’s no facilitator in the area.  That leaves about 22 hours a day of time to fill.

I’ll keep strumming the banjo to prerecorded television shows, but, after a couple days of sedentary relaxation, I need to move.  The garage needs cleaning, the driveway needs grading and bagworms need spraying, so I’m considering putting rails around the tree house (which is more a tree observation deck), planting love grass on the slope on the north side of the house or making a bridge to get out to the pond ‘deck’ (which would be a pond ‘dock’ if Mother Nature would loosen up and throw us a few more inches of rain). 

For whatever reason, doing what needs doing isn’t nearly so calming and enjoyable as doing something…anything else.  I have but a few precious weeks of vacation, so getting the needed chores done in a timely fashion is important, but so is relaxing, and I doubt my last words will have anything to do with prepping the driveway for gravel.  So the question remains: what to do?

Lessons From the Road

Nearly 2500 miles in seven days was the count when the wife and I came rolling home last night.  A risky proposition, spending 40 hours in the car with a person you’ve spend a quarter century with (we feel a lot younger than that sounds), knowing you can’t afford a divorce.  But we survived, even prospered… and I learned.

Not about our marriage, I’m at a loss as to why the wife tolerates me, but I learned about other drivers.  So with vacation season upon us, in the spirit of sharing, let me give you the skinny.

What you hope to see isn’t what you’ll get.  Windshield scenery fell short of anticipation heading through the southeastern United States. We hoped to see tall forests, swamps, hills and lots variety.  We spent 40 hours in a hedge maze; sometimes a dry maze, sometimes a rainy maze, but a maze; a dark gray trail between two walls of vegetation.

Speed limits are an average.  Like a hand in boiling water and the other in ice, nobody drives the actual number.  If there’re two lanes going one direction the right lane will be the 5-15 under lane with the left flowing 5-15 over.  If you’re interested in getting there in a timely fashion, but not a ticket there’re going to be some lane changes.  If there’s only one lane each direction you can count on the under in front and the over behind…very closely behind…like a creepy dude grinding you in a Disney Park line.

It’s wrong to anger another person…but it’s fun.  Generally considering anyone driving a shoddier car than myself to be bad at making decisions…or, like me, a teacher…I passed a family who hadn’t made a decent choice in years.  The driver, a big dude (dad?), yelled emphatically at a passenger, a smaller lady (mom?), as though she’d stolen his Funyuns.  Her response, exhaustion and minimal concern, hinted at experience.  I glanced undetected as I passed and watched in the rearview pulling away.  A few miles down the road, exiting the interstate to find a restaurant, I drove several miles through some seedy parts of Winter Park, FL.  Signaling to turn at the appropriate light in what I hoped was an improving neighborhood, oncoming traffic was heavy so I sat and waited.

In the rear view I noticed the decision makers approaching, neither signaling to turn nor changing lanes.  They slammed to a stop and sat behind me for a minute or so, still discussing the Funyuns, took an opening and squealed around (this might’ve been aggression, or it might’ve been an old fan belt).  Just past the intersection the younger male (son) in the rear driver’s side seat used a single finger to wave goodbye out the window.  It was the highlight of the evening to that point.

Even with excessive windshield time I had a great week, celebrating a silver anniversary, sweating out Disney and surviving the French Quarter.  I was blessed to recall why I’d asked for my wife’s hand those many years ago, got to see her wrestle a gator…and learned a few lessons from the road.