Good Windshield Wipers

"Everything has beauty,

but not everyone sees it."

-- Confucius

Glasses with windshield wipers 10-21-14

"Dirk turned on the car wipers, which grumbled 

because they didn't have quite enough rain to wipe away,

so he turned them off again. 

Rain quickly speckled the windscreen. 

He turned on the wipers again, but they still 

refused to feel that the exercise was worthwhile, 

and scraped and squeaked in protest."

-- Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

It's that time of year, when it rains a little almost every day, and a lot on others.

Yesterday I had to drive in it, and I was really glad to have a good set of windshield wipers.

Before long I'll be driving through snow and sleet and salt and slush and freezing rain and "wintry mix" and all of the other shit that makes seeing through my windshield really troublesome.

It may sound completely and utterly cockamamie, but I think it's good to be able to see through my windshield when I'm driving and Mother Nature is mercilessly flinging crap at me.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Time for the "One Good Thing Automotive Maintenance Minute."

Did you know you should replace your car's wiper blades every six months, or as soon as they interfere with your visibility? If they squeak, chatter, skip, smear or streak, that means they're shit and it's probably a good idea to get new ones.

A Good Traveling Companion

"Travel is like life in this, at least,

that a genial companion divides the troubles 

and doubles the joys."

-- Percival Lowell, Atlantic Monthly (Jan. 1891)

"Life" game cars and drivers 6-22-14

"And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions ... "

-- Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

I took a road trip to Michigan for my nephew's 11th birthday party yesterday.

It was only a couple of hours' drive, but I didn't feel like making it alone. My husband and Leo had stuff going on, but Sam said he'd tag along if I would drive so that he could ride shotgun and do homework for the summer classes he's taking.

So with our travel mugs brimming with fresh hot coffee, we ventured forth, just we two.

It was a brilliant June day, so we rolled down the windows and opened the sun roof on my little VW Rabbit. I kept the radio to a low murmur so Sam could write his paper. We chatted briefly off and on, now and then, about nothing in particular. We argued with the GPS for taking us on the jankiest route possible. He handed me tissues when I dribbled coffee down my chin.

After the party, which was very nice, we did it all over again.

We stopped at Tim Horton's for fresh hot decaf and donut holes.

It was a brilliant June evening, so we opened the sun roof. I listened to the Indians-Tigers game at a low murmur so he could work on his paper some more. We chatted briefly off and on, now and then, about nothing in particular. We shut off the GPS and trusted our own navigational skills. He handed me bite-sized chunks of donuts.

I remember the very first road trip Sam and I took together.

He was two months old and we were moving from Ohio to Michigan for a two-year stretch. My husband had gone ahead with the movers, so it was just Sam and me in my Chevy pickup truck. It was a brilliant July day. Strapped in beside me in his little car seat, Sam snoozed most of the way. I kept the radio to a low murmur so it wouldn't wake him. I talked to him briefly, off and on, now and then, about nothing in particular. I swabbed his face with tissues when he drooled down his chin.

I remember looking into his sleeping baby face searching for the grown-up man he'd be someday.

These days I catch myself looking into his grown-up face searching for the baby he once was.

Sam got an award at the end of his freshman college year for being the "Most Driven" student in his field of study. I know what they meant -- that he is feverishly pursuing ambitious goals in order to get where he's going as soon as he can.

Personally, I kind of prefer the slower paced manner in which he was driven yesterday -- in the passenger seat, at a more leisurely pace, without his foot on the gas, just along for the ride.

Can't Call Me A Cab

"I had to quit my taxi cab driving job because I had no way to get to work.

The problem was I kept calling myself to come pick me up."

-- Jarod Kintz, I Should Have Renamed This

Crushing a taxi under my boot heel 6-3-14

"Cosmo, call me a cab."

"OK, you're a cab."

--"Don Lockwood" and "Cosmo Brown,"  

Singin' In The Rain

Drop off. Pick up. Drop off. Repeat.

Yesterday was Leo's 16th birthday, which means today he should be getting his driver's license, which means my days as his taxi driver are finally over.

(Insert sound of singing angels here.)

It also means I get my car back all to myself, because Leo is getting his own. He's been using mine to practice his driving for the past several months. Which is fine. Whatever. 

The thing that really makes me crazy, though, is that every time he drives my car he readjusts the seat and wheel so extremely to accommodate his much-bigger-than-me frame, that when I step back into the driver's seat I feel like I'm tumbling backwards into a very deep hole.

Also, I really love driving my little car and am tired of being relegated to the passenger seat all the time or hearing "Mom, can you come get me?" when I'm completely covered in body paint or the glue on my fake beard has just finally set up. 

No more scheduling my appointments around someone else's busy schedule. 

No more hearing that exasperated teen-boy sigh when I tell him "You'll have to find a ride tomorrow."

I'd like to give a huge One Good Thing Taxi Driver Shout Out to my husband, who's borne a huge share of the taxi duties, to Sam, who drove Miss Daisy a shit ton before he left for college,  and to all of Leo's buddies who've given him countless rides and helped a sister out -- Ty, Mikey, Preston -- I owe all of you guys a fat juicy steak.

Despite all of my grumblings here, I am extremely proud of Leo for practicing hard and earning the privilege and responsibility of having a driver's license. He's also been extremely patient. He's one of the youngest guys in his class, which means his friends have already been driving all year while he's been stuck thumbing rides and waiting for his mommy to come pick him up. 

So it hasn't been easy for him either.

All kidding aside, though, I will miss the time we've spent together, just us two, running errands and going no place in particular so he could log his driving hours, cracking me up with his endless rambling stories and terrible jokes, sunroof open, blasting Creedence on the CD player, me lecturing him on lane changes or defensive driving or blind spots or how to navigate the car wash. Him saying "Mom, I know!" 

A whole lot of significance will be packed into that split second later today, when he looks up at the camera and it snaps a shitty little portrait of him at the most important moment of his young life so far. I feel extremely lucky that I get to be the one who is there to bear witness for him. 

It'll be sweet for both of us.

It'll be a little tender for one of us.

You're finally free, kid. 

You can get into your own car, and drive where you want to, when you want to. 

So can I.

Mad Navigational Skillz

"I may not have gone where I intended to go,

but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."

-- Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

Toy car and map 3-12-14

"The ability to tell a good route from a terrible one

is a valuable skill when leading an expedition.

Unfortunately for us all, it was a skill I did not possess."

-- Tahir Shah, 

House of the Tiger King: The Quest for a Lost City

I'm no Amerigo Vespucci, but I was pretty darn proud of myself yesterday for navigating my way home after my dinosaur of a GPS finally kicked the bucket.

I was on a little road trip to an unfamiliar town, and was about an hour and 45 minutes from home when the gizmo conked out. Luckily, my atrophied navigational skills kicked in. I relied on road signs and instinct, and even though I missed my exit for the toll road, I didn't panic. I just kept following the signs, heading North and West, until I was back on track. I didn't mind the detour either. The scenery was better on this alternate route. I drove past a big pink candy factory.

Also, I knew that if the situation got dire I had a map in my glove box -- the real, accordion-folded paper kind. Remember those?

I remember car trips with my parents. Some of their best bickering happened with Dad at the wheel and Mom with her feet propped up on the dash, a road Atlas across her knees. He'd bark "Damn it! Marilyn, what do I do?" And she'd casually enumerate his potential options, pointing with her pinkie fingernail at possibilities he had to choose from, discussing what he could do as the exit loomed fast and hard. Then she'd say "Here!" He'd yell "Son of a pup!" and swerve our big yellow Colony Park station wagon across three lanes of traffic, barely catching the off-ramp.

Instead of the "navigator" he called her the "aggravator."

Even though GPS has undoubtedly saved some marriages and prevented some collisions, it's startling how completely we've come to rely on and trust electronic navigational tools. In days of yore, I used to map out a trip beforehand by looking at an actual map. I'd write directions on a notepad. I used my brain and my innate abilities, such as they were.

Now, even though I head out with a destination in mind, I often have no real understanding of the route between point A and point B. I don't pay much attention to where I am, or where I'm going. Even though I'm technically in the driver's seat, with cruise control and GPS I feel like a non-participant in the journey. It's like being spoon-fed. I just blindly trust the robot voice inside the magical whatchamacallit to faithfully deliver me from here to there. I have no backup plan because time after time the whatchamacallit gets me there without fail. 

Until it failed.

Granted, it wasn't a very complicated route home, and as I said, I did fuck it up a little. Nevertheless, I was glad to have my skills tested and to find out that I actually do still have some, even if they are a bit rusty. And frankly, it was kind of nice not having the bossy GPS bitch riding my ass the whole time.