Driving (me nuts)

We are off on a road trip today, up to Monterey to witness Stepdaughter #1's high school graduation. Stepdaughter #2, who has been a student missionary in Pohnpei, has just arrived home and we are also looking forward to seeing her.

So as I think about sitting in the passenger side of the car for the next 7 hours, one of the first images that comes to mind is that of Sam humming his little motivational tune while he scurries in and out of traffic.

It has taken time, but I think I'm finally resigned to the fact that although I have driven safely and without a ticket my entire life, my driving will never be good enough for Sam. When I pick him up from work and drive us home he moves between offering panicky advice, sighing in disgust, and making disapproving grunting sounds. It used to make me furious: my options are to either have a running commentary on my driving, or start the day in knots because of Sam's driving. We tear down the hill from our house like we're revving up for the Indy500, flying down the freeway at 80 mph, darting between cars, Sam accusing drivers who are more tentative of being "idiots" and impugning their motives. For a peace loving introvert like me, this is shocking and difficult. Unless I intentionally toughen up and remind myself that this is probably a manifestation of gender differences more than a statement about Sam's character or my supposed inferiority as a driver.

According to Bill Doherty at the University of Minnesota, men are socialized to fulfill three things: Protecting, Propagating, and Providing. I have added to this list, Problem solving, much to the glee and approval of my female students. Perhaps Sam feels that he is playing the role of protector, provider, and problem-solver when he takes over the wheel, although my received benefits do not correlate with his motives. Women are more nurturing and relational, which is why fewer incidents of road rage involve women. Men tend to be more competitive and take insults less personally--all as part of the game. Perhaps that's why some of the loveliest men I know turn into bad tempered race car drivers when they slip into the driver's seat.

The role of the radio for male drivers is also significant: it has to be on, and loud. After Sam and I got married, we took a 13-hour road trip up to New York to visit my parents. He had the radio on the whole way, but it was on the Scan function and for over 7 hours it scanned up and down the dial, lingering for a few moments on a few words here and a snatch of music there. I was a newlywed and didn't want to be intolerant so I didn't say anything, content to observe how it all played out. The effect of that radio on my mental state was not positive, however, and I finally asked Sam if we could turn it off. "Oh, yeah." Almost as if he didn't realize it was on. My father used to play classical music in the car, loud enough to make us feel as though we were driving along in a moving orchestra pit. Some of my earliest memories are of us kids falling asleep in the back of the car, my father at the wheel, peering into the darkness while a lone violin battled with static over the airwaves.

There is something else that I've noticed about male drivers. I don't know why this is, but both Sam and my father have added snippets of music to the travel mix whenever they try to do something a bit daring while driving. Daddy always had this thready, nasal whistle that he did through his teeth whenever he got lost. I always knew we were in for a meander through the country when he started to whistle softly, almost under his breath. Sam hums a gleeful five note motif whenever he is ready to dart between cars or maneuver us toward an exit from the fast lane. I don't think I could reproduce what he hums, but as soon as I hear it I know to close my eyes. That way, I become less upset with the possible calamities that could befall us as the car hurtles through traffic. I'd rather not know what hits me than to see the whole thing unfold into my lap. This little trick was learned from my friend who had tremendous conflict with her speed demon of a husband during their first years of married life. They finally worked it out that he would say, "Close your eyes, Shelly" and she would, taking a deep, bracing breath. It would be over and she would be spared the terror of wondering how her life might end. It also saved them from many a blow up about his driving.

So we are off today--in a cloud of dust, I might add. My offers to drive on these trips are met with an eye-rolling sigh and Sam taking a tighter hold on the keys. Maybe I will start singing "Libera me, Domine de morte in dia illa tremenda!" from Verdi's Requiem at full throttle or pull a paper sack over my head when things get a bit dicey. Two can play this game...

Mother's Day

I went over to the Villa on Mother's Day for their annual Mother's Day Brunch. We were seated with the former chaplain and his wife, and we had a wonderful time. It was great to be over there with Mother. She is finally doing well, happy, and looking chipper most of the time. I think this is my favorite picture of her, of all time (above). I can only hope I am as beautiful as she is when I am 80.

When Mother was a child she was told that you're to look dignified when taking pictures. In particular, "...don't show your teeth like a gopher." So over the years, she's sent me these awful pictures of herself looking miserable--her mouth clamped shut into a straight line, a severe expression on her face. Without knowing the injunctions she had as a child, I just figured that she enjoyed looking haggard or like a martyr. I tucked many of them away and tried not to look at them because I always felt bad assuming that she was as miserable as she looked. In this picture, I had just told her that I was tired of having these mental images of her and that now I'd like to have a big grin from her. You can see that she is trying it out here, standing in front of her painting. Her eyes got the idea but her mouth didn't.

We tried again down by the flower garden. Mother was getting slap-happy from all the posing and instructions. I said, "Just look natural." She ended up looking good and sauced. "I look like three sheets to the wind!" she laughed. So we stopped trying. It would only be spontaneous shots from here on out. We cracked up and went back inside.

This is one of Mother's friends, good old Charles. She knew his wife and he knew my father over 50 years ago. When they discovered this a year ago, they became fast friends. They are the same age and both have jolly dispositions. He tells me wryly, "My job is to keep your mother humble." He teases her unmercifully and she gives it right back. When he saw that Mother had changed out of her brunch clothes he commented on it, then added piously, "I decided to sacrifice and stay dressed up in honor of all the mothers around here."
Without up a pause Mother shot back, "How big of you!" and they both laughed uproariously. She plunked down on his walker and they kept up a banter as I barked at them to "give it a little dignity." Charles whispered to Mother, "I think that woman is trying to tell us what to do." She rolled her eyes. That brought forth gales of laughter again. Seeing Mother so happy was truly the best thing on Mother's Day.

Hypertensive Waterfowl

Found here

Some people hold their health uppermost in their minds. It has become a way of life for them. They eschew sugar and salt naturally and find it easy to bypass wonderful dishes like cream sauce, Godiva chocolate, and brisket. As you well know, I am not one of these individuals. (But fill me with enough brown rice, oatmeal and beans, and I can hardly stomach the thought of any of this).
Mother is. She always has been. Yes, there have been times when my sister sent her a 5 lb. box of See's Chocolates that she hid under the bed so she could eat them all, and a few episodes of ice cream bingeing with my father while watching television in the evening. But for the most part, she sets her face like a flint, as it were, and marches (self-righteously) straight past the desserts. Hers is a world of flaxseed, whole wheat, and vegetables without any sauce, salt, lemon juice, or dressing on them. Let's not forget her "Health Cookies" --even the name makes me shudder. They were awful brown things full of seeds, nuts, raisins, carob, and no sugar. The sheer weight of them was noteworthy. Mother's middle name should have been "Healthy."

Some weeks ago I asked Mother if she would take my old bread and crackers so she could feed them to the ducks, coots, and heron that are in the ponds at the VA. That is where she and her friend walk every morning.
"I have some stale crackers here, some old bread, and these old goldfish crackers that have to go. Oh, and if you can take these stale muffins, that would be great, too."
Mother eyed them skeptically.
"Honey, these are full of sugar and salt. People shouldn't eat them and I'd hate to think what they will do to those birds."
I was surprised. "But they eat slugs and frogs. Surely this is a step above that for them, don't you think?"
She shook her head. "Those ducks are getting fat. It's all that white bread that people have been feeding them. Their arteries must be a sight."
Mother shot a baleful glance at the crackers. "That will give them high blood pressure."
Indeed.
I have had hypertension in the past and it felt awful: throbbing temples, blurred vision, palpitations. I thought I was dying. Would this happen to waterfowl as well? I would not want to see heron falling out of trees, or ducks lying on the grass with their necks straight out, trying to cope with hypertensive headaches--bless their hearts. But then, I'm not sure that they would be bothered. Does anyone out there know? I'd never thought of this before.

So the crackers went into the trash. They shall feed mice at the city dump and so they can deal with the hypertension and obesity epidemic that has hit this country. Bon Appetit!

Amarilli

I well remember stumbling across an old Italian art song entitled Amarilli, by Giullio Caccini, 1601. It is a plaintive but lovely song, written in the bel canto style. Such songs are to be sung very smoothly and gently, but the final rendition may vary due to the singer's interpretation. Most singers have to learn it as standard vocal pedagogy. I used to sing it in big hollow buildings where it would echo and resound.
It is about a beautiful woman named Amarrilli whose heart is written on his heart. I'm sure there is a story there, but to be honest, I can't make heads or tails of it from the old Italian lyrics. So on Mother's Day, while walking through the garden behind Mother's apartment, I thought of this song and snapped a few pictures.

Amarilli, mia bella

Non credi, o del mio cor dolce desio,

D'esser tu l'amor mio?

Credilo pur, e se timor t'assale,

Prendi questo mio strale,

Aprimi il petto e vedrai scritto in core:

Amarilli, Amarilli, Amarailli è il mio amore

Amarilli, lovely Amarilli

Believest thee not,

oh my heart's sweet desire

tis thou my heart aspires?

Believe, tis true: yet should a dread besiege thee

doubt not, tis vanerip my bosom open,

and there inscribed you'll see Amarilli,

Amarilli, Amaraillys

My sweetest love art thee

Paying the Piper

For the last several months I have awakened in the morning asking God to help me get healthy. So many things have sabotaged my efforts: surprise departmental luncheons (with delicious macadamia nut-chocolate chip-coconut cookies--to die for!), fatigue, and such a busy schedule with writing deadlines and new course preparation that I haven't been able to go walking or exercise. I think the devil is trying to kill me by keeping me so off-balance that I've neglected my own health.

Sam and I were invited to a student's house for lunch. She and her mother live close to school and church, so we went over straight away after church. Lo and behold, they are participating in the CHIP program and our meal was a CHIP-approved menu. We like healthy food, so we really enjoyed what we were served: Fruit smoothies to start out with, followed by well cooked beans (without salt) over brown rice. We also had salsa on top. There was a side dish of steamed asparagus and also an enormous salad with home made balsamic viniagrette (there was the slightest amount of olive oil in it). Then for dessert we had fresh fruit compote: strawberries, blueberries, and mango in a lovely cooked pineapple sauce. It was light, cool, and lovely.

We ate to the full and were satisfied. Interestingly enough, we were both hungry in four hours, even given the quantity of food that we'd ingested. It was so light and free of heavy stuff that neither of us can digest, like oil, eggs, butter, bread, or milk products.

It was perfect timing, and a real answer to my prayers. Sam and I were so encouraged and impressed with the food we had eaten that we came home and started right in on the CHIP program ourselves. It is quite stringent in the beginning, but because I've been feeling so bad lately with crunching knees, gastric refulx, shortness of breath, GI distress, and sleep apnea, I am willing to do whatever it takes to get off the weight and improve my overall health. At my age, health improvement and better looks do not happen by accident.

We have just completed three days of eating only brown rice, oatmeal (for breakfast) and fruit smoothies. I am sick unto death of brown rice--the thought of it makes me want to choke! Probably because I've been eating it cold for lunch and too much of it. We also start off the day with a potion that just about makes our lives pass before us: a whizzed up concoction of garlic, lemon juice, fresh ginger, and onion. It is enough to make my hair stand on end. Sam slugs it back but I find it particularly vile. It is supposed to cleanse the body. I have a huge glassful of it in the morning. Surprisingly, we don't have the awful breath that we thought would accompany this drink, no heartburn, and no rapid GI emptying (not that you had to know, but I'm sure you wondered!)

Tonight we had beans, rice, and salsa. Beans never looked or tasted so good! I suppose that our bodies will need to adjust to the quantity of beans we will be eating. We could probably levitate from the methane output around here tonight! Now that we've gone through three days of detoxification we can have a much wider variety of food but no dairy, oil, salt, meat, or bread. Bread can be added later. We suspect that we are both allergic to wheat, but we will find out by going without it for a couple weeks.

So far, so good. Sam is sure that our faces are a bit slimmer. My pants are already feeling loose, and we are sleeping much better. We are not hungry in the least and feel satisfied with our meals. I don't want to go back to the richer food because I feel so much better now.

These comments are not meant to imply that all my readers should try this lifestyle program. But we have and are delighted. It is the second time for me and the results were excellent--I never felt better in my life.
It is an adventure!

Don't tell me I can't!

When we first moved into our house, the kitchen was almost Sam's undoing. We needed all of the appliances to be replaced. When the stove went in we ended up with a gas leak. The electric company came out and took care of that immediately. We noted that although we replaced all of the appliances, none of them are the same brand. We have Maytag, Frigidaire, Kenmore, and G.E., even though they are all white. I doubt anyone would notice this (except that now since I've mentioned it here, visitors will be taking note of our appliance smorgasbord). Then when the dishwasher went in the installers ripped up the tile edging a bit. So we have a rough area over the dishwasher that needs to be repaired. It is also quite awkward to cook or mix anything up in this kitchen. There is space to the right of the refrigerator, or the left of the stove. But it seems strange to have to walk over into the corner to cook.
I resolved to build an island as soon as we moved in. Sam was dubious. I have had lots of wild hare ideas about what I'd like to do: built-ins upstairs in the bathroom, downstairs entertainment center, replacing the tile on the bathroom floors--Of course I think I can do everything as long as it isn't too hard and I have instructions.
Well, I am happy to say that Project #1 is finished. The kitchen island. It still needs to be moved forward a bit so as not to cramp the stove area. But here it is. I am so delighted. And yes, I made it.

On my way on Route 261

Palouse Falls State Park area

Last weekend I flew up to Spokane to speak at a women's conference. Afterward I drove over to Walla Walla to visit my friends. I had a wonderful time with Joyful Woman and Husband, as he is affectionately referred to in her blog.


I hadn't realized how tired I was because as soon as I got there I plunked down in the chair and didn't think I could get out of it. Nor did I want to for the rest of my time there.


I got to spend time with my friend, Betty, and see former colleagues. It was a great time, but it ended all too quickly. My plan was to drive out of town at noon and instead of taking the (boring) freeway system back to Spokane, I'd go up the back way, as it's known. That means, up through the quaint towns of Waitsburg and Dayton right on Route 12, then out toward Lewiston and due north to Spokane from there. I used to make this drive every week when I was commuting over to Montana to teach, so I felt that I knew the route fairly well. So off I went, thinking that I'd just recognize landmarks as I went. Eschewing a map, I took off about 12:10. My plane was due to leave at 4:15, so a three hour's drive would get me there just about the right time.


Last time I drove this route was four years ago.


Maybe that's all that needs to be said.


As I sailed along in my zillion horsepower Pontiac rmmm rmmm car, I flew past a turn off that seemed to go down a hill into a valley. It was a large, rather important looking road. Maybe that was where I was supposed to go. I thought I was supposed to turn off somewhere. This was Route 261. Hmmmm. I pulled off the road and called Sam.


"Honey, get onto MapQuest right away."


I knew from Sam's humming under his breath that he was finding this to be an interesting challenge. He always hums when he cuts in front of someone on the freeway, or maneuvers around a big truck. So humming Sam logged onto the computer.


"I'm on 12 going toward Lewiston" I began. "Do you see where that is on the map?"


A few minutes later, he agreed that indeed he saw it.


"Now, my question to you is, am I supposed to keep going on 12 toward Lewiston?"


"Let's see..." he seemed to be scanning over the map. "I think that you need to go North somewhere."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. But is it on 261, or is it further on down 12?"


There was a pause. "How far are you out of Dayton?"


"About 13 miles."


"Hmmm...Are you near the turnoff for Lewiston yet?"


"I think it's further down the road."


To be honest, I don't remember what was said, but somewhere in the back and forth, I got the distinct impression that I was to go down that important looking road into the valley. So I sallied forth.


It was a most desolate place, even though it was beautiful. I didn't really recognize anything, but I told myself, I hadn't been over that road for several years and I'm not known for my good sense of direction. Funny, I didn't meet anyone on the road. In fact, I'm not sure when I have been in such a remote area. It was just this road that kept going down into a ravine and there didn't seem to be any kind of civilization anywhere. In a way, it was refreshing to realize that there are still places in America like this. I just didn't think I wanted to be in one when my flight was to leave in just a few hours.

The road started inclining upward. I passed by Palouse Falls State Park. Something wasn't right because I knew I wasn't supposed to go by that. But I kept on. I was doing just what my husband had told me to do and I would not deviate from the instructions I had taken down: Go North on 261 until you hit 127. Then it will take you to... So I was looking for 127.
My car popped up out of the ravine and in front of me was a winding road that seemed to go into the heart of Nowheresville. Where in the world was I?

I stopped and called Sam.
"Honey, I'm not in Kansas anymore."
"What? Excuse me?"
"I think I'm lost."
"Are you on 12?"
"No. I turned off on 261 like you told me to."
"I didn't tell you to do that. I told you to keep going on toward Lewiston until you came to 127."
"No you didn't...Can I keep going north on this road?"
He was humming again. "No. Your best bet is to turn around and go back to 12."
"That's 20 miles away!"
"Well then go to Starbuck and you'll hit 127 there."
Starbuck was about 13 miles away. I looked at my watch. It was 2:30. I'd have to hustle. I was still a good hour from Spokane, I thought.
So I wheeled around and stepped on it. 80 mph down through the ravine, up on the other side, and around corners all the way to Starbuck. I passed a little white car with a man in it who was peering out of his window, seeming lost, too. At Starbuck I stopped at a diner. The lady inside told me that my best bet was to go all the way back to 12 and then on toward Lewiston.

Off I flew, setting a new speed limit for those parts. But of course, it was doubtful that any police officer was within 50 miles, it was so desolate. Once I got back onto Route 12, I noticed that the airport was 104 miles away. I called Sam.
"Honey, I'm going to miss my plane. Even if I drive like Jehu I won't make it in time to catch the plane. See if you can get my flight changed."

It's a long story. But I drove into the car rental place at the airport at 4:15. I had missed my plane, but Sam had gotten me another flight. Surprisingly, I wasn't very stressed out about it. I just knew that once again my poor sense of direction had gotten the better of me. But more than that, I realized that it is very hard to know where you're going if you haven't even looked at a map.
It's like that in life. There are so many situations that we just muddle forward in without any instruction or guidance because that's just how it is. It's unclear whom to ask about the situation or what to do about it all. So as the Old Testament prophets read, "Every man did what was right in his own eyes." Just like me out in Palouse Falls State Park. I shall probably keep a map in the car now, and be sure that I follow the instructions in getting from one place to another.
It was a gorgeous drive, going and coming back. But it was not without consequences.