We All Meet At Walker...

My mum is a 71 year old woman.

I love her.  She has many amazing qualities.  Driving isn't one of them.

Today, she's taking me to an appointment in the city.  I take off my glasses as I slide into her car.  Not being able to see helps to relieve the quadricep spasms I experience as I stomp on the imaginary pedals on the passenger side of her car.

It's about twenty minutes on a nicely maintained two-lane highway to get from our house to the city.  There's a few deaths every couple years as the highway is probably a little busier than it should be, and people get antsy commuting back and forth.  They keep putting more money into making the road smoother, rather than wider, so it invites the perfect combination of frustration and speeding.

People like my mum can add to the frustration.

As my mum tells me what's been happening at church, the needle of the speedometer wanders around the speed limit like it's playing a game of "hot and cold".  Cars come up behind us, then take their opportunities to pass.  Halfway there, a Charger comes up hard, and stays glued a few feet back, aggressively peeking in and out from behind us.  After a few minutes, he takes a chance that's just shy of comfortable, cuts back into the lane and roars off.

My mum stops her story to acknowledge him with a shrug and says, "We all meet at Walker," then continues telling me about the going-ons of the after-church McDonald's breakfast club.  (so much less fun than the Judd Nelson, Molly Ringwald version)

My mum segues to a vegetable cutting story and I look at the day.  Blue sky. White clouds. The drone of the tires.  We have about 20 minutes to get to an appointment 15 minutes away.  In my mum's story, someone is recognizing her for the work she does, and you can see how much it boosts her ego and affirms her worth.  She beams in the retelling, like it's happening all over again.

Walker is one of the first main intersections leading to the city.  Though the speed limit stays the same, it's the start of traffic lights, which really break up the highway feel.  As we pull up to the red light, I see the Charger, two cars up.

We all meet at Walker.  And my mum chirps on merrily about the lasagna her friend Susie made for her.

Day Off... So No Plans.

I've just spent last night dealing with a kidney stone.  I don't know what was missing from the first one that didn't convince me to drink more water, but two years later, there I was dealing with another.  So much pain that you're on your hands and knees crawling, anywhere, just anywhere but here.  So much pain that the contents of your stomach abandon you, like a fairweather friend who sees what's coming.

So today I'm fine, but a mess.  Nothing hurts, but I feel like I need to just sleep.  Carol's taken the boys shopping, so I put on anything fleece and find the sun's rays on the couch.  There's so much to do.  The lawn needs mowing, the sink needs fixing, bathrooms need cleaning, laundry needs folding.  I feel the guilt of all the tasks, but my body doesn't cooperate.  Everything outside of this fleece blanket feels so cold, and my spine slumps like a piece of paper expected to stand on its own.

Netflix.  Carol and I watch certain series together, so it's always a hunt for something she won't like to watch on my own.  I don't know what it was about The Detectorists that was so awesome, and made me so sad that it was only one season.

But now I'm watching Flaked.  I don't know if Carol would like it or not, but I'm on episode 3 so it's too late to ask.  It's me in my 20's.  Even the music is me in my 20's.  And there's so much nostalgia wrapped up in a show playing now, about a man my age living now.  It's me then, but now.  If that makes any sense.

The fifteen second warning for the next episode comes on, and it rolls into the next.

Episode 4.  It starts right from after the credits.  There's something about the sun.  The pace.  The banter.  It starts to remind me of a feeling.  Then at somewhere around 3:26, London says, "It's my day off, so no plans..."  followed by a quick transition to "Dance Hall Days" and an old Benz on a road trip.

And I am so overwhelmingly floored by a feeling.  It's of sunny days and bare feet in cars.  A slight grime.  And interestingly enough, boredom.  It's back to a time when your only obligations were school, chores and your part time job.  And in the summer, when school was out, and you weren't scheduled, the day was open.  Blank.  Not romantically full of possibility.  Just deliciously blank.

And I realize I haven't felt this way since I got responsibility and a future.  Even on days like today when I'm doing nothing, my mind and my day are far from blank.

As I sit lethargic on the couch, I recognize that my life needs more blank.  My kids need more blank.  And I need to find out how to get it into our lives.

I feel like I've been struck by lightening.  I hope I can make this into something.  It feels important.