Until Reality Bites

It’s only 5:30 a.m. I’m standing in line at the Austin airport for my 6:20 flight to Chicago wondering what the hell all these people are doing out at this ungodly hour. I’ve never seen such a crowd. I boarded a small jet, gate checked my bag and prayed for all of us on the plane.

The flight was uneventful except a very bumpy descent that left me queasy. Proceeded to pick up my rental car. Do I want to upgrade? No. Do I want more insurance? No. Do I want satellite radio for $5 a day? No. Just give me my damn car already, please.

I find my spot. Fairly new Ford Escape, cool. I open the door to store my bags. Has the new car smell, did they spray that in there? I start it up, everything is shiny and clean. I look at the odometer: 223 miles. This is a new car. Wow. I’m on the road, searching for a radio station. New car, yet I can’t seem to get a clear station on the radio. I press the Sirius button and voila. Free Sirius and a brand new ride...this trip is going my way.

I make a quick stop in the meat packing district to grab lunch with my daughter the pastry chef. It’s been over 3 months since I’ve seen her. We drive up to Lincoln Square and chat over lunch. The truth is I can’t eat much, still queasy from the plane ride and anxious to reach my destination in Michigan, the reason for my trip.

I just wanted to drop her off and zoom away, but I had to take a potty break. I asked for a blanket, just in case I needed to pull over on the 4 hour drive to Detroit, because I only had 3 hours of sleep.My eyelids feel like sandpaper.  I sat on her couch waiting for the blanket and the next thing I know she’s waking me up after letting me sleep an hour.

Oh shit. Now I’m running behind. I need to reach my destination by 8 p.m. I fly out the door, hit I-94 and I’m off. By the time I reach the bridge exiting Chicago I’m getting my driving groove on. And it feels good.I’m road tripping all by myself and I like it. I’ve got my toll money gathered up. Driving brain is clicked on.

Three toll booths later I hit the real I-94 towards Detroit. It feels so good just to read that.Living in exile in Texas has been wearing me down good. Driving a road I’ve driven many many times comforts me. I have to remember not to take the lead as the fastest car heading East because these Indiana troopers are crafty devils when it comes to their speed traps.

There are a long string of songs I like playing on the 70’s channel so I’m singing, dancing in my seat, beating my steering wheel like a drum. Things you are only free to do in the car when you are alone.
I’m loving it. I shouldn’t be having this much fun in light of what has happened to bring me this way.

I thought about it, Monica would want me to. I don’t want to think any more. So I just let myself flow down the road, riding on the music. I observe my surroundings. It’s green. Lush and green. Tall trees casting shade. Back in Texas we are bone dry in the middle of a drought and baking at 100 degrees most days.

I “see” the trees going up on top of the freeway embankment as I would an art subject. Where is the light hitting the leaves, how the shadows are cast at the bottom of the branches. What would I mix in my paint palate to get those shades of green? I’ve learned to think like this from my extraordinary art teacher and band of artists I’ve been hanging with in Austin.

 It’s wonderful to be able to see everything from a new perspective. The group has been a life saver in the most literal sense. Without them I would have felt like slitting my wrists. I wouldn’t do that, because I am far too pragmatic.

I’m almost through Indiana and I feel the need...for speed. I pull off an exit that claims to have a Starbucks 2 miles to the right. I remind myself to settle my speed down just as I spot a police cruiser behind me, then beside me. Normally I would feel some anxiety in this situation. But nothing can rob me of my living in the moment happiness right now. I stop at a light and look over at the police car, my oh my the Valparaiso Police have such shiny clean cars.

If they pulled me over would I stoop so low as to tell them why I’m in such a hurry? Surely they’d let me go and just tell me to watch my speed.

You’re probably wondering what kind of drug is this chick on? I feel exuberant. Joyful. I’m having such a good time with myself. I have no business having this much fun at a time like this. I should be ashamed ...but I am not. What kind of an ice queen have I become?

Fueled up, I take some pictures of the car I’m driving and send an informal auto review via text message to my family members. Hitting the road I pull out the book on tape I snagged at Cracker Barrel. I achieve cruising speed and I’m off.

Michigan. I snap a picture of the state sign. Oh, how I have missed you. A cloud of happiness envelopes me as I get into the mystery novel playing through the speakers. Nelson DeMille...can’t go wrong there. Before I know it I’m taking the exit for M 14/ US 23 heading toward Brighton. Towards the event that has drawn me back here at this moment.

I’m running late, but I should still be OK. I’ll arrive at my destination a little after 8. I exit the freeway and poke around until I find a sign directing me to Main Street. I spot the place and the parking lot is still pretty full.

I turn right at the next side street and stop. It’s pretty late. Can I go in there dressed in my cargo pants and t-shirt? I really just should. I decide to do a quick change in the car. I pull into a church parking lot, way to the back. There’s a wooded area, a few benches, some irises blooming and it’s just getting dusky outside.

I don’t see any cameras so I grab my sundress, hop back in the car and push the seat way back to change as inconspicuously as I can. Opening the door I hop out,smooth out my dress. This will have to do. A few swipes of my hairbrush, lipstick. I can feel myself stalling, the anxiety building.

The fun has ended abruptly.

Taking a deep breath I drive around the block and zip into the parking lot. That’s odd. It’s empty now except for 2 cars. There’s still 40 minutes till closing. I grab my purse and briskly walk to the building and enter. Am I in the right place?

I assure myself I am. She’s the only one here. I rush over to her, peer down at her lying in the casket. She looks nothing like the woman I’ve known since I was in Kindergarten. Her cancer obviously had been particularly cruel. This reality sucks. I check the pictures placed around the room to make sure it’s her. I recognize many of the old photos that her mother had proudly displayed in her home while we were growing up.

I hear a familiar voice call my name. Her husband has walked into the room and put his arm on my shoulder. He looks wonderful, handsome in his dark suit, and so vital.

“Wow, John. I can barely recognize her”. He nods, “She fought an battle for 3 full years, but she died peacefully at home, with all of us by her side”.

I feel like I said the most insensitive thing in the world. We chat, I promise to see him in the morning.
I go to my car turn it on. The clock says 8:45. Why is everyone gone already, leaving her alone? I glance at my iPhone, the time is really 9:30.

 All this time I didn’t realize my car clock was 45 minute behind.

To be continued....

Imported From Detroit

I was born in Detroit. Grace Hospital. I spent most of my life in the Detroit area, with the exception of my frequent excursions "down south" to North Carolina. Now I'm living as a refugee in far away Austin Texas.

I was lucky enough, after many flight complications to touch down at good old DTW in the middle of a snow "event" the night of February 5th. I met up with some dear friends for a Super Bowl party. We gathered in front of the flat screen with great anticipation until after Christina Aguilera chased us out of the room with her screeching and yowling of The National Anthem.

Timing was perfect to enjoy catching up with friends I don't get to spend much time with who had traveled from a variety of places. As women tend to do we congregated away from the TV for most of the evening anxiously trying to take in every nugget of news in each other's lives.

Any interest I had in football per se has been quashed by the football mania I've had to put up with since moving to Texas. These people are crazy here and I have to reject the sport just out of pure orneriness. Don't talk to me about football. Now NASCAR, Red Wing's hockey, Tiger's baseball and even the Pistons we can discuss.

I defintely fit into the I watch the Super Bowl for the party and commercials catagory.

To say the now famous Chrysler commercial featuring our homeboy Eminem blew each and every one of us away would be putting it mildly. To a group of some 25 people who are living through the loss of 50% of our home values, some losing their incomes and homes altogether you can bet  we all felt that commercial right in our collective gut.

In case you haven't seen it:

Good old Marshall wasn't kidding when he looked straight into the camera so serious and menacing, "This is The Motor City and this is what we do". I've always had a soft spot in my heart for Marshall Mathers. He certainly has something to say, I just wish he didn't have such a potty mouth so much of the time.

We had a great week in Detroit, cold weather, snow, the whole shebang. Turns out I traveled from Texas to have some the most kick ass BBQ at Slow's. Ironic. I've spent the last 6 months rating BBQ in Austin and I find one of the best back in my hometown.

Tried them all

I finished out my week long Detroit vacation with a visit to Bert's Marketplace, in the heart of Eastern Market of Detroit. Valerie, who hosts karaoke every Saturday from 10 am to 7 pm ,worked her magic orchestrating the working man audience into participating in some serious entertaining.

Eclectic group at Bert's

Since is was birthday week for several us we had to swing by Hamtramck for some Polish Bakery goodies before heading back home.

Back in Austin, I arrrived home with a few of these evil pastires afixed to my thighs. They look a lot prettier in the window case.

The New Normal

We leisurely occupied a table for eight at a nice local lunch place. We laughed and the conversation flowed naturally. The atmosphere was infectious with good cheer and our waiter doted on us. Even though the restaurant carried Pepsi product she showed up with Coke for the 2 ladies who have discerning palates when it comes to their carbonated beverages. Ordering was a bit mundane, repetitious with all of our cups of butternut squash soup and house salads. One of the ladies had requested separate bills and I just rolled my eyes thinking what a female move that had been.

I recognized the waiter as a guy who’s been there a while and is good at his job. Looking around, I noted that the restaurant had a typical number of patrons for a Wednesday afternoon. Everything just seemed so normal.This is one of my favorite local restaurants. I have been holding a grudge against them since they took my favorite dessert off the menu: chocolate Khulua bread pudding with a carmel sauce. It’s been over a year and I have refused to have another dessert and let them know why. I tend to only eat things I really like.

One of my friends was on a really tight schedule for the afternoon so she spoke to the waiter and he brought her bill out promptly when he saw she was finishing up. She hurriedly opened the check holder to insert her credit card and just at that moment before she closed it she caught sight of the total. Her eyes got big and she took a deep breath and looked up with a look I recognized right away.

You know, that “holy mother I am in a hurry and the waiter gave me the check for the whole table and now what am I going do”. After all the rest of us lollygaggers had not really finished eating yet and trying to get a table of woman to settle up a bill quickly...well there is nothing quick about that plan. So when she looked up and gulped, the other end of the table burst out in laughter. Then James, our waiter, handed her the separate bill and we all laughed. Then she said something very profound, “ A year ago I would have just put my card in and paid it without a second thought, just as a nice gesture.”

That was then, this is now.

Our old normal was just building a life responsibly.Here is the Detroit area, in an affluent suburb with nice homes, good schools and safe streets. We are basically a hard working, family oriented community. A very large portion of our local economy is automotive related and has been since the baby boomer age began. Many paychecks come to our zip code from the Big 3, and also from the several Japanese auto companies that have placed headquarters here. People have faithfully put in years at companies, built their careers, were careful to have financial planning, college funds for their kids and 401K accounts in order.

Things have changed, mostly beyond any of our control. Our home values have fallen roughly 50% in the past 3 years. Many of the breadwinners here have already faced layoff. Many more are in a state of perpetual anxiety, knowing the secure job they had is now just hanging by a thread. Many more who are still sure their jobs are secure are secretly doubting it. Because as people lose their health and dental insurance, as local communities have their revenues diminishing because homes are not being bought and sold, tax liens are piling up, foreclosures are on the rise.... not only does that then affect local businesses, but also our health care industry and there will be far less money to pay for the excellent city services we are used to. A decreasing population and the tax revenues also means there will eventually have to be cut backs in education.

So we are all adjusting to the new normal. Depending on how drastically your family has been hit dictates the level of change in lifestyle that needs to be made. Even the most securely employed are being cautious because everyone knows what is now happening across our nation is not a good thing. People are definitely scrutinizing budgets and cutting back their spending. We are all examining priorities, plans and making adjustments.

Back at our lunch table sat a group of people who share a common faith and despite their circumstances chose to celebrate time together. Our group consisted of people who had plenty of things to be in despair about. Joblessness, depression, marital woes,kid problems, serious illness and a big dose of uncertainty. No one sat there looking miserable. We were all there to shore each other up. It’s going to take a lot of that to navigate our way through all the changes that have occured in our community and the ones yet to come.

Wet Leonard

True story. Walstrom Marina in Harbor Springs, MI. Summer 1997.

Several air bubbles rose to the top before the dome of this bald head broke the dark water’s surface. It reminded me of a wet stepping stone in a garden after a rain.

An old little diddy came to mind, “ plop plop fizz fizz, oh what a relief it is”. My sister in law was frantic beside me (she only had 2 children, so she’s a little more sensitive than I). I was calm, even giggling just a little. She looked at me like I had lost my mind.

I fantasized about just taking my dainty sandal clad foot and placing it ever so gently on the top of that dome. He tended to be a know it all. Control freak maximus. He could suck the fun out of the room in about ten seconds flat. Insecure and distrustful he was always compelled to boss everyone in the room around and didn’t even realize he was doing it (kind of Kate, from Jon & Kate plus 8, only crankier).

Are you horrified by my confession yet?

Get a grip, this particular fantasy/ thought process took about 5 seconds, one of those life flashing in front of your face at warp speed kind of moments. The furious splashing and gnarly tanned fingers gripping the rope that was mooring the boat to the dock snapped me out of it.. The responsible human in me sprung into action. My experience as a nurse and mother of 6 had turned me into a seasoned professional when it came to reacting to crisis.

With my sister in law holding on to a post with one hand (thank God she has always been a solid athletic kind of woman)and to me with the other, I reached down and pulled the victim closer to the dock and got his head above the water. Together we hefted him up and out he came coughing. sputtering and ashen from his panic. It was no small feat to retrieve a 71 year old man, fully dressed in water laden blue jeans, tennis shoes and a golf shirt out of the murky waters. Sadly, his ball cap gently floated beyond our reach.

It had began as a typical Leonard moment. We were enjoying a family reunion of my husband’s siblings up in Northern Michigan. All the ladies broke up in pairs to explore the quaint town and the fellows were resting themselves at the waterside bar, enjoying the marina activity. When my sister in law and I returned from our shopping, Leonard excitedly said, “come here, come with me I want to show you something real quick”. A knowing look passed between us as it only could because we were the two daughters in law of this man and we were used to his peculiar ways.

We followed him over to the marina adjacent to Dudley’s Dock where he was chattering away about the small yachts the men had toured earlier while we were shopping. He was determined to play yacht salesman, quickly reciting the particulars of each vessel we passed. We approached the 34 foot Tiara he was so excited about showing to us mere women.
It was docked in about 15 feet of very chilly water on a bay of Lake Michigan. We dutifully followed him as he confidently marched up the sturdy 3 foot wide plank connecting the boat to the dock. But, instead of turning to board the boat, good old Leonard marched straight off of the plank and sunk like a stone in the cold lake waters.

It might not have been so dramatic except the proud man who was my father in law could not swim a lick. Despite serving in the Navy during WWII, and himself living on a small lake outside of the Detroit area, he truly never learned to swim! Once we hauled him out of that water I could not stop laughing.

Sheepishly, he shuffled back to the table they had claimed at Dudley’s Dock, squishing all the way with every step he took. Of course, it was all a big hoopla when we arrived at the table and were barely able to recount the event due to our now hysterical braying over the whole thing. He didn’t think it was funny. What to do now? All of his children showed appropriate concern and insisted we go into one of the many shops in the town and purchase dry clothes for him. He insisted he would be fine, drying out on his own, no use to needlessly spend good money when he had a whole suitcase full of clothes 30 minutes away at the cottage.

They all pleaded with him as we had dinner reservations in an hour for the 12 of us. It was supposed to be our big “adult” evening out, having left about 12 children back at the cottage. If there was one thing my husband’s siblings never learned to do was to negotiate with their father. If he said no, there was no “let’s change the approach and ask him again”. Even if it was for his own good.

I snuck off to a nearby store and bought a dry t-shirt for the man, but I really needed him to cooperate if I were to buy him a dry pair of pants. Cooperate he did not! My sister in law and I manhandled him into changing into the dry shirt, and putting on his windbreaker he had thankfully left on his chair during our little excursion. From the waist down he was still wet Leonard. An hour in the sun had not done much in the way of drying out his stiff blue jeans and his tennis shoes still squeaked and squished with every step he took.

As you all know trying to order and get served with that big of a party can get a bit complicated. We did our best to place or orders and get the show on the road. At one end of the table my one of my husband’s brothers asked the waiter to please crank the AC up as he felt it was getting stuffy. Down at the other end wet Leonard (whose lips now had a slightly violet cast to them) asked the other waiter if he could perhaps turn down the AC. And so it went.

Leonard was a complicated piece of work. He could be as cantankerous as all get out but had a generous streak. He loved babies and toddlers but did not seem to know how to relate to children over the age of 5. He was always the first one to volunteer to help with a project, but the consequences were then he was in charge of said project. We had a pretty contentious relationship over the years but I think we eventually developed a healthy respect for each other.

He taught me most of the home improvement skills I know and being that I’m married to a man who travels, and is not very handy, this was a valuable part of my upbringing. I believe seeing the work I had to take responsibility for since his son traveled raised his esteem for me. He came to appreciate that I was a hard worker. He never directly told me that, but one day while working on a small project together he gave me a small red ball peen hammer which to this day is one of my favorite tools. He said it had been in his family a long time and he wanted me to have it.

It is funny how age matures your outlook on things. I now have 3 grown children and 3 still requiring an extreme amount of direction. I found out that I’m not the perfect parent after all. It would be nice if Leonard was still around so I could extend him a lot more grace than I did in the past. Of course , he would still drive me crazy but I think I could appreciate him even while he was.

Banking "Fun"damentals

The decision has been made that it is high time I change my perspective on some of the everyday annoyances that come my way. I’ve convinced myself that I need to find the fun in my day so when faced with frustration my head won’t pop off.I spend an awful lot of time waiting in my day to day routines and it’s not that I don’t have a fair amount of patience, but I really am a bit obsessive about efficient use of time.

I’m not a very good waiter when it comes to standing in line. Now waiting in a room with a chair to sit in doesn’t bother me at all because I can bring a book to read, play a sudoku, text a few people or clean my purse out as a way of occupying myself. Sometimes I’m disappointed if I’m called in before I’m done with my chosen task.

The standing in line kind of waiting is a whole different animal. I’m not a good chit chatter, that seems like a waste of time. Don’t ask me "how are you?" if you don’t really want to hear how I am doing. I like the new self check outs at the grocery stores, now that they seem to have worked a lot of the bugs out. I’ve long been a pack my own groceries type while the cashier is checking me out, I’m all about moving the process along so I can move on to the next thing. Sometimes, especially when you’re trying to get through the self check line with some wine or beer, it can become a bit of a time suck waiting for the cashier to notice you and punch in the code. I’ve become proactive and start waving them down before I run the bottle through the beeper, because we all know once you do the red light will come on and you can’t check out the rest of your stuff before they come clear you.

My most recent perplexing incident occurred on a trip to the bank. I don’t make too many of these since we do most of our banking online, but sometimes it can’t be helped. In light of my scathing commentary from last fall entitled, The Only Action In Town where I explored the mystery of the only building construction going on in metro Detroit seemed to be associated with the hyper-proliferation of new banks on every corner, only to be repeated again every few miles. I knew back then there was something rotten in Denmark and now it’s evident that these big bank corporations are big stinkers

Keeping that in mind, I made my way into a local bank and there was a casual friday theme going on with every employee wearing Red Wing (NHL Detroit Hockey team) t-shirts. I manage to get myself in line, although there was no tidy line with the velvet ropes as there should have been. I’m there attempting to do a favor for one child who wants me to deposit money she owes her brother into his account and I’m getting annoyed since there is not a clear line formed and each time a few new customers wander in my “next in line” status is threatened.

I am then approached by a tall lanky guy in blue jeans and a red t-shirt. (Oh no, now he’s expecting some chit chat). Then I notice his employee name tag as he starts in on me:

Bank Concierge Guy : How can I help you?

The Mayor:  I’m just here to make a deposit. (by moving this blasted line along)

Bank Concierge Guy:   Do you have an account with us?

The Mayor: Yes, at another branch. (Why do we need to waste bank resources paying this guy to do PR or concierge us?)

Bank Concierge Guy: Are you familiar with our online banking system?

The Mayor: Yes, quite familiar. (What’s he trying to sell me?)

Bank Concierge Guy: Were you aware you can move money between accounts using our online banking?

The Mayor: Yes, but that is not what I am doing. I’m depositing money into my son’s account. (now I’m getting those frownies on my face because he’s vexing me.)

Bank Concierge Guy: Does your son know how to use online banking?

The Mayor: Yes, but I need to make a deposit, I am not transferring money. (This guy is like a dog with a bone, leave it alone already.)

Bank Concierge Guy: Does your son have direct deposit?

The Mayor: This is cash (I flash a $100 bill in front of his face in a huff). I just need to deposit it into his account. (Now the bank guy has the frownies on his face, do you think he’s not familiar with cash anymore?)

Bank Concierge Guy: The next available teller can help you.(Too bad you don’t just jump behind that counter and help me yourself buddy.)

The Mayor: (This was so much fun I can’t wait to do it again.)

Why on earth do we need to be hassled by the bank concierge, it’s not that big of a place. It seems like a ridiculous use of manpower. You built a bunch of banks around here and when we come in to use them you seem hell bent on convincing us that we don’t really need to come into the bank.

Now I’ve seen the concierge concept work well to improve efficiency in a few places that have really high volume and can be confusing like at the airport. Getting in the right line at the airport is important. But at the bank? There’s not all that much to do there and I’ve never had more than say 6 other customers there with me. After all, people are using direct deposit and online banking. That’s why my previous inquiry of why are they building so many banks around here was relevant.

I’m just a house bag with a high IQ (drives my husband crazy that mine was higher than his, but he married me anyway) and a Bachelors of Science degree. I tend to have a lot of these private conversations in my head, that is why I have a reputation for being nice. If I spoke everything I thought, well, not so much.I don’t have the answers for the financial industry but I can certainly identify nonsense when I see it , and at the bank they are full of it.