Me time

I’ve been in a bit of a funk. Approaching my birthday, I think, it’s the double nickel. I am not sure how the years have gone by so quickly, but they have, and I’ve been thinking about it. It’s been on my mind so much that I downgraded my September Olympic triathlon to a Sprint distance. Fear. Stupid, irrational fear. That I’d come in last, or worse yet, be pulled off the race course because I was too slow. 

I was looking forward to this weekend. Dan and guy friends, along with the dog-faced boys were heading to the cottage to do some repairs and pull in the pontoon boat. I could go, or I could stay home and “recharge”. Work has been difficult, projects felt like they were out of my control and I chose “recharge”.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Let me recap my very dull weekend. After a frantic Friday afternoon at work (crisis averted due to very competent colleagues), I got home at about 5:30 to an empty house. Dan and the dog-faced boys had left for the cottage at about 4:00 pm.  I proceeded to forage for leftover food and ate a warmed up dinner. I settled down to watch the Wisconsin Senatorial debate (be still my beating heart), post some nonsense on JSonline and watch my “Perception” DVR backlog. I was in bed at midnight.

Saturday found me sitting in my pajama’s until noon, totally missing the farmer’s market that is two blocks from the house. I went shopping, and happily, found a few new dresses for my work wardrobe. Happy with my discoveries I found that I had got shopping wrong, as I didn’t have any coupons to bring the price down. All the other ladies in the Boston Store dress shop looked at me like I was “shopping challenged”. I begged the cashier not to make me feel bad. She took pity of me and scanned some other smart shopper’s coupons for me. Arriving at home I chatted with the neighbor and promised to call if I got bored. I found a can of soup and crackers for dinner and watched a gripping “This American Life” episode I had DVR’ed. It was 7:30 PM. Oh my, look, a NCIS marathon. That was good until 11:00 when again, I went to bed.

On Sunday, I went to the gym and lifted heavy things for no reason. I cruised JSOnline and posted a comment or two. I walked down to the ‘Tosa village for a little shopping and lunch. I returned home to find a message from Dan that he was en route from the cottage and would be home soon. Thank goodness.

Dan tells me that when my boys, Carl and Hunter, are around I light up. I know this to be true. I can also say that when Dan and the dog-faced boys are around I feel so much more alive. Sometimes irritated, but alive. Dan showered, we debriefed the weekend and walked down to Hectors to watch the Packer/Saints game. Dan wore his Saints shirt, hollered too much in the bar and I wondered if we would get out unscathed. It was invigorating.

Solitude is overrated. I wouldn’t do well on my own. I need the craziness of people (and the dogs) around me to keep me awake. I don’t really need me time, I just need someone to give me a reality check. October will be a fun month.  My birthday (I might as well embrace it, it’s happening anyway), two weeks in Florida for work and fun, and the beautiful colors of autumn. I don’t need anymore me time.  I realize now that my recharge really comes from “we time”. I’m glad to have had the reminder.

We came through in the clutch

Labor Day. A day off of work and the opportunity to relax. Dan and I set up a  motorcycle trip to Eagle, Wisconsin—less than an hour away--planning to meet a high-school friend for lunch. The 1983 Honda Sabre, always reliable, needed a bit of dusting off. Safety a top priority, we put on jeans, boots, denim jackets and our helmets.  Ninety minutes before our meeting time we take off down Bluemound road, Dan driving and me hanging on.

We used to ride the motorcycle a lot more, but then Dan had a nasty meet-up with some pavement just two-blocks from home while wearing shorts and a t-shirt,  and we’ve backed off on the riding. Considering that it’s September 3 and today’s ride was my first of the summer, I was looking forward to a casual drive through rolling hills. We got to the western end of Brookfield and Dan was suddenly shouting something at me. I lifted my visor and asked what was up.  “The clutch just went out. I need to get some brake fluid to fix it.” Dan, familiar with driving junk, knew the location of the closest car parts store. We ran in, bought a small bottle of fluid and Dan went to work.

Armed with his trusty Leatherman tool, he removed a small cover, poured in some fluid and watched to see if it would drain into the tubing. Nothing. He put the cover back on and tried the clutch. Nothing. At this point, we had a decision to make. Continue on, or leave me here, go back home to get a car, pick me up and proceed out to Eagle. I said it was up to him, he was driving. But I knew the decision was really mine to make. Dan was ready to keep going. We could do the safe, sensible thing—leave me at the McDonalds while Dan limped the bike home and picked up a car. We are in our 50’s. The time for doing stupid things should be so far in the rear view as to be invisible. I asked him what he wanted me to do. Sitting on a small hill, we started the bike in neutral, got it rolling, slammed it into first and took off. Dan shifted up and down through the six gears by sound and feel, with no need for a clutch. We had a few difficult patches starting from a dead stop, and timing our  approach to marked intersections required lots of forethought (something I have dissed Dan on countless times over the years.) But ten minutes early we arrived at our destination—a biker bar crowded with dozens of gleaming Harley’s, BMW’s and others—all with working clutches, I suspect. We parked half a block away, jerking to a stop. We had a delightful lunch and a long conversation. Dan bought me a cocktail. He had three diet cokes.

Back out to the motorcycle, and a rolling, jerky start, but we are moving. The goal is minimal stopping, which was up to Dan. He evaluated the options and choose a route that he knew was heavy on scenic while light on traffic lights. He did a masterful job of keeping us moving. We encountered the first stop light and he took a right turn, then another right, a U-turn, a quick left and back the way he came to catch the final right turn onto the highway. We hit I-94 at Oconomowoc, maintaining a steady 65 all the way into town. The Watertown Plank exit, a yield and no reason to stop. Slowing safely to time his approach to the next intersection and light change. Some slight acceleration got us to the last light before a quick right found us in front of the house.

When it was "new".

It is possible to drive 60 + miles on city and country roads and only stop for lunch. Sometimes we are so stuck in our daily rut that we simply follow the directions from point A to point B and never think about how we got there. IF we think about it, we have plenty of time to evaluate a red light before we get to it. We have lane choices if we are looking for them.

It takes more thought. It takes constantly evaluating where you are and where you are going. And in a way—and I thought about this as I clung to Dan on the freeway on the way home—that is the point of this blog. I’m done driving like a zombie through my life. I want to think about the turns way before I get there. I want to know that my Dan, my “Thinking Man’s MacGyver” will get us out of jams, and I will do the same for him. I want to show up at the biker bar on a bike—albeit without a clutch—instead of my little red SUV.

Did we evaluate all the options? Sure. But I am happy that we discounted the simpler, saner option. Today’s ride could have been a nice amble through the countryside. Instead, it was a bit of a white knuckler (especially for Dan) but far more importantly, it was another mental challenge overcome.