Radio Silence (Part 1)

Fsssssshhhhhhh.
Fsssssshhhhhhhhhhh.

It's that sound you hear when you're driving in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and can't get a signal on any band. This was back when radio ruled - no tape decks, no CDs, certainly no MP3s, iPods or satellite stations.

Fsssssshhhhhhh.
Fsssssshhhhhhhhhhh.

Radio Silence.

We have a cacophony now.  Day, time, location, bandwidth - these all used to be important factors on whether you'd get a signal, but don't seem to matter much anymore, now that we can get sound and motion and connection almost anywhere we go (coming soon to a National Park near you.)

So what did radio silence signify?  Sometimes, it meant that you'd been running just a little bit too far or pushed it a bit too late into the journey and you ought to park it for the night.  Sometimes it was the opposite - you'd started out keen, fresh and ready, way before civilized folk were ready to join you. Just you and the farmers (and they didn't have time to run radio stations.)


Fsssssshhhhhhh.
Fsssssshhhhhhhhhhh.

When I was about 13, my father, mother, one sister and I headed from Vancouver, BC to Roblin, Manitoba to visit my grandparents.  Four other siblings were unaccounted for - I'm guessing the older 2 were already out of the house and maybe the other 2 had some really great parties at home while we were gone. 

My father saw no reason to stop between Vancouver and Roblin, other than for some occasional food and watering, as we were (apparently) on a mission to arrive as quickly as possible.  Both grandparents were, at that time, in pretty good health, so not sure exactly what the rush was, but so it was. 

We were driving a Datsun Sportruck.  Anyone know what that is?  Imagine a very small truck, then shrink it by 15%.  We did NOT have the longbed (the yellow one in the picture).  We had the regular bed (see picture - same blue as ours.)  It had room for two in the front and we had an after-market canopy, so two more could ride in the back bed - uncomfortable, for sure, but at least not getting rained on.  (PS - This would be HIGHLY DISCOURAGED / ILLEGAL today.)


Clearly, I was too young to drive (although perhaps not in Manitoba wheat fields, if my second cousins were to be believed),
and my sister, at 17, was only given daylight shifts in Alberta or Saskatchewan.  So most of the driving chores fell to my dad and my mom.  But since they each needed some sleep from time to time, my sister and I had to alternate in riding shotgun for one or the other of them.

On the downside, I have a vivid memory of driving through the Rockies on a foggy night, blasting the air vents at my eyes so much that they hurt and pinching my arms periodically because I was terrified that I would fail in my duty to keep my parent awake and prevent him/her from killing us all (BTW - I woke up 3 hours later in the back bed of the truck.  Miraculously, we were all still fine.  I believe I sent a 'thank you' card to the people who made Wake-Ups pills when I got home - my parents were popping those like cherry Nibs the whole trip.)     OR ??


On the upside (and this 'Lesley 2.0' journey is all about the upside), we hit some fantastic moments of Radio Silence, when there was nothing on the Sportruck radio but static and we had a reason to turn it off.  We'd maybe talk a little bit.  It was dark, so words came a little easier - which is helpful when you're 13 and words aren't coming very easily at all.

And we'd get to see the beauty in the vast inky blackness.  A startling display of the Aurora Borealis (many years later, I wanted to name my first child Aurora - my husband wisely disagreed).  Or a mind-bending illustration of time and space, as the approaching headlights on the Prairies seemed close enough to touch but then took 20 minutes before we passed. Or a small town off the road, with a porch light or two still lit, to catch the eyes of the night travelers so we could refocus, re-energize and continue on our way. 

So that's a story about running it just a little bit too far and pushing it a bit too late (yet still finding  incredible upside.)

What about the other side of that coin?  Starting out keen, fresh and ready? 
Stay tuned for Part 2.

A Seasonal Poem

'Twas the night before Hallow’s Eve 

And all through the house

The spirits were stirring

A cat chased a mouse
Ȫ

My senses were tingling

I opened one eye

Peered into the shadows

And thought I might die
Ȫ

For what I saw there

Caused me alarm

I closed that eye... tight

And whispered a charm

Ȫ

Beetlejuice in his nightshirt

Headless Horseman in a cap

Were scratchin’ and belchin’

And up from their nap

Ȫ

I quivered and shook

Hoped they’d not notice...

B lifted his shirt

And took a quick [pssssssssss]

Ȫ

Then they puttered away...

Was that a good sign?!

Perhaps they are harmless

Perhaps they’re benign

Ȫ

But what I heard then…

A horrible clatter!

Screeching and wailing

What the hell was the matter?!

Ȫ

Although I was shaking

I jumped from the bed

What I saw next

Made me wish I was dead

Ȫ

Entrails were s t r u n g

Over bushes and trees

Pools of dark red

Looked to be up to my knees

Ȫ

The yard was a mess

And the wailing went on

I feared for the worst

As I looked ‘cross the lawn

Ȫ

Was that a dead goat?

Was that a cleaved d/o\g?

Some sliiiiiime on the trees…

Perhaps a pinned frog?

Ȫ

I panicked and FROZE

As hard steps came near

I couldn’t think straight

PARALYZED by the fear

Ȫ

I fainted, then woke

Felt something on me

Was that BLOOD on my leg?!!

Ummm, maybe just pee…

Ȫ

The horrible screeching

Had now turned to laughter

It didn’t make sense

Not at first, but then after…

Ȫ

For there were my kids

In cap and nightshirt

Laughing so hard

Their sides must have hurt

Ȫ

I wasn’t amused

They called me a "Hater"

But mark my own grave

They’ll pay for this… later

High-5 on the I-5

A real road-trip story this time.
(Kind of long. Brace yourself. If you're bored, skip to the photos at the end.)

Last month, on a pleasant August weekend, we arranged ourselves in the family car and headed south.  Not too far south, mind you.  Just across the nearby border to visit our friends in their recently acquired vacation property.

Despite a looooong delay at the border, we remained in good spirits.  Only a tiny bit troubled by the fact that our car decided to just shut itself off at the 70-minute mark in the border line wait. We were packed in like sardines with other happy vacationers at that point and didn't know how we'd actually get out of that pack if the car wouldn't restart.  Certainly would not have made any friends among our fellow travelers, nor further endear ourselves to the border guards.  But we were able to re-start our aging beast and eventually continued on our merry way.

Admittedly, we became just a wee bit more concerned as we sallied forth and saw many interesting and heretofore unnoticed lights on the dashboard turn on.  But then they'd turn off.  And others would turn on.  And so on. 

Out of an abundance of caution, we stopped for no one and nothing along the way, but drove doggedly until we arrived (embarrassingly empty-handed, since we stopped for no one and nothing...) at their lovely cottage in the trees. 

Ever more cautious still, we did not drive the car that weekend.  Thinking rest would do it good, we ventured forth in our friends' car for the next two days.  The kids wanted nothing to do with us anyways so we had plenty of room. 

We checked our car the evening before we were leaving and it seemed fine.  Clean start. No funny lights.  All good.

But you know where this is going, right?

Right. 

On Monday morning, we headed north on the I-5.  Quick stop at an outlet mall (shoes for the boy, endless search for tequila for the husband), gas her up and go.  I had an appointment back at home at 2pm.  We had plennnnnty of time.

So you know where this is going, right?

Right.

As we were driving in the fast lane, on the far left-hand side, the car turned itself off.  No lights.  No sounds.  No warnings.  Just off...  while we were at speed in the left hand lane.

Through a combination of great driving and bull-headedness (those 4-way flashers mean 'Hey nice lady in the Prius, get the heck out of my way' - or words similar to that), the husband manoeuvred our lifeless car across 4 lanes to the right shoulder.  We skittered to a stop just before a 2-lane exit off the highway.

Hmmm.  What now?  The girl helpfully suggests we dial 411 to find a tow truck.  The wife (aka Me) knows we're at Belle-something and asks for tow trucks for Bellevue.  After a few minutes and about $40 in roaming charges, we have a tow truck company on the line.  After a few more minutes (and another $40 in roaming charges) it becomes abundantly clear we are nowhere near Bellevue.  Apparently,  Bellingham (where we are) is not Bellevue (where we are not). On the upside, the Bellevue tow truck driver has given us the name of the VW dealer in Bellingham so we have somewhere to take our crippled chariot.

We then find a tow truck company in Bellingham.  We are assured it will be 20 minutes.  Seems not too bad.  On the side of a busy highway.  Only 20 minutes.  We can do that.

So you know where this is going, right?

Right.

"Twenty minutes" is tow truck company code for "Whenever we get there, which will be at least an hour, probably more.  But you'll still be grateful, since you'll have been waiting a loooooong time, and will just want to be off the side of whatever godforsaken road you're on".  If they were to say all of that, it would be quite a mouthful.  So I can see why they say "20 minutes" instead.

At the side of the road of a busy highway, there isn't much to do.  There was some discussion about the safest place to stand.  NOT in the front of the car (could be taken out by a reckless driver exiting the freeway), NOT beside the car (in case its failure was a precursor to explosion) and certainly NOT down the ravine that was a few feet from the edge of the highway.  So we settled on a 2-foot wide strip between the guardrail and the ravine, about 15 feet from the back of the car.

At one point, I noticed (with alarm) that we were huddled quite closely together.  I am not really a huddler... even in the most trying of circumstances.  I seem to recall telling the girl to 'stand back' because she was too close.  Which led to much ridicule.  Of me.  With caustic comments from my children like: "Okay, mom, I'll just dart across the lanes and hang out in the median - would that be far enough away?" and "Maybe if I fell through the brambles down the ravine into the creek, that would be a better spot to wait?"

Surprisingly, I realized that I was being ridiculous and decided just to chill out instead.  In fact, I even let the boy throw his (biodegradable) cup down the ravine, just because he wanted to do it.  Complete anarchy for someone who has an overdeveloped sense of justice and propriety.  But what the hell.  We just needed to get through those '20 minutes'...  If I'd had a cup to throw, I would have done it myself.

So we all chilled out.  Even when we were stacked like cordwood in the front of the tow truck.  Even when it took 4+ hours and chunky credit card receipts to get the car fixed.  Even when we were hanging out in a Starbucks in a forlorn little strip mall because we had absolutely nothing else to do.  Even when the husband still had to take us out of our way in his search for good tequila when leaving Bellingham in our repaired car (oh wait. I remember now.  I was no longer chill at that point.)

Lots of obstacles that could have made for a terrible day.  But it wasn't a terrible day at all.  It was really kind of fun.  With the girl headed off to university, we will get fewer chances to have those experiences, so it's an accomplishment to make those tough days into great days - into 'High-5' days. 

 (The girl, the car, the sad face.  PS - notice how close she is...!)

 (The boy, celebrating the hit to his college fund)

(The car.  Despite us wishing REAL HARD, it had not turned into an Audi Q5 by the time it came out of the shop).

Old Dogs and Old Tricks

We have a cherry tree in our front yard. 

Technically, it is on District property at the front of our front yard, so technically not really 'our' tree at all.  But it's certainly in front of our house, contiguous with the property to which we have title in fee simple, thus having the objective appearance of being our tree.

But it has been rather a sad excuse for a tree for many years.  It has produced very little fruit, all of which would fall to the ground, rotting but unripe.  And it had leaves that would begin to curl and turn a mottled yellow in late spring.  A sad, rather sick tree.

So last year, at the end of the season, we thought it was time to put the poor thing out of its (our?) misery. We'd spent much effort fixing up the front yard and there was no place for an old tree that was not meeting our expectations.

We had the District guy come by in the fall and I talked to him about replacing the tree.  They've been planting new trees up and down our street, so we thought we could take advantage of that program.  Turns out they'd "spent their budget" for the year, so couldn't replace the cherry with one of the spanking new District trees.  But he was willing to give us a permit to cut it down, and let us replace it with another, at our cost.

I should add, this discussion took place UNDERNEATH SAID TREE.

Things being what they were, we did not get around to cutting it down.  We were soooo done with our landscaping work for the season and just wanted to hunker down through fall and winter, then take up the task this spring.  Then, things being what they were, we did not get around to cutting it down this spring either.

A good thing.  Because this month, it produced a bountiful harvest of sweet red cherries.  Not one of which fell to the ground due to rot or disease.  We've had to climb the tree and take a ladder around its perimeter on more than one occasion, and have reaped buckets-full of rewards.  As a bonus, its leaves are still green and firmly affixed to its boughs, even now in mid-July.

(Having just seen the movie Avatar, I am convinced that the tree overheard my conversation with the District guy and was more 'motivated' than it had been in the past.)

In short, our old tree went back to its old tricks, and produced something that it had produced regularly in the past.  Something that fits its purpose and that it was meant to do.  Something that is wonderful. 

But I did take it all for granted.  Until today.

Today I had to write an exam. An exam that I first wrote 20+ years ago.  Yes, I studied.  Hunkered down, in fact, ignoring the beautiful weather outside the windows for days on end.  Producing masterful indices and copious notes.

And, although I was producing something I'd produced before, when it came to delivering the cherries and writing the actual exam, that part was hard. 

It seems that even old tricks can be a challenge for old dogs!  

But I am hopeful that, in getting back to my roots, I've found my purpose and something that I'm meant to do.  And that I can create something wonderful with it. 

Like our cherry tree did.

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PS: made a fabulous crumble with the cherries, plus some rhubarb.

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