By Esther Baird. First Published in the Tri Town Transcript May 17, 2018
It’s been a while, dear Regular Reader. We had a host of health stuff sweep through Casa Baird that left me with the clear knowledge that a doctor’s waiting room is where my otherwise winsome, calm, and sweet personality grinds to a cold, hard stop. That, and of course life after April break is one big imaginary dance. We all imagine that school still matters, and we all imagine it’s any month but May.
May is less of a month and more of a deep dark chasm that sits between the horror of winter and the joy of summer. Here, in mid-May, things are careening over the edge.
For example, our ski rentals were due back May 1. Who makes a due date on the existential opening day of the chasm between winter and summer?? Poor planning on their part if you ask me. No one did ask me though, and there is a late fee for each day missed. So there I was, around May 6, already creating small rock slides to the depths.
I thought our skis fit most easily in the Giant Sparkle, our trusty silver minivan (except not trusty at all come winter so we park it until spring). But the Giant Sparkle’s inspection sticker had lapsed… for eight months.
One month, ok. Eight months? Headlong into the chasm. Boulder’s tumbling down around me.
“It’s fine,” I explained to my husband in a fit of cognitive dissonance. “I can make it three miles to the inspection place, pass inspection, and be done. Easy.”
And I did make it. I drove the legal speed limit. I was a model driver. I could have been teaching driver’s ed. So, I assumed they’d slap on my new sticker on and we’d laugh about how I’d waited eight months. It’d be a funny story I could tell at summer parties over on the other side of the chasm.
“Do you want the good news or bad news?” the mechanic said.
That didn’t sound like a funny story waiting to be told.
“Um, I guess the bad,” I answered.
“Well you must have parked your car for a long time this winter, and the battery probably died.”
I sighed. The Giant Sparkle, like everything else, had some resentment issues about this winter, and had expressed this by giving up the battery ghost.
“Yes, but clearly it’s fine now. I mean, I drove here,” I replied.
“Well it wiped the computer and we can’t finish the test.” He took a deep breath. “To reset it, you’re going to have to drive at least 100 miles,” he paused to make sure I was tracking, “within the next 60 days.”
I stared at him waiting for the bad part. He took this to be concern on my end so he reiterated, “You really need to get those miles in — all 100 of them — before 60 days or we’ll have to start again.”
Did I snort out loud? I mean, dude, I’ll drive 100 miles before you even finish talking to me.
I drive 100 miles before most people have their second cup of coffee. I drive 100 miles and call it an errand. I dream at night of driving 100 miles. I will be back at this shop in exactly one afternoon. Do you want me to pick you up a snack? Starbucks? Bagel World? Suppinos? Need something from Stop-n-Shop? Petsmart? Walmart? Costco? Need me to buy bulk food for your autoshop summer picnic? Your kid’s fundraiser? Your church event? Your teacher appreciation breakfast, lunch or dinner? Your kid’s dance? Your 5K? Need me to take sliced oranges to three sporting events conveniently located in Framingham, Waltham or Lexington? Want me to say hi to the mayor down in the city while I swing by on a field trip, or a scavenger hunt, or class project event? Mayhap send a shout out to a doctor at Children’s Hospital Boston? Or high five the construction workers on the Tobin Bridge!?!?!
BECAUSE I WILL BE IN ALL THOSE PLACES.
Ok, I didn’t say that. But I did smirk. “Cool. I’ll be back… pretty soon.”
So there. I see you May chasm and I raise you 100 miles that I easily drove in under 24 hours without even trying. I win!! At driving!!! Something I had to do anyway, but who cares!! One small win, but every victory counts in chasm climbing. Slowly we’ll dig out of May, to where summer awaits.