I Needed a Drink, I Thought

As I drove by the Big Blue Martini (or whatever that ritzy corner bar with the glass windows is called), I truly felt like I could sympathize with those who go there or places like it night after night. I mean, I just had a really long day at work where I fought this day-long internal battle: me versus my lack of motivation and desire to complete the mile-long list of tasks to get caught up (thanks, snow days...er, my laziness over snow days!). On top of that, I got my dance lesson times confused (more on dance later), shooting down the only thing I had looked forward to all day long. Which meant, I decided, as tears streamed down my face at my sad lot, only one thing: it was time to get a drink.

With my Grasshopper Mocha in hand, replete with a thick layer of whipped cream on top, I settled into the brown leather couch. Three men sat in the opposite corner contemplating a chess board, one totally engrossed and two counting down till show time; another sat sighing and looking distraught over the first few chapters of Khaled Husseini's A Thousand Splendid Suns; two women conferred about the web page in front of them. Open mic night was in full gear in the room behind me, and I had three inches of papers to attempt to wade through. The room shifted, and nearly all estrogen left; more testosterone filtered in. I felt momentarily nervous until I consoled myself with the fact that nobody was paying attention. The room shifted again, and as lyrics rang out about the religious nutcases responsible for all hatred and Jesus sending people to Hell, two girls sparked a conversation with the guy next to me and proceeded to talk about the Holy Spirit showing up and reviving their church. Finally, the room shifted again and canned music resumed, the coffee shop crowd bursting out into a momentary sing along to a Sarah McLaughlin-sounding song.

And, believe it or not, I was feeling better. Nearly all of that 3" stack of papers was graded, the mocha was long gone, and I was no longer feeling like I hated the world for silly reasons. I'm thankful for being refreshed and refocused by life.

Standard Driving Lesson #2

After two minutes in the driver's seat, I had to ask my sister Christina how to turn off the seat warmer. We were still in the cul-de-sac on my street, and the only points of instruction she had given me thus far were to iterate the importance of stepping on the clutch to shift from gear to gear. I sat there practicing shifting--without actually going anywhere--just to get the feel of the gears. And I was already starting to sweat.

You have to understand. I may have been sitting on a rarely-driven-down side street, but I had an entire audience in my mother's living room. I found out later that my brother-in-law was betting I'd stall out on the first attempt to drive forward, while my mother was betting I'd do one better: take the car for a vertical leap in the air. Given the free entertainment I innocently provided my mother and my brother during my Standard Driving Lesson #1 eight years ago when we were test-driving a manual Contour, I have not, until recently, been motivated to attempt the task again. That time, after each stall, after each jerky movement (of which there were many of both), the backseat erupted into fits of laughter that made it twice as hard to concentrate. Finally, my ever-patient Dad, who had been attempting to instruct me from the passenger seat, offered to take over. This sad story has become part of family lore.

However, with new motivation to learn this skill, I have decided to attempt once again to learn how to drive a manual car. I have already sent proposals to my local friends whom I think would be at least mildly amused and amenable to teaching me this valuable skill. Unfortunately, these particular friends have not yet officially responded; fortunately, my unassuming life group buddies have offered to teach me. And my sweet sister who was not present during Lesson #1 agreed to give it a go today.

So, Standard Driving Lesson #2 transpired at approximatley 3:15-3:45 P.M. I am glad to report that with the patient tutelage of my older sister, and without the nonsupportive backseat drivers more interested in a show than my success, I didn't stall the vehicle once. I jumped a little bit--not too often--and ended up having to roll down the windows as I stuck out my tongue in nervous concentration, but we made it home in one piece. Next time, perhaps I will work up to traveling more than 1/4 mile on a semi-busy roadway and getting to Gear 4.