A Saved Vacation- Part 3

As I sat on the bed with the bottle of cold water held to my swollen knee I heard voices through the open door. Women milling around, talking, admiring the decor, probably. Darryl wasn't home at the time. I heard people climbing the first stairs and soon recognized that it was Lois, Michele and Kenlyn.

They ascended to the third floor and admired our room.

"The room is so tiny, "Kenlyn said.

"Still, it's the best room I ever stayed in."

"Did you fall and skin your knees?" Lois asked.

"I did a little more than that. I stood and Lois could see the extent of the swelling."

"We'll take you back to Michele's and she can give you a cold compress. Did you take anything?"

"Tylenol- two pills."

"Can you make it down the stairs?"

"I did before to get the bottle of water but the swelling has increased since. I'll try."

I made it down the two flights of stairs by holding my left knee stiff and then we got out to Michele's truck. Getting in was painful if I flexed my knee but I made it. I remembered my Kindle.

Conversation centered around Michele'd dining table and Corva was the center of attention. And why not? She's adorable and she's an extrovert. She received Christmas and, I think,  birthday presents which would have been too expensive to ship overseas.

We ate steak for supper, prepared by Ken on the barby  and later on the family split into conversational groups, one at the dining table and one in the family room. Those of us in the family room viewed TV for a while and I kept my left knee up as per Hadley's instructions. (Hadley is a registered nurse.) Nurse Hadley prescribed Alleve and cold compresses to diminish the swelling.

The front view from Beech Street.

Lois and I enjoyed the hospitality at Isadora's once more in our luxurious bathrobes. I made coffe for myself on the Kuerig and Lois took tea. We indulged ourselves with Cadbury chocolate bars and once more took in this historic place.

Here's where we signed in, as guests would have done in a bygone era.

The next day we started with a hearty breakfast. First a strawberry banana split with yogurt instead of whipped cream. We shared breakfast with a woman from Columbus, Ohio, actually a member of the faculty of Ohio State University where she researches the effects of poverty on young children.  Lindsay asked where we hailed from and I sensed, from her reaction that the upper peninsula  of Michigan was obscure to her, something like the Yukon Territory. We explained the term, "Yooper," which she found delightfully amusing.

The second course consisted of hash-browned potatoes in casserole form and poached eggs, of which I have never had, but enjoyed.

Lindsay told us that her mother resides in West Bend. When Lindsay told her she was staying at Isadora's her mother objected.

"A bed and breakfast is only for couples."

This is where we breakfasted.

Lindsay was going to take in West Bend with her mother, so we wished her a happy time with her mother.

We reluctantly began to pack for the trip home. I say reluctantly because this was the best and most unique lodging experience we have

The view from Beech Street.

ever had. Sure beats the cookie-cutter approach of the national lodging chains. This place was about warmth and historicity and fascination.


After packing and loading up Ken's truck which he generously let us borrow for the evening, we walked the huge veranda and got a sense of how high the mansion rested above Beech Street.

The front stairs overlooking Beech Street, featuring the babbling fountain on the first landing.

We will definitely stay here again!

I wondered at how long it must have taken to build this enormous residence and the number of workmen involved, since much of the work was done with muscle power rather than machine power.

We recovered our car and painfully paid the bill. I realized that the car troubles didn't ruin this wonderful visit with family. We returned Ken's truck and said our good-byes, punctuated with hugs. With this visit I realized how much I love our family and how much they mean to us.

This prayer opens our AA meetings. I was also saying it silently at times during our vacation.
The frame is an antique from the Weiss family and the cross-stitching was done by our talented niece, Kenlyn Knop.

The homeward trek had only two minor incidents: Lois forgot the cross-stitching project. We doubled back to get it  and we thought we had taken the wrong exit to get on Highway 10. We stopped for gas and coffee and Lois asked the clerk for directions. (We were both wearing t-shirts that we bought from our church. On the back of each shirt was this Scripture: "Show me the right path, o Lord; point out the road for me to follow." Psalms 25:4.) We could see Highway 10 from the gas station, once the nice lady pointed it out.

This vacation had its ups and downs but it was the most unique experience we've had. Always uplifting to visit our family.

• 
  

The Saved Vacation- Part 2

My groggy eyes opened after what seemed like a long sleep, but it was shortly after seven o'clock and I heard water running in the bathroom- Lois washing up for breakfast. My feet dangled from the high bed as  the ghosts of last night began to seep into my consciousness.

It was a sunny day, warm with robins singing outside our window. I parted the curtains and looked outside to see a lovely blue sky and a woman running on the sidewalk past the B & B. and then I thought of the car, the brakes. How much were the repairs going to cost? How would we pay the bill?

Lois entered and we said 'good morning.'

"If you hurry up and get dressed we can go downstairs and have coffee,"

I obeyed Lois and in a few minutes we were slowly descending the two flights of stairs. I noticed the sketch of Jesus with His crown of thorns and the agony in his eyes. I think Michelangelo did this.
The morning light came through a stained glass sun-catcher, brightening the second staircase. The stair walls displayed many photographs of the Mayer family and there was a singular photo of a woman in long skirts, hair done up  and she w
 standing sideways to the camera. The aroma of French toast beckoned us.

We took coffee right away in the dining room which was dominated by a long table, covered by linen with a plate of thick glass over it. Three candelabra graced the elegant place settings. We sat down and shortly Darryl served us warm grapefruit  with the sections all severed so all one had to do was spoon out each bite. I remembered to put the linen napkin on my lap.

Darryl told us about the renovation process that had taken seven years to complete. Plumbing, electrical wiring and drywall were new where required. Three new furnaces were installed, plus central air-conditioning and energy-efficient windows. The dark buffet at one end of the table had a mirror and drawers and magnificent woodwork. Darryl said they tore out a wall that had covered this buffet. It is a deep fixture, as Darryl demonstrated how deep the drawers were, about three feet, I think.

He waited until we were both done with our grapefruit and then brought us our French toast and pork sausages. We have never experienced such an elegant presentation of food. There was a glass rod to the right of each plate for us to lean our forks and knives so we wouldn't sully the meticulously kept tabletop. By the way, the coffee was bold but not overpowering and begged a second cup, which Darryl so thoughtfully poured. He had all the technique and manners of a butler.

After we finished, we lingered over coffee and Darryl joined, standing as he talked.

"Could you please give us the number of Lifetime Auto?" I asked, concerned about getting the car into the shop as soon as possible.

Darryl brought out a phone book and looked it up and gave me a slip of paper and a pen to write it down.

"My nephew's name is Bob and he's a skilled mechanic and honest. The name of the place is Lifetime Auto."

That recommendation satisfied me as I perceived Darryl as an honest Christian man.

I told Lois , "I'll give you a ride to Ken and Michele's and come back."

Darryl said he would then drive out to the shop and I could follow.

Bob was the friendliest, most animated mechanic I have ever met.

"Hi, how are you?" Bob said,  smiling a warm genuine smile, extending a soiled hand. I took it and introduced myself.

"Whattya got wrong with your Nissan?" His animation came out strongly, like a doctor asking a patient what's wrong.

"Brakes. they grind when I hit the brakes."

Then his affect changed to one of concern. "That's serious. You're from Michigan?"

"Way up north on the Wisconsin border, next to Hurley. A lot of West Bend people don't know where Ironwood is, but they know where Hurley is."

"I assume you'll want your car fixed sometime today? Were you planning on leaving for Ironwood tomorrow?"

"If at all possible. Looks like you have a lot of cars to fix."

"Yeah, and I'm working alone." He didn't say why he was the lone mechanic but this bit of information put perspective into the situation.

"Hey, where's the little clicker that attaches to this key?" Bob asked.

I took it out of my pocket and handed it to him.

"Why do you carry it around all the time?"

"To lock and unlock the car. Then I take the key out and start the car."

"Did you know that you don't have to use the clicker to unlock your door?"

I must have had an inquisitive look because he became ever more animated.

"I'm walking to my car after a hard day and I don't have to dig the key out of my pocket, or your wife doesn't have to dig it out of her purse, assuming you're married, of course."

I nodded to affirm my marriage.

"I just stand near the car and push that tiny black button on the door handle and..." He dramatically paused and raised his hand in a flourish as the car opened up.

"And, that's not all, George." He got into the car. "I'm sitting here with my key and clicker in my pocket and all I have to do is..." he turned the ignition without the key and the car started. Then he turned the engine off without the key and got out, closed the door, hit the black button and the car locked.

"Aren't these smart keys cool?"

"Thanks for showing me." I tried to hide my embarrassment.

"Okay, don't worry, I'll try real hard to get 'er done today. I'll call you before noon with an estimate."

Darryl drove me back to the B& B as I told him I wanted to take a run before I visited the Knops.

"There is a terrific running /walking trail just beyond the bridge on Washington.  It's concrete, twenty-six miles long and well-maintained."

"Thanks, I think I'll try that."

The cool morning had passed by and now it was uncomfortably warm, yet I was determined to go for a run. Running straightens me out when my mind is bent out of shape. I was dwelling on the car and I got my running shoes on. They were the old running shoes; the new ones were back in Ironwood. I sighed, "Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change."

I ran down to the trail and decided to estimate my run based on an easy rate of a mile in 12 minutes. I looked at my watch, which was twenty minutes slow, since the battery was failing. The exertion felt comfortable and comforting.

It is to West Bend's credit, this wide and well-maintained trail. No hazards, just a smooth, attractive trail. I had just broken a sweat when my phone rang. It was Lois.

"Where are you?"

"I was running on the splendid trail that runs by the bridge on Washington."

"Why don't you come and help Ken with the branch on the birch tree?"

"Okay. I'll be there in a little while." I knew about the job.

Sixteen minutes had elapsed so when I arrived at the bridge, making the run was about three miles. Now I ran up Washington to the street that curls around Regner Park up to Greentree Street.

Ken was sawing up a hefty branch that had been a hazard. I went through the gate and waved to Michelle. Ken sawed for a while and shut off the saw. We shook hands.

"How can I help you, Ken?"

"You can pick up the sawed pieces and pile them on the side of the house. There's a woodpile started already."

I started hauling and piling and soon had caught up to Ken and He shut off the saw again. Time for a break in this hot morning. We stood and surveyed the birch tree.

"Where did you take your car?"

"Lifetime Auto. The mechanic is supposed to call me before noon with an estimate."

"Tough when your car breaks down on a trip."

"Yeah, whatcha gonna do? It is what it is."

"Want to saw for a while?"

"Sure," I said. That was like asking Pavoratti if he wanted to sing.

This was great- a run and now I was sawing firewood. Something about a chainsaw clicks with me. I worked for the U.S. Forest service many years ago as a cutter. I also sawed up logs delivered to our house, ten logger's cords each year. Running a good saw is like driving a fast car, sharpens your senses because one little mistake can wreck a lifetime. I liked the power of Ken's new Riobi saw and was disappointed when I ran out of wood to cut.

We finished the job and Ken raked up the mess and then we sat down in the gazebo with refreshments. It was a good time, catching up on each others' lives and having a laugh or two. Ken and Michele Knop make you feel at home. They are good people.

My phone rang again and it was Lifetime. I went away from the gathering to hear what was wrong with our car. My stomach tingled and Bob revealed a litany of automotive woes.

"I'm not gonna pull any punches, George. It's not a cheap date. Your rear brakes were metal-on-metal and the rotors are completely destroyed."

I anticipated that, but I wasn't ready for the rest of the story.

"Your left front wheel was wobbly and I found out that there was nothing left of the wheel bearings. You are real lucky to be alive."

"How about the front brakes," I asked, suspecting them also to be worn out as well.

"Your front brakes have 10% left on the pads. If I do the rear brakes, the front brakes and the new hub assembly the bottom line is just over a thousand bucks."

I felt sick in the pit of my stomach, somewhere between miserable and nausea.

"Can I make it home to Ironwood without doing the front brakes?"

"I can't give a guarantee. that is up to  you, George. Do you want us to just do the rear brakes and the front hub? That would come to
$718.00, including labor and sales tax."

"Let's do that, okay."

"It's your call, George. but I'd get those front brakes done in the very near future. I'll try to get it finished since you said you were going home tomorrow."

"Appreciate it," I croaked. I was flattened by the news. I couldn't think or speak or move. In a few minutes I shared the bad news at the gazebo.

Somehow I was cheerful over lunch. I was even conversational. I don't know why. My personal prohibition against spoiling this gathering would not have kept me stable. Something else was working then and I can realize it as I write. It was God stuff.

Nephew Michael Knop,  his wife Hadley , daughter, Corva and beloved dog, Tula.

After lunch when Ken was napping and our nephew Mike and his wife, Hadley, on furlough from their work in Germany arrived. They brought their two-year-old daughter, Corva. We hugged and made such a racket that we woke up Ken. Mike's sister, Kenlyn also joined us.

I remained on the periphery of things as I usually do and when the tenor of the gathering relaxed I recalled that I didn't have my Kindle. I wanted to go outside and read a few chapters of The Wind is not a River. I told Lois that I would run back and get it.

"Take it easy. It's hot out there," Michele cautioned.

I ran around the curve alongside Regner Park again and this time I ended up on Main Street instead of Washington. No problem. I knew how to get back to the B & B. I remember seeing the Toucan custard place just before I sailed through the air, hands before me like Superman, my glasses flying off me head and my left knee bouncing off the concrete. Then I slid on hands and knees. All this seemed to happen in slow-motion.

I got to my feet quickly and retrieved my glasses. Heavy traffic whisked by and I hoped no one had noticed. Both knees were bleeding and I wiped away the blood with some tissue from my pocket. I resumed running as though nothing had happened.

In our room at the B & B, I viewed the damage in a full-length mirror. A piece of skin had been scraped from my right knee, about the size of a quarter. The left knee was also bleeding but swollen twice the size of the other.

A bottle of cold water from the dining room refrigerator would suffice as a cold compress. I judged the swollen knee wasn't broken, else I wouldn't be up here in our third-floor room. I thanked God for that and sat on the bed holding the cold water bottle against the swelling.

======== To be continued. Part 3 is coming!==========

A Broken Vacation Saved - Part 1

We headed down Highway 51, rolling out of Minocqua, Wisconsin in the Nissan we bought three months ago, sun roof open and commercial-free tunes playing on the Sirius XM radio. We talked and laughed and forgot about the vexations of everyday life. We were relaxing in the soothing sun as we rolled toward our destination which was Isadora's Bed and Breakfast in West Bend, Wisconsin. Neither of us had stayed in a B & B before, but our lodging options had narrowed in the wake of summer activities in West Bend. Lois' sister, Michele already had overnight guests so  I had found our new adventure in lodging online and booked it through Priceline.com.

There was no set time for us to arrive and we were in the most carefree spirit in years. We remarked at the urban sprawl and the complexity of overpasses in Appleton, Fond Du Lac and Oshkosh that have appeared since we last passed this way, some two years ago.

Our lightness of mood suddenly halted as we pulled into a gas oasis in Stevens Point. As our car approached one of the gas pumps a horrible, grinding sound emanated from the rear. We looked at each other.

"That doesn't sound good. Not good at all," Lois said, her countenance darkening into concern.

"Shit!" was all I could say.

The car needed fuel and I needed to use the facilities and to refill my coffee mug from the many choices inside. After filling the tank I was at the coffee bar and decided on filling my mug halfway with Colombian coffee. I topped it off with a liquid candy called English Toffee. We paid and went back out to our car. It was after six and there would be no car repair service available. The city was congested and there would probably be no lodging available.

The noise came and went and disappeared when we were on Highway 10, exiting Stevens Point. I kept pace with the flow of traffic but drove conservatively. We didn't hear the noise at all until we got on the ramp to Highway 45. We went through one of those ridiculous things called a turnabout. It routed us around 360 degrees and then some and I lost all sense of direction. I had to slow down considerably to negotiate this crazy, winding menace the highway engineers inflicted on unsuspecting motorists. Must have been insane highway engineers.

The noise came again, wrenching, grinding, frightening, compounded by heavy traffic. When we left the turnabout and accelerated the noise ceased. By now my mind was going wild. I was in three lanes of traffic and four at times, all going one way and looking for overhead signs to be sure I was headed in the right direction. Lois activated the GPS. She is the navigator. I am flying the plane with the unknown mechanical malfunction.

With Lois' skill at using the GPS we got to the last leg of the trip at the Allenton exit on Highway 33. There was a stop sign and when I came to a complete stop it became apparent that it was the brakes as the scraping grind intensified to a shriek that set my teeth on edge. Careful driving would get us there. Nonetheless I prayed non-stop.

Once in West Bend we had to find Isadora's B & B and I thought I knew where it was from the Google map, but the night plays strange tricks on one's senses. Things look completely different. Then the GPS took us to an old abandoned block structure on Main Street. "Make a left turn, immediately'" the female voice said,  in and we did. We were routed into a dark alley. A chime sounded and the female voice on the GPS said, "You have arrived!"

We exited the dark alley and the voice said, "Please make a legal u-turn whenever possible." My frustration boiled over and I told the GPS voice to shove it where the sun never shines. On the homeward trip I named her Gertrude.

Gertrude had obviously failed us, so Lois told me to pull over as soon as I could and she would call Darryl at the B & B for help.

As Lois talked I went out with the flashlight to look under the car for anything that might be hanging down or damaged. I didn't find anything so I got back into the car and Darryl stayed on the line with Lois to become our live GPS as it were. In a little while we found our destination and parked the car with tortured sounds reminiscent of the Titanic. Darryl was there to greet us. I was shaken, frustrated and tired. I looked at the rear wheels with the flashlight and saw irreparable scoring on the brake rotors. Now I felt defeated. I was never going to take another road trip again never!

I recalled the trips to West Bend with mechanical failures: the Ford Torino station wagon, alternator failure; the Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera failed Lois on a solo trip, computer failure; the Dodge Dakota needed a sudden tune-up on the day after Christmas and the distributer gear failed; the F-150 blew an alternator on a homeward trip in the winter in the middle of nowhere; the Ford Taurus never failed us.

I followed Lois and Darryl silently fuming and cursing. Yes I curse when my buttons are pushed. I admit it. I'm saved by Jesus through His generosity and grace but I'm human, no better or worthy in the sight of God than anyone else. My old nature takes over at times of my weakness. I confess it to God . I carried some of our luggage down the sidewalk and turned into the path to the front porch.

living room with bay window

I was unprepared to step back 120 years through a massive front door. The door squealed loudly as I closed it and I came to the dim foyer. A small desk lit by a small table lamp lay before a staircase adorned with pictures of the

original owner, Stephen S. Mayer.  He was the president of West Bend Aluminum company and later he founded  West Bend Mutual Insurance Company. This house boasted the first flush toilet in town and utilized the refinements of steam heating. The steam was piped in from the West Bend Brewery.

We ascended a winding staircase to the second floor  library with period furniture and a Tiffany lamp overlooking a high-backed chair. Our room was on the third floor, The French Nook. We went up another winding staircase. This one was narrow and carpeted and our room was right at the head of the stairs.

I threw the heavy suitcase on the full-sized bed adorned with pillows of various sizes. I sat down on the bed which was so high that my feet dangled. I was trying to take in all the European ambience but the stress of the drive weighed heavily.

"How many times have we come down here and our car broke down. First it was the Torino wagon..."

"Don't." I looked up at Lois, who had just rebuked me and I deserved it. I desperately wanted to avoid spoiling this family reunion, but I was mad, embarrassed at having our newly-acquired car break down, and ashamed at myself for my anger and inner feelings  and  my break from fellowship with God.

We went down again and met with Darryl Ziebarth for the guided tour. (His wife was out of town.) Antique furniture graced the massive living room and rich curtains and drapes framed the bay window in the front of the house. A headless mannequin modeled a black wedding dress. The room had a somewhat masculine quality as dark woodwork bordered the ceilings which were painted works of art. I retrieved my camera and tripod and photographed until my eyes wouldn't focus.

We said good-night to Darryl, who had been a missionary in Somalia. He was, calm, gentle and walks closely with God. He told us about a garage on Highway 33, Lifetime Auto that had a reputable mechanic, none other than his nephew.

We went up the two flights of stairs again and washed up in the adjacent full bathroom with shower. As we settled into bed I turned on my Kindle looked for some guidance from the Radio Bible Class web page, rbc.org.

I went into the section Been Thinking About and chose a story about Jacob. He was bad to the bone, stole his brother's inheritance and lied to his father among many other failings. His son, Joseph was upright and walked closely with his God even though he was kidnapped, thrown into a well, sold into slavery, etc. but the Bible refers to Jacob's God twenty-five times, never to Joseph's God.

Jacob did eventually get in synch with God but he is easier to identify with. I felt like Jacob and I went to sleep asking for forgiveness from Lois and God.

But I still worried about our car.

========= To be continued, end of Part One==========  

No Sour-Faced Legalism Here!

Sundays at Woodland Church are radically different from church ten years ago. There are no spiritual know-it-alls, those who know the Scriptures as if they wrote it themselves and flaunt this knowledge. There is no sour-faced, self-righteous legalism. People attend while looking for answers to life's heartaches. It is not blasphemous to ask questions.

People attend who are hurting from drug addictions, alcoholism, job loss, chronic disease, death of a spouse and poverty. There are a few looking for answers to setbacks in their careers, expressing anger at God for their plight. Ten years ago such anger would have drawn a sharp rebuke. Now it evokes compassion and practical assistance.

 And you know what? We accept all the people with open arms, including people who wear old clothes, faded blue jeans (last week I wore (blue jean) shorts and a tee shirt.) People wearing black leather jackets arrive on Harley-Davidson bikes. People with long hair or no hair or tattoos are welcomed. We believe the outward appearance isn't important but the condition of the soul is what really counts, not the car that takes you to Woodland's parking lot but the spiritual condition of  the passengers. 

Political leanings are not shunned. I am  liberal-bent politically, one of a tiny minority in Woodland Church but no-one chides me. I am a lion in a den of Daniels. 

People who question the veracity of the Scriptures are not ostracized. Instead, questions during mid-week Bible study are welcomed. Some, myself included believe in a God-directed big bang resulting in a 13.5 billion year old universe and a four-billion year old earth. Others believe the earth is only 6000 years old, but there is mutual respect for diverse opinions.

What counts is whether you walk through life with Jesus, have a relationship with Him. Show His love through your actions. You will sin but fess up. He forgives again and again and again.

We are blessed with  Pastor Mike who works with God and people to keep an atmosphere of acceptance.

I can truthfully say that church-going is pleasurable and not a downer.

Slapping the Pavement

"How are you guys?" My boss, Sue sneaked up on us while we were sitting at a picnic table in the Ironwood Festival.

"You goh me wiff I oufull," I was chewing my fish fry.

"That keeps him quiet," Lois said.

"Watch it!" I said after swallowing.

We exchanged some banter which I barely heard over the cacophony of people and the rock band.

It was one of those moments when I feel joy and not worry. Sue's welcoming cheer actually started that. She went back to the table with her family.

It was also one of the few optimistic moments that wash over me and open the door to try something I never did before. (It wasn't dancing.) I had been thinking about running in a local race for a few years and my negative thought processes gave a plethora of reasons why I should not run in a race, but the main thought was 'I can't do it.'

My body is fairly fit for a soon-to-be 67 man with arthritis. I have run regularly the last four years. My routes vary from 2 miles to 7 miles, depending on circumstances.Lois kicks me out of the house when I'm grumpy. "Go for a run. Go on, now. Run out that grumpiness." It works every time. I come home in a much lighter mood.

As I sat and chewed my fish I ruminated about the Saturday run. I'm in great shape, according to my doctor. He encourages my to run and to buy new shoes three times yearly. I even have worked some speed intervals into my runs. My elapsed times have decreased this year and even after a hard run I'm not out-of-gas. I ruminated.

"Whatcha thinking about," Lois asked.

"You know, I betcha I could run that 5 mile race tomorrow."

"Sure you could. You'll have to sign up tomorrow morning. The race is at eight-thirty."

God bless Lois! "You, know, this time I'm gonna do it. Too bad you have to work."

I woke up with excitement and anticipation, visions of Paavo Nurmi, visions of a marathon winner collapsing dramatically at the finish line. Then I thought of the many people from out-of-town who run at marathons all summer. I wouldn't finish in the top ten- maybe the top 40.

The start of the race was at Norrie Park and there were at least a hundred racers. Some in the two-mile and others like me in the five-miler. We were assembled at the entrance to the park and stood with our hands over our hearts as the colors were presented and a man in uniform from the American Legion sang The Star Spangled Banner. I shifted nervously. Couldn't stand still.

All of a sudden this great throng started running. I was careful not to step on someone else. I wanted to accelerate but I was part of a traffic jam. Soon, the two-mile racers separated from us five-milers as we turned to cross the bridge and continue into Wisconsin. I knew there were thirty or so runners ahead and the pack began to thin as racers adopted unique paces.

I could see the guy in the lead way ahead. Must've been in his early 20s. I passed people and some passed me. I resisted the impulse to hit the gas. Any gas I burn early will not be in reserve in the last mile.

My calves burned as they always do in the first two miles, then they feel comfortable as I 'get my legs.' Seemed that it took longer to get my legs because of the steady fast pace. I always run hard uphill then take it easy on the downside. I wasn't out of breath, but I was hoping the burn would ease up soon as I listened to feet slapping the pavement.

An Iron County Sheriff officer encouraged us. I looked at my watch thinking we must be at least fifteen minutes into the race, but it was only ten. I was about a half-mile to the turn-around and there was a guy already running the opposite way. 'What did he eat for breakfast?' He wore goggles and these tights that stop just above the knee. His shoes were phosphorescent green. He even looked fast when I saw him before the race.

About a minute later a spectacularly athletic girl with with bronzed limbs followed the leader, then three more girls. 'How far is the turnaround?' I had forgotten about making a first place finish for my age group when an elderly gentleman passed the opposite way. I was in awe of these athletes! I wonder how they train.

At last the turnaround came and I looked at my watch. Nine minutes to nine. Not too bad. I focused on making my best time, competing with myself. I can make it but it's going to take a lot of push. I realized that I had run too fast earlier and I started to feel it in my legs but I kept an even pace. I passed a few runners who were fading and hoped I wouldn't drastically fade.

Then a friendly sight on the side of the road. A guy holding up a water cup. It was Randy Clemens from Woodland Church cheering me. I slowed and took the cup and poured it on my head. God bless Randy!

"The four-mile mark is just ahead!"

I just nodded then resumed my pace. I thought I could catch the guy about ten yards ahead and worked on that and as the gap slightly closed I was surpassed by a guy pushing a baby in a stroller! 'Are you kidding me! Show-off!' I tried to pass the stroller but he kept creeping away.

The four-mile mark! I could've knelt down and kissed it. There was a police car blocking traffic at the bridge as I re-entered Michigan. "You got 'er made now. Great job," the officer shouted.

As Norrie Park came into view spectators clapped for each of us as we passed, sweaty, legs tired, but we were all determined to finish. The gates of Norrie Park were the gates of heaven to me as I pushed past the parked cars and the people clapping. A race official pointed to the center of a phalanx of people. This was the finish line.

I made it! Euphoria washed over me as I floated to the pavilion and the Gatorade. I drank and walked to cool down. Then I went back to the phalanx to cheer the other runners whom had made it. I appreciated those other runners and their efforts.

I checked the board where the results were posted and found my time to be 48:44. My best time running my own 5-mile course was 55 minutes. Elation set in, tempered by the fact that I finished fourth in the 'male 60-69 age group.'

An arm seized my shoulder, Randy and his daughter. I don't remember our exchange but it sort of put a cherry on top of the whole event. The euphoria escalated. God bless Randy! He's such an encourager. I've seen olympian runners weep as they finished and a friend wrapped them in a congratulatory hug. Now I understand that.

I stayed for the awards and a woman from our church, Gena Abramson won the two-mile female age 40-44 first-place award. She reminds me of someone that excels at anything they do. I clapped and mentally gave her a hug. The youngest participant was a five-year old girl in the two-miler. The oldest was Margaret Bull, 85 years of age!

I'm glad I didn't listen to that nagging, negative voice that says 'you can't do it.'

The Joy of New Wheels

We recently acquired a 2009 Nissan Rogue (ruffian, evildoer, criminal,badass.) The contrast between our old car and the newer one hits the senses with impact, particularly the smell of the interior  and it takes me back to another era.

It was springtime, 1964. The warm spring air bore the fragrance  of the newness of life. Neighbors were mowing grass, emitting one of my favorite aromas. It was warm and I was girl-crazy. What a time to be alive!

I didn't realize that we were getting a different car until the Sunday that we got it. I went along with Dad for the bi-weekly ritual of filling the gas tank of our 1954 Chevrolet. Dad drove us down the street to Tony and Pete's Standard Service. He drove up to the pumps and Pete Larson came bounding out of the service station in his pinstriped coat with 'Pete' embroidered under the Standard Oil insignia. He also wore a matching pinstriped skull cap.

"Fill 'er up, George?"

"Just three bucks worth. The summer tires are in the trunk. Will you change 'em?"

"You betcha," Pete was wiping the windshield. "Check the oil?"

Dad nodded.

"Sure is nice to see some warm and sunny weather after that awful winter."

"Yeah, our coal bin is just about empty. Had enough of winter, for sure."

Pete pulled out the oil dipstick from the motor and squinted at it. "Half between 'add' and 'full'. If the motor was cold it probably would be three-quarters." He closed the hood. "when do you want to pick 'er up?"

"My boy can get 'er tomorrow after school if that's all right."

"Okay by me. Thanks, George."

Dad started walking away from the service station. I was baffled by Dad's logistics, as he seldom walked. He had a heart condition and the cardiac benefits of walking had not yet been realized by the medical establishment.

"You coming or not?"

I ran a few steps to catch up and I had no idea what Dad was up to and I lacked the temerity to ask. We passed the Daily Globe and continued to the intersection of McLeod and Lowell, rounded the Allender Motors building and then we went through one of the service doors of this Ford dealership. We went from the spring brightness to the fluorescent gloom of the service bays. The odor of grease and gasoline and the pungent residual of primer and lacquer. The shop was neatly kept. Tool chests on castors rested in front of the inactive workbenches.

An old man emerged from the office (he must have been at least fifty.) I recognized Bill Limaaka from church. He always was chatting and laughing with someone after the service was over. Winsome and easy to talk with, ever maintaining his clientele base. I thought Bill should have been in politics.

 Good to see you, George." Bill extended a hand and then turned to me and extended me the same courtesy. "You must be old enough to drive," he said with an avuncular smile. I always liked Bill, but this was my first encounter with him.

"Well, there she is, George," Bill handed Dad the keys to a light blue 1962 Ford Galaxie sedan. "Go and try 'er out for a couple days. I think you'll like 'er. We cleaned 'er up real good, waxed 'er and the inside is fresh and clean. She's just like new and only eighteen thousand miles."

Dad got behind the wheel and I went in the other side. The doors closed with a tight, solid thud. I was used to the rattly doors on the Chevy coupe. The engine was barely audible when Dad started it, another stark difference with the Chevy.

Bill knocked on Dad's window and Dad rolled it down.

"I didn't tell you, George but the brakes are power-assisted, so just a light touch does it."

Dad backed the Ford out of the garage in jerky fashion until he got the hang of the brakes. He headed right back to Tony and Pete's. Pete came out right away. "Holy cow, George! What do we have here?"

"She looks brand-new. I won't even have to wipe the windshield, it's so clean. V-8 engine?"

"Yup, go ahead and pop the hood."

"Yup, that's a 292. That's been a real good motor, George. I've serviced a lot of 'em.Gonna take 'er out for a spin?"

"I'll try 'er for a few days. Put in five bucks regular, ok?"

"You betcha."

I think Dad really stopped at Tony and Pete's to show it off. I wondered if he was going to trade in the old Chevy. It was rusted badly, lacking rocker panels and the front seat rocked slightly because of the rotted floor.The windshield had a crack in it and it's paint was dulled by the severe winter. I had driven it many times already. Dad first took me to the cemetery to get the hang of driving the stick-shift. I killed the motor a few times and ground the gears before my right hand and my left foot got synchronized. I had driven it to the cottage in Mercer once and Mom said she was so nervous that her feet were curled up the whole trip.

"Gonna trade in the old buggy?"

"I don't think I'd get too much for it. Rusted out pretty bad, but the motor runs good. You know what? I'll let my boy have it."

I felt my jaw drop. This was too good to be true! But it was true. I could see that Dad meant it.

"It's a fixer-upper, but you can take care of that," Dad said with a little chuckle. "That's your birthday and Christmas present for the next three years."

We all had a good laugh.

When we were ready to leave Dad launched another jaw-dropper.

"You drive." He handed me the keys.

I got behind the wheel, adjusted the rear-view mirror and located the ignition, to the left of the steering wheel. I almost launched Dad through the windshield with my first touch of the power brakes, but I quickly adjusted to the brakes and the power steering.

It was like driving inside a cloud, no rattles, a responsive motor, easy steering. I had the urge to hit the gas and see how responsive it really was but I played it safe. It was a good time, a time I'll always remember.

The present is not parallel but similar. We had the 1995 Taurus for almost eighteen years. Motor was still running as strong as the day we bought it but a rusted body and underside necessitated a different car.

There's a thrill to turning the key in a crisp used car and a strange challenge to learn how to operate all the bells and whistles that have become vogue in the last eighteen years. For example, the shifter is on the console. The last time I drove a car so equipped was in my 1967 Mustang. In the Nissan I activated the windshield wipers, front and rear when I wanted to put the transmission in Drive. A month later I am still tripping over that. Old habits die hard.

It's the same cycle. The old, faithful sedan rusts to the point of no return, in spite of its strong drive-train. The luster is gone and the luster of newer cars carries us away. We commit to monthly payments that strain the budget. With our loved ones in lower Wisconsin and lower Michigan, that commitment is necessary.

The last time we saw the the Taurus it was in the dealer's lot bearing a sign, "$1599.00. Runs great! Only 102,000 miles!" It also bore a 'hold' sign under a wiper. It wasn't there for long, closing a long chapter in our car ownership. By the way, we got $700.00 in trade and the dealer only told us the negative aspects of our car. Didn't mention that it runs great. That's why he's rich.

God's Laws of Physics

The cold weather had been distressing. On January 1, 5:00 p.m. the other night - shift worker called to ask if I could take her place since she has the flu. (You must find someone to work your shift.) Of course I consented, recalling how someone helped me last winter when I was in agony with the stomach flu.

Around 8:30 I took each of the dogs for a short outing. I'm careful of the possibility of frostbite in their paws. After the dogs were squared away I went to plug in Lois' car. I lifted the garage door and flipped the light switch.  Darkness!

Next I said a short prayer for my truck which sits outside. I hadn't started it for over thirty-six hours, but I had the heater plugged in.
Didn't matter as the truck only made a zapping, clicking noise.

Now the problem was to restore power to the garage. I checked the fuse panel in the garage and from there I went into the basement and checked for a tripped circuit breaker. Next I started to check each junction box on that circuit. I was in and out of the house several times without success.

The pressure built and I was  sending up prayers as I needed the truck to start and I needed electricity so I could try to charge the battery. After checking the connections in each box I went outside to see if the garage lights came on. Frustration set in and anger followed as it was now 9:45 and my shift started at 11:00.

My heart beat faster with the urgency of the situation. I would try Lois' car to jump-start the truck. The old Taurus started like a champ. The truck would not.

"What do you want me to do," I prayed angrily, as I put the Taurus back into the garage.

Back into the basement. I shut off the power to the garage and checked several junction boxes.  This time I twisted the wire nuts to ensure a good connection. It was ten o'clock and I knew that I wouldn't make it to work.

Back outside, I found the garage lights were on, so now I would connect the battery charger to the truck. Problem was, I had locked myself out of the truck so I couldn't release the hood. (Expletive) There was another set of keys hanging in the house. I would call work to explain the situation. With phone in hand I punched in the numbers with great difficulty. My arthritis reacts when I work outside, bare handed. My hands were also trembling from anxiety and anger.

I explained my plight and I got some help. The assistant manager would cover my shift, bless her heart. I told the person working the desk to convey my extreme gratitude. I took the extra keys and got into the truck, although it was painful for me to turn the key.

I was shivering violently and it was difficult to connect the charger to the battery, but the connection was made. I set the charger for a slow charge. By the morning this truck would start.

After I was in our warm house for a while I began to warm up and my thoughts quit whirling. I took a cup of hot tea upstairs and I had no sooner  changed into pajamas that the phone rang. It was the assistant manager. She needed me to walk her through the computer audit.

First I apologized for not making it and she was gracious and sympathetic to the point of putting me at ease. I walked her through for about the next forty-five minutes and the day ended well. I slept well and the next morning the truck started.

I realized how screwed-up my thoughts were the night before. Why did God let the power fail in the garage? Why did the night turn into a hellish cascade of events?

I realized that God had nothing to do with that. Things happen, following the laws of physics, which He established. I realized how foolish I had been. When there is a negative situation and my mind whirls it, whips it into a catastrophe. The devil whispers, "You can't fix this...God caused this, you know. After all He's in control."

I've fallen into that trap hundreds of times. When will I learn? I apologized to God.