What Are We Willing to Put Up With?

“If You Could See Me Now:”

I’m driving—well, not driving, I’m parked—but a minute ago, I was driving the brightest, yellowish vehicle I had ever seen outside of sports cars. Every inch of this vehicle is screaming yellow. I feel that I’m glowing as I drive down the road.

I just dropped off my champagne-colored Ford Fusion to have a solenoid replaced, and they gave me this loaner car. Bless those people. I love that this company offers loaner cars, and they are probably the greenest (environmentally) repair company in Eugene, Oregon. “The car’s out front,” they said, “the key is in it. “That yellow one!” I exclaimed. It’s great, I was just surprised.

 

I bought coffee, grateful I had transportation, and drove to the park in Eugene, Oregon, to talk to you guys.

The park runs alongside the Willamette River. It’s gorgeous. Two Maple trees in front of me are providing shade, and behind them acres of green lawn spread out before me. A cement path is beyond the green, and a line of trees frames the North side of the path. I can see a bit of blue that is the river, river peeking through the trees.

So, what do you want to talk about?

This calm, tranquil place with only an occasional biker cruising down the cement path is not a setting to get into world politics—Oh, rats, someone parked beside me, but then, we will share the shade: two maples, two cars.

What I have been into the last few days, besides physical therapists coming to the house for my husband who broke his hip, contractors coming, nurses coming, dogs out for the nurses and therapists, in for the contractors. Dirty dishes into the sink, clean dishes out. It’s like the children’s book “Big Dog Out, Little Dog In.” “Little dog out, big dog in.”

I’ve been thinking about my old analogy about how one’s life perspective depends on which window we look through.

I hit a window the other day—on the computer—and saw a picture of bloody fighters having a cage fight on the white house lawn. Now, how can you unsee a picture such as that?!  First, the gladiators. Will we have lions next?

 

What are we willing to put up with?

 

With my window analogy, looking through one window will show you wars, bombings, and chaos in the world. But then another window will show you that the trees are leafed out and delicate in their spring newness. The flowers were dressed in their Sunday best—looking like Easter with flashy, fuchsias, golden yellows, yummy oranges, pinks, reds, and all of them basking in glorious sunshine.

And here I’m outside, well, no, I’m not. I’m sitting in a car looking through a window.

 

Incidentally, as I mentioned, the car repair shop I just left is green. It used to be for foreign cars only, then a couple of doors down the strip, they added another shop for domestic vehicles. We can now use them again. And they said a third shop was coming—I don’t know its specialty.

I was reading a newspaper clipping on the wall while waiting for my loaner car, about how the owner bought the property, renovated it, did the right thing from the beginning, insulated the structure, placed solar panels on the roof, buried tanks in the ground for various fluids so that they would reduce the amount of deliveries and trucks, and the amount of plastic bottles. I don’t know what else my car loner arrived, but I remember that we used to be greeted by a Standard Poodle, and they had a loaner bike.

Merge Like a Zipper

“Have you ever noticed when you’re driving that anyone who’s driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone driving faster than you is a maniac?”—George Carlin

 

"Merge Like a Zipper."

 

Some ingenious engineer created that sign for a bridge construction in Eugene, OR. (Or could it have been a copywriter?)

 

Their directive worked. 

 

People took turns. 

 

The traffic moved steadily.

 

Unlike downtown, where you can have your turn signal blinking for six blocks, people pretend they don't see it. I mentioned this to my contractor once—a friendly guy, and he says he does that. Hmm, I don't get it. 

 

 

Garrison Keillor motivated me to write this because I saw how people drive tells you something about their society. 

 

"Standing at 86th, waiting for a train," –Garrison Keillor

 

"The quickest way around town is the subway, where unemployed actors, highly paid CEOs, cleaning ladies, digital geniuses, and ordinary working stiffs merge in a river of humanity. There is no Business Class on the A train."

 

How cool is that?

 

 

Driving around the world:

 

Well, you can't drive around the world, but you can drive on parts of it. 

 

I am speaking generally, which I'm not supposed to do, but I'm doing it although I'm not supposed to. Did I just repeat myself?

 

Canada:

 

Regarding seat belts, a Canadian sign says: "Be protected, not projected." And they have traffic calming zones in busy cities, plus people wait for you if you double park to receive or dislodge a passenger.

 

Imagine.

 

 

Behaviors.

 

You know, as with many things, there is a spectrum of behaviors. It's not one size fits all, not with drivers, not with politics, not with religion, not with spirituality, not with most ideologies, not with drivers, and not with food.

 

(Hey, I like broccoli, but not restaurant broccoli. Restaurant broccoli must be the reason kids don't like broccoli. Broccoli must be prepared at home, fresh, steamed, slathered in butter, a squeeze of lemon on top, plus and pepper.)

 

 

California: 

 

 

 

 

One would imagine that California drivers, with their crowded freeways, four lanes going one way, four the other, 75 miles per hour, would be rude and uncaring to fellow drivers.

 

Nope. They wave you in if you are merging. They would wave a thank you if you have done them some courtesy. 

 

Sometimes, in large cities, people learn to look out for each other. Sometimes, they shoot them. It depends on the person. 

 

San Francisco:

 

I received more honks in San Francisco in one day than in the rest of my years. And I thought all the blood would run out of my leg when I had my foot on the brake at one of those hills. And then, standing at a San Francisco Crosswalk, someone honked at me. What the heck?

 

Germany

 

I was the designated driver when 2 friends and I toured Fermany's countryside. One friend loved to ask for directions so she could connect with a local. However, chances are they would tell us the wrong direction. Were they trying to confuse us, or did we get it wrong? 

 

We learned to go in the opposite direction they told us. We survived, and we never got permanently lost.

 

One fellow, when asked where a specific B & B was, said to follow him, and he drove his car there while we followed. 

On the Autobahn keep to the right, don't get in the way of those Mercades, BMW, and Porsche drivers.

 

London:

 

(Don't drive. Take the subway or bus.) On the street in Britain, I asked a droll fellow, who became animated when I asked him directions to a specific Glass shop. He went into the middle of the street (residential area) to show me.

 

Their Underground is great, It's logical, easy to maneuver, and it encircles the city, so if you get lost you will just circle around again. All stops exit the circle.

 

 

Whoa. this looks like a spaceship

 

If you want to go somewhere from your stop, walk it it's close, take a bus if it's far. 

 

Be sure and walk--you are in a museum.

 

India:

 

In town:

 

Honestly, they have regular cars too, and look at this bus.

 

 

In the Country:

 

They drive in the middle of the road, honk at turns, and scare the bejeeses out of tourists.

 

Hawaii:

 

Be careful with your speed in Hawaii. It's a 55-mile-per-hour speed limit all over the Big Island. And after 10 p.m., be extra cautious. A policeman stopped me once. I don't know how fast I was going, but he let me go when he realized I lived there. He could see I had a passenger beside me and a baby crying in the back seat and told me the crazies were out after 10 p.m. 

 

After 6 p.m., an officer stood at the ATM. I asked why the security? "Well," he said, "we had a robbery 6 years ago." 

 

I lost my sense of direction in Hawaii. I blamed it on visiting South Point, the southernmost spot of the United States, where there are basalt columns known to interfere with airplane's navigation systems. It is a place where navigators reset their instruments.

 

  This was our driveway, "The Green Trail of Bliss."

 

 

Back to the Orchard

 

Driving has been vital to me since I was twelve, and my dad needed me to drive the truck in the orchard. I would move it from one pick-up stop to the next so he could load tree prunings or boxes of fruit. 

 

I had a driving paper route for a summer job while in high school where I drove my dad's pickup and delivered papers into those cylinder boxes specially made for newspapers. I could slip a rolled-up newspaper into one of those boxes on the fly.

 

Now, I'm lucky to maneuver out of the driveway.

 

As soon as I got out of high school and had a job, I bought a car. Wheels meant freedom to me. 

 

On Our Street:

We have a bark mobile on our street. It’s quite annoying if you are out walking your dog. A fellow in a pickup, window down, dog heads out the window, drives around the neighborhood to the tune of two dogs barking.

I guess that’s instead of walking his dogs. 

And it's an outing for the dogs.

 

 To read conversation #9 which started as "Conversations Under The Maple," please go to 

https://joycedavis.substack.com/

 

 

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