Quite the crazy last few days, huh?
I'm sitting here eating my microwaved leftovers from Tuesday's supper of Choplets, lima beans, mac-n-cheese, and garlic cheddar rolls. I came into work today even though we are officially closed. People say it's quieter when you're at work on an off day. Don't let 'em fool ya. That heating unit fan above my head in the kitchen is just as loud as it would be any other day. It may be quiet elsewhere in this building, but not right here. Nor in my head.
The stress level is never as high as it is when you're in a situation where you're not completely in control. Tuesday, here at work, we had barely started a staff meeting before we got the call that the schools were closing and to come get your kids. We quickly finished the meeting and I left as soon as I could, which wasn't soon enough. After waiting 45 minutes to get from McCallie Avenue to 3rd. Street to get onto Amnicola Highway, I finally decided to just go down 3rd. Street to Holtzclaw Avenue. There wasn't nearly as much traffic. And as if by miracle, when I turned onto Holtzclaw, I ended up being a few vehicles behind a truck spreading sand. I followed that truck up Wilcox to Chamberlain, onto Glass Street, and eventually all the way to Hwy. 153, where traffic was moving along at 45 mph. Aside from snail's pace traffic at the Lee Highway exit, I made it to my kids' school without any major problems. Time elapsed: 2 hours.
I parked to go in to get my kids. I wasn't about to brave another 2 or more hours in the car without first...umm...visiting the facilities. I did that, gathered my kids, and headed home. Once again, besides the snarl at Vance and Lee Highway intersection, the rest of the trip home was uneventful. That's not to say it wasn't stressful. I'm pretty confident in my driving skills. But when the roads are covered with ice and idiots, the stress levels tend to rise. My kids noticed this. At one point, when my son asked me about something that was said on the radio, I patted his leg and said, "I know the radio is saying stuff, but I'm not hearing it." The road and how to get home preoccupied my mind enough to make me deaf to that noise.
I decided to get on I-75 North at Bonny Oaks and go up to the first Cleveland exit to get home. Honestly, it wasn't that bad. The interstate had snow on it, but there were clear tracks, not unlike a slot track, that I followed all the way to that exit. They even continued all the way down APD40 to Dalton Pike to where I turn off at Johnson Road. Johnson Road was white with snow. I took it easy and drove the final 2 miles to home. The road, in places, looked like someone had been scraping it with a plow. Sure enough, I came upon a tractor with a scrape blade that was making sure the road was clear from the chicken houses that are about 1/2 mile before my house, to the main road. Beyond that, the road looked like it had not even been touched. It was actually beautiful. That last 1/2 mile was the best part of that trip. No slipping, no sliding...just the crunch of snow under my tires and the sight of my house coming into view. I felt the weight of stress leave my body through my now unclenched fists as I put the car into "Park." We were home. Elapsed time since leaving work: 4 hours.
All that was left to do was to enjoy the snow. I like snow like I like green olives, swiss cheese, or moonshine; a little dab'll do me. The snow is pretty, it sounds musical under tires as you drive or your feet as you walk, but once I start getting wet I start getting cold and I start getting done with it. I reached that point in 10 minutes flat. My daughter lasted longer; my son even longer than that. But, man it sure was pretty seen from the kitchen window and over the rim of a hot cuppa joe.
It's taken 729 words to get to the point. I ramble, I know, and this is more than just a boring re-cap of "Blizzard '14, or How I Survived the Drive Home." It isn't even about me. I made it home. I got my kids home. There were so many others who wrecked or were otherwise stranded in places other than their own driveways. We were safe. We were home. We were alive. We were together.
It was a simple scroll down the numerous status updates that fill my Facebook news feed. It was a simple status update that made me stop the scrolling and allow what I was reading to soak in. It took only a few seconds, but those seconds were a slow transition from bewilderment to realization to acceptance. Another family member had passed away. You know, you really are never prepared when a loved one dies. I am sure nobody was expecting this. I surely wasn't. And I know his wife and kids certainly weren't.
I probably wasn't as close to Lewis Scoggins as I could have been. I don't have too many memories to speak of. I do remember that he was most likely the first person I knew that made his own venison jerky. I remember when he and his family lived near the intersection of Wesleyan and Weatherly Switch Roads. I thought, just by looking at the home and property that these were some of the most down to earth earthy people on the Earth. I was somewhat envious. I know even more recently, I was envious of his awesome beard. Weird.
You know what sucks? Funerals. The only good I see in them is perhaps seeing family members that you haven't seen in a while. Funerals are unplanned family reunions where things are supposed to be said from the heart. Whether they're heartfelt or surface sayings, we all make words a part of the pleasantries, inserting them into the grieving process; things are said to make things better. Many things were said at the last funeral I attended. Things that were meant at the time and are still meant. I said them; others said them too. Of course we all meant to follow through on our words with actions. Saying and doing are like red and violet; opposite ends of a spectrum wrought with intent and regret. A rainbow isn't a rainbow without the oranges, yellows, greens, blues, and indigos in the middle. What usually ends up missing are those colors in between the ends. What's missing are the steps between saying and doing.
I'm guilty of not completing the rainbow. I know that saying is not doing. What is it that gets in the way? Perhaps it's life itself that gets in the way. Work demands my attendance. Kids gotta get their homework done. The animals aren't going to feed themselves, ya know. All I wanna do is just get home. There's too much going on in my life to worry about someone else. But you know what? Here's what: none of this is good enough. Nothing is more important than being with loved ones. If life is what gets in the way, life is also the thing that removes these barriers; these excuses that we make. Life is important and we should make good on all the words we say. Fill in the gap between saying and doing with reasons to actually *do*.
We need to make ourselves the reasons. We need to do it before we gather together at another unplanned family reunion. It's said that family is not just a group of people related by blood. Family is a group of people related by love.
Family? I'll see you Sunday. Lewis? I'll see you someday, after we're all done meeting like this...
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