In Good Company
By
Linda Lee Greene
A Journey With Grace
A nineteen-hour road-trip ahead
of us, my sister, Sherri, her boyfriend, Jeff at the wheel of his van, and I pull
out of the driveway of my home in Columbus, Ohio at 5:30 am, Friday, March 2nd,
2012, the vehicle packed to overflowing with luggage and other traveling
paraphernalia. Alone in the back seat, I
embrace my solitude as in this dim light of the approaching dawn that turns
everything flat and monochromatic, the three of us set out on our journey, the
first leg of it to the home of my sister, Susan and her partner, Jim, a lovely
and spacious house located about fifteen miles north of Clearwater in the picturesque
village of Crystal Beach, Florida. A
turn west off of the gulf coast highway onto a two-lane avenue banked by quaint
bungalows, stately palms, and gnarled live oaks, their home is an enjoyable
walk to the pier at the terminus of Crystal Beach Boulevard that plunges into
St. Joseph’s Sound in the Gulf of Mexico.
Just south of
Chattanooga, Tennessee weather bulletins on the radio explain the rain that
pelts the windows of the van, reports of a tornado coming in, intrepid Jeff at
the wheel determined to plow through while Sherri in the navigator’s seat
implores him to pull over and take cover.
Stretched out by now on the back seat, my head cushioned with mounds of
pillows, my feet comfortably elevated on my rolled-up blanket, I read my book
and refuse to allow the storm to ruin my faith in our mild adventure that is the
perfect complement to my pensive mood.
Our
cell phones begin to ring, family members and friends watching the storms on
their televisions calling us to issue updates and warnings, frantic voices that
are in league with Sherri that we pull over and ride out the inclement weather. As it turned out, we had been just half of an
hour ahead of the tornado and feeling blessed but also with many “ifs” filling
our minds as we arrive at our destination…“if we had left Columbus a few
minutes later”…“if we had required fewer restroom stops,”—we would have been
right in the middle of the storm.
A few hours
sleep and waking to warm, Florida sunshine, we exhaust the first half of our
first day on the lanai of our host’s home, a screen-in structure sheltering the
in-ground pool; barbeque; alfresco dining and television-viewing areas; plump
cushions on white wicker chairs; glass-topped and circular iron table and four
mated chairs; cheery tchotskes adorning any accommodating surface —a lanai lush
with Susan’s collection of plants, an extensive variety hanging and/or
floor-bound in pots; a shabby-chic and a welcoming environment. I need food, however, my grain-free and
sugar-free diet requiring fruits and vegetables and other essential items in
abundance, and Jeff, desirous of laying-in some beer, the two of us pile into
the van for a shopping-spree at the nearby Publix Grocery store.
The driveway
slopes downward on its approach to the front of Susan and Jim’s home, and upon
parking his van in it the previous night, Jeff had engaged the emergency brake,
a piece of equipment he seldom uses.
Inserting the key in the ignition, he revs the engine, releases the
emergency brake, shifts into reverse, and endeavors to back out of the
driveway. The van is frozen in place,
though, but he finally gets the vehicle moving and we drive to the store to the
accompaniment of a terrible grating noise under the chassis and Jeff cursing
himself for failing to replace the brake pads before we had left Columbus. Our shopping completed, we return home, still
to the tune of the grinding noise, unload the groceries, and after a few
minutes of discussion to form our strategy, Jeff takes the van to a Goodyear
shop just behind the Publix Grocery store.
Boy, are we
lucky—once again! Not only do the brake
pads need replacing, the shoes are frozen to the drums and the emergency brake is
so corroded that the mechanic has to cut the cable to release it. Once more our minds are filled with “ifs”…“if,
God forbid, we had been in a situation during our 1,800-mile road trip whereby
excellent braking ability had been required”…“If the driveway of Susan and
Jim’s home hadn’t been a sloping one requiring the engagement of the emergency
brake which was the catalyst to the discovery of the problem”…“if it had
remained undetected and we had set out to our second destination”—well, you can
imagine the rumblings of our minds.
As Susan is in
Tampa at rein at Bonafide Pet Grooming,
the business she owns, and Jim is performing with his band, The Crystal Beach String Band at the
Amvets Music Festival about an hour north of here, at the steering wheel of
Jim’s car and Sherri in the navigator’s seat again, I pick up Jeff at the
Goodyear shop and the three of us spend the evening touring the shops and
gorging on fabulous dinners at Hellas
Greek Restaurant in neighboring Tarpon Springs, the city and the restaurant
among our favorite spots on the Gulf Coast of Florida. My dinner, accompanied by two glasses of a
mellow cabernet, consists solely of an enormous Greek salad topped with shrimp,
half of it carted home with me in a Styrofoam box.
Thus far, our
weekend enjoyment has been tainted with the news of the storm’s devastation
that trickles in, but we are counting our blessings, I, with a strong sense
that even more of them are on the wing as the day after tomorrow we hit the
road again to visit our family in Interlachen, Florida, a much anticipated
visit with my father, Lee; my brother, David; his wife, Dorothy; their son,
Leland, and Dorothy’s brother, Johnny. A
storm in the middle of the night downs palm tree fronds here in Pinellas
County, a squall that wakens me and as the mist of the blowing rain sprays my
face, I ride out the storm cozied-up in a wicker chair on the lanai, my body
wrapped in one of Susan’s many afghans, colorful crocheted and quilted pieces
of fabric art that swaddle chairs throughout the house and the lanai. Feeling grateful for the Grace that is so
often bestowed on me, at storm’s end, I toddle back to bed.
Now at 11:00 am,
Sunday, March 4th, the sun is bright again, a shining, fair-weather
day, and as Jim cooks breakfast, we look forward to our day, a trek to the
Dunedin Fine Arts Center high on the agenda.
But then again, maybe other things are in order as breakfast is completed,
a felty quiet has lowered over the house, an atmosphere owing to Sherri and
Jeff’s one-on-one outing, and Susan’s curl-up on her bed. Jim’s nose is in his Sunday crossword puzzle,
an activity that consistently captures the interest of this brilliant and
intriguing Soul. My work on my blog posting
up-to-date, I will head to the bathroom for a shower and a shampoo, content
that the day will unfold just as it is supposed to do.
Sherri, Jeff,
and Jim, the sports fans in this diverse group of five, are couch potatoes
taking in the Honda Classic on television today while Susan and I, the artists
in my family, drive to an amazing art exhibition at the Dunedin Fine Arts
Center. As evening descends, Jim, the
Wolfgang Puck of our group, whips up Cornish hens, rice, broccoli and
cauliflower, and a salad, a dinner followed by strawberries for dessert as we
settle in for a night of television, the middle-of-the-night rainstorm bringing
with it air too cool for an evening on the lanai, but a peek outside reveals a
black sky clustered with stars and a moon just one slight press from full.
Largo, Florida,
a sun-dappled and scenic drive south along the winding gulf coast highway, a
mere fifteen minutes from the Crystal Beach home of Susan and Jim, is our
destination this Monday morning, March 5th, my day’s outing with
Susan and Sherri to include a tour of the beautiful Florida Botanical Gardens there. Lunch on the glassed-in porch of Sea Sea
Riders in Dunedin, mine of mahi mahi and spiced black beans, a seaside
restaurant with patrons at nearly every table, is our prelude to Susan’s dental
appointment at 2:00 pm, and then home for an evening with Jim and Jeff, one of
dinner and a rowdy, late-night game of euchre for the four of them, and bed for
me.
My
sisters and their mates are avid euchre players, and I lay in my bed for these
few moments before slumber feeling pleasure at their heated exchanges: “Why did you trump my right bar?”… “Why did
you throw that ace when I had it covered with my king?”…and on and on, the high
spirits fly. As my father and my brother
are also enthusiasts of the game, I grew up believing that such banter is just
part of the contest, but I learned differently when I also began playing it on
a regular basis with a group of my girlfriends.
Our games are tame—not the battlegrounds of those of my family, although
they wouldn’t have it any other way because to them the arguing is required
fare of the pastime.
An
early morning rise—a shower and a shampoo, and by 9:15, Tuesday, March 6th,
Sherri, Jeff, and I are on the road again, the second leg of our journey
underway. An uneventful 3½ hour drive
under our belts, blessing number three arrives soon after our arrival at the
home of my father. Cooled by a breeze from
a disappearing lake in a country region outside of the blink-and-miss-it town
of Interlachen, Florida, a lake disappearing due to a persistent drought,
overuse by a local industry, and too many wells being drilled statewide
(according to my brother), phenomena that are draining the aquafer, my 87 year
old father greets us joyfully from his chair at his table in his lanai as we
enter his tiny, two-bedroom cottage.
The
approach to the cottage is circular, the curve to the right skirting the large
laundry/second bathroom/storage shed and terminating directly at the door of
the lanai, which is the front door of the cottage; the curve to the left
opening onto a wide section of front lawn used as extra parking space for the
vehicles of visitors. Jeff had nosed his
van onto the curve to the left and had parked it on the lawn—thank goodness,
considering the event that was about to unfold:
Leland,
my Floridian, country-born nephew, upon seeing the van pass by on the common
drive to my brother’s house and my father’s cottage, soon after our arrival,
drives his father’s Ford Ranger to the cottage, taking the right rather than
the left curve of the circle. An
eighteen year old, 245 pound, six plus footer, and even taller in his perpetual
cowboy boots, Leland moseys into the lanai dejectedly, a perplexed look, for
those moments aging considerably, his blond, little-boy face. “The left front wheel of Daddy’s truck jist
sunk in a great big hole out by the shed!” he informs us.
“What
hole?” in unison my father, Jeff, Sherri, and I inquire.
“There ain’t no
hole out by the shed!” my father submits emphatically.
“Well, I know
there ain’t, but there is now!” Leland rejoins.
“Jist come on out an’ look fer yerself.”
Long minute by
long minute ticks by as shovels and a hoe are extracted from the shed and much
frantic digging commences, for indeed, the tire of the Ranger is sunk to the
hubcap of the wheel in this mysterious hole.
The digging is futile, as are items used for leverage, for with each
revving of the engine and attempt to move the pick-up, all of the wheels sink
deeper and deeper into the soft, sandy soil.
All other attempts frustrated, at last Leland lopes up the hill to his
house and drives his Jeep back down, and the nose of the Jeep to the back of
the Ranger, he pushes the lodged vehicle out of the hole.
At once, a
putrid odor from the exposed hole assaults our noses, noxious fumes so horrible
it can only be of human derivation. “Gee
Gad, it’s the septic tank?” my father exclaims.
Indeed it is the septic tank, the smaller one Dad had installed
twenty-five years earlier specifically for the laundry and the extra bathroom
he had put in the shed. Further digging
of a cavity of about five feet square reveals the concrete top of the tank, a
top with a large hole caved in at its center, a hole of about 18” wide by 24”
long, and two lengths of exposed rebar spanning its length. The weight of vehicles repeatedly driving
across it over the years had slowly created the weak spot in the concrete and
that very morning it had reached the critical point of collapse. “Gee Gad, what if…,” my father submits, a
statement that sets off a whole series of “What ifs” among us.
As fate would
have it, the two lengths of rebar are set together closely enough to have supported
the wider tires of the Ranger, preventing it from falling completely into the
tank. Had it been Jeff’s van with its
narrower tires that surely would have slipped between the span of the rods of
rebar, and its heavy cargo of three human beings, all of our luggage, and all
of our other traveling paraphernalia that only a few minutes before would have
accosted it had Jeff taken the right rather than the left curve in the circular
drive…well, I’ll leave that up to your imaginations…as once again, I thank Grace
for blessing number three on our journey.
Chores on the
part of Sherri, Jeff, and Leland have filled the last three days—the repair of
the septic tank, the removal of a rotted fence, power-washing of the exterior
walls of the shed and of the cottage, and more.
I’ve spent my days doing some light housekeeping for Dad, laying in food,
and cooking plentiful dinners each evening.
Tomorrow morning, Saturday, March 11th, Sherri, Jeff, and I
will pack up and head back to Columbus. I
end this last night with my aged father counting my blessings—blessings that nobody
fell into the septic tank, that the brakes on the van held during our long trip
from Ohio to Florida, and with prayers for the victims of the violent storms of
the night of Friday, March 2nd, 2012, my mind/heart knowing full
well that Grace kept Sherri, Jeff, and me safe from those calamities.
