Sunday, December 16, 2018

I was wrong...


I was wrong to not pack the chocolate-covered pretzels.They’d already saved my life once this weekend. How could I have left them behind this morning?!

Let me back up. 

I’m trying to extend the time between when I wake up and when I chow down in my bid to be an intermittent faster. Ali had a swim meet Saturday, and I knew it would start early and go long. So, I took a tall travel mug of coffee and purposefully didn’t put snacks in my survival bag. Instead, I packed a book, a battery in case it went so long my electronics died, my iPhone, my iPad and my PR newspaper. I love my kid, but there were eight schools and a bunch of races my kid (or kids I know) wasn't in. I can feign interest only so long.
Knowing I could get a touch hangry, I threw an emergency container of chocolate-covered pretzels in the car, thinking more of a starving swimmer than myself. I had stopped eating at 8 p.m. the night before, and I was at the meet around 9 a.m.

Four hours later (that's 17 hours without food for a girl who wakes up hungry) I was starting to hallucinate and plot the murders of other spectators who’d visited the snack bar and had the bad manners to bring back the bounty they found there. Fake-cheese covered chips, popcorn, M&Ms, both plain and peanut. Hot dogs. The smells. The crunching. The smiles that full tummies brings. Oh, the humanity!

By this time, my electronics had powered down and up again. I was distracted from mass murder by my friend, Denise, who had hoped to see Ali swim but came in just after her last race and literally hours before her next. She had to go before Ali got back in the water. Denise and I took a walk, and I continued it after she left.

It was raining, so I couldn't go outside, and the only open area of the school included the snack bar. Someone back there was grilling hamburgers. The smell was aggressive to put it mildly. Despite my best efforts, I floated toward it like a cartoon character, following my  nose.It was past noon, the earliest I could eat under my intermittent plan. I had really wanted to wait until the meet was over. I’d thought I could last. Wrong. 
I impatiently waited for the guy and the toddler ahead of me. The little girl couldn’t decide between Cheetos and plain chips. She danced around chanting some nonsense that I'm sure was adorable on some other plane of existence. “Just pick one!!!!!” I screamed in my head. I know it was only in my head because they scampered away unharmed and carrying their damn Cheetos.
Finally: my turn. I order a burger, slurring my words a little bit around the saliva that had accumulated in my mouth. My taste buds rejoiced in premature jocularity. I could see them, smell them, taste them!!! I started a little happy dance of my own.

“No burgers,” said the oldish man standing right next to the aluminum foil wrapped tray of steaming burgers. 

“Uh, are you serious?” I asked, amazing myself by not jumping over the half door. I was sure I could take the guy, but there’d be witnesses.

Apparently unaware that his very life was in danger, he advised me that the burgers were for the “help.” I swallowed hard and reassessed the witness pool, which was only growing.

“I’ll have a hot dog,” I managed to say.

It might have been the best hot dog ever formed. And the most quickly devoured. I immediately wanted more but slunk upstairs to take my place among the better snacked. Ninety minutes, one medal, and a podium visit or two later, the meet finally ended and my swimmer emerged. We get to the car and I’m already driving before she shuts her door. “Taco Bell or Arby’s?” I ask. 

“I’m not really hungry,”she says.

I almost stalled the car.”Well I’m starving, “ I say. 

She tossed my emergency snack stash at me. I’d forgotten all about them. I stopped the car to open the lid and then apparently made inappropriate noises as I gorged on dark chocolate and peppermint covered pretzels..

"Wow," she said. 

You’d think that with that experience fresh in my head, getting Ali to a birthday party in the wilds of Hendricks County the next day would have reminded me to pack snacks. But my plan was to treat myself to something in the nearby town. I'd have a late breakfast in a small town cafe or something where I could soak up some ambiance and read and relax. 
It was going to be wonderful. I'd indulge myself for the couple hours Ali would be with her friends.and I'd get a little work done or read the paper or something. A solid plan. After, I'd pick up the party girl and hightail it to Jenna’s Christmas concert on the northwest side of Indianapolis. Dining solo made sense for both time and mileage as the party site is about 30 miles northwest of our house.
Except that we get to Jamestown only to discover the party is in Greenwood. For you non-Hoosiers, Greenwood is about 50 miles southeast of Jamestown. 
It was almost 1 p.m. when I'd gotten Ali to the right spot and found a restaurant in Greenwood. I was ready to eat my own arm off. 
I run into the restaurant only to be greeted -- eventually -- by the oldest hostess still working a hostess stand in America. She's beyond the need to curry favor from anyone and can't quite reach the silverware she's supposed to give me. Wars have been fought and ended faster than the time it took for her to get me to a table. 
Still, I waited patiently, dreaming of something sumptuous. Pancakes maybe. The breeze coming through the window ruffled the laminated pages of the menu and I contemplated running out to the car for my wrap. Hoping to order fast, I toughed it out and started scanning the menu only to be yelled at by the calorie counts next to the yummy pages. I ended up with a half sandwich and soup, which was the most reasonable of the selections. Even the salads were over the top. Huddled there in the wind tunnel, I contemplated pie. I'd suffered enough, goddammit. (I resisted.)
It wasn't long before I had to get back in the car to get Ali and to head back north. I did snag a York Peppermint Patty for dessert. What kind of restaurant offers candy at the register, by the way? I think I was glad I resisted the pie. How good could it have been if they they have to offer you packaged candy at the register?!
After driving another 40 miles, I wasn't hungry anymore and got through the concert just fine. It was super fun and Jenna was a great entertainer. Now, I'm home and have 90 minutes left in the day to eat. 
Wish me luck tomorrow. If you see me out and you're hungry, I'll have yummy pretzels for you.


Sunday, December 9, 2018

Your other right

Alison has never had a strong grasp on directions. North, South, East and West are simply words to her, not indicators. And while she can read and speak Latin, sing songs in various languages and recite every element on the periodic table, she's hard pressed to find her way home on her own.

She had a swim meet in Eastern Hancock County Saturday.

She did well in her first time in competitive water this year, but we arrived at 8:30 a.m. and didn't leave until 2 p.m. I've been trying to do this intermittent fasting thing and had purposefully not brought snacks.

By the time the swimmers left the water, the hallucinations were starting. Not remembering that she needed driving practice, I speed walked to the Subaru and asked her if she was hungry. She wasn't but agreed to plug "Arby's" into Google Maps.

"Not Dairy Queen?" she asked.

"Oooh. Dairy Queen," I said, guessing correctly that if there were an Arby's, there'd also be a DQ. I get a sandwich and then head to dessert. We agree that she'll drive once we get all our dietary needs met.

At DQ, I ask her what she wants. She reminds me that she filled up on the coach's bagels.

"YOU love Dairy Queen," she said. "Oh, but if they have those star things, can we get a box?"

I get her an individual item and we decide we need to listen to Christmas music on the way home. And, I remember that Sambol's Tree Farm is in Hancock County. I got a great wreath there last year and was hoping to get another one but didn't want to make the trek out there.

Thank you, Google, it's just down the road. "Let's go!" I say.

She looks at me as she nibbles on her cherry star. "Uh, I'm driving. I can't eat and drive at the same time."

My little rule follower. We find music, she finishes her treat and we wait for the voice in the phone to tell us where to go. Hancock County abuts Marion. It's not exactly Kansas, but it's not her usual environment.

The tree farm is just down from the interstate ramp, so we had our bearings and didn't need Google to get home. I get my wreath, we get back in the car. I tell her to turn left onto the the state road and then look for Interstate 70 where she'll head west.

She looked at me, uncertain. "Follow the sign to Indianapolis," I say.

She gets us on the interstate and I said, "Just keep west, take the Keystone exit and turn right."

We belt out Christmas tunes. I turned to Candy Crush and email and it wasn't long before I heard her say, "Whoops" and inform me that she'd missed the exit.

I looked up and around as the Shadeland exit grew smaller in the rear view mirror.

"We could have gone home that way," I said. "But let's take Keystone."

"OK," she says, explaining, "The sign said Indianapolis."

Just this year, this kid has successfully navigated herself across Eastern Europe and around the state of Tlaxcala, Mexico. But OK. 

I went back to my game. I was on a particularly hard level, and the girl has got to hone her local navigational skills.

My reasoning was that Keystone is clearly marked, and it's a straight shot home. A few miles north, a left, a right and then left onto our own Castle Row.

"You know where you're going, right?" I say when she exits smoothly onto Keystone.

"Yes!" she says indignantly. "I'll be turning right, right?"

I shake my head in the non-affirmative. "Left," I say.

"I'm pretty sure it's right," she said.

I shook my head.
"I know what I'm doing," she said.

"OK," I say, thinking I've got all afternoon, a power source and a heated seat. I leaned back.

She rants at me a little bit more as she makes sure she's driving the speed limit, not a speck more, and checks traffic to change lanes to the right.

I bite my tongue. With more confidence than she deserved to feel, she turns right on 56th and heads east. I maintain my silence. Moving further away from home, but at a steady 40 miles per hour, she happily buzzes along. We come to Allisonville Road. She looks around a bit as we wait on cross traffic.

I'm still minding my own business in the shotgun seat.

"Hey!" she says suddenly. "I'm on the way to Nikki's house."

"Yup," I say.

We crack up as she sighs and turns right and then comes to the next intersection. "I turn right here, don't I?" she asked.

"I don't know, do you?" I ask.

She looks at me. "I think so," she says. "Yeah. I just came from there, so I'm just going to make a big square. I turn right. Right?"

"Right," I say.

We get back to 56th Street and head west toward home.

"You told me to turn right," she said.

"I said left!"

"No, you didn't. You said right!"

"I did not!"

We're shouting, but laughing at the same time.

We get to Keystone. She stops and looks at me, her foot magnetized to the brake.

I'm incredulous at this point. She's lived in this area for all of her 17.5 years on this Earth. Our Ogden friends used to live just up the street from where we are and beyond that is Taco Bell. I know she can get home from Taco Bell. It is not, however, in sight.

"Well, you have some options," I say. "You can just go straight and we can go home down Dominic's hill."

Dominic is a friend from her Christ the King days. If we biked near his house, we had to go up what was to her elementary school-sized legs and little girl bike, an enormous challenge. That incline behind the Chatard baseball field will forever be "Dominic's hill" to us.

She guns it across the intersection and gets us home without another question.

"You said right," she mutters.