Читать книгу Reconnected - DH Steppler - Страница 4

Driving south on Interstate 5, from San Francisco to Los Angeles, I had five plus hours to be absolutely alone or, as alone as I wanted to be. I’d driven that route countless times with my kids and for the last number of years alone. A book could be written about the number of times my car sat at the side of the road stranded on ‘I-5’; but the worst incident was an accident that involved my daughter and me in my brand new car – she was 16 and needed practice driving in order to pass the driving test– a small distraction, we spun around, and rolled over twice – we were OK but the car was totaled. Both of us were nervous for sometime after when she was driving. I’m over it now and can enjoy the trip. Caution is my mantra. I have learned multiple times in my life that our very existence can change in the blink of an eye and we shouldn’t drop our guard.

A long, unchallenging stretch of road is the perfect opportunity: to sort things out, to create a little make believe in your head, to practice a lecture, or have a needed one-on-one conversation with yourself, and such. Don’t forget that you can do all that and sing at the same time. Sing with abandon. Sing for the joy of it. Enjoy your own voice, without the worry or embarrassment that you may be bothering anyone else.

Envisioning the written list of the shopping my sister and I still had to do before we could board the cruise ship, was an excellent use of the time. We had planned that trip for nearly a year and I marveled that we still had details to iron out. Over-packed with two large bags each and one large wardrobe bag and any one of them too heavy for me to lift, but I’d rather error on the side of over-packing than not having what’s needed when we boarded the Diamond Princess, leaving San Pedro Pier the following day at 3pm.

We were on the same cruise, different ship, a few years prior, so I knew my preferences. Spending 15 days on the balcony of our stateroom was what I’d planned. For that time, I brought along a bottle of a 12 year old single malt scotch – Glenfiddich (my favorite hard drink), a bottle of Christian Brother’s Meloso Cream Sherry (my favorite sherry), a jar of Sunflower Seed butter and my favorite multi-grain crackers. 15 days on the ocean cried for a novel – I brought “State of Fear” by Michael Creighton for my pleasure and a collection of short stories by Barbara Kingsolver called “Homeland” to read to my sister. I also brought pretty close to an ounce of pot for medicinal and recreational purposes.

Most of the ships activities don’t really appeal to me. It’s the connection to the water, the expanse, the horizon, the beauty and romance, and mostly the solitude that floats my boat, no pun intended. So the things I needed and wanted with me, I brought.

My sister can make the smallest thing in the world seem like absolutely the most important thing that couldn’t be lived without. She has an odd way of explaining her thoughts but for some reason, I have always understood and known what she was talking about. My husband used to ask me to translate because she was speaking ‘Deanese’ (a bastardization of her name, Denice) again. Mostly it’s about the way she puts things together; sometimes she switches the subject and the object and leaves out unimportant words. It’s just the way her head works.

Actually along with her own language, she’s like a law unto herself, in that; she has her own ideas about religion. She believes in ‘reincarnation.’ Which, I suppose shows that she’s hopeful about the future even beyond the future. The funny part is that she gives no explanation about why she believes in reincarnation except that she ‘just does.’ That can make a discussion with her very frustrating.

She’s stubborn and her mind is difficult to change once its set. I said difficult, not impossible. She is a habitual director – a bone of contention with us. ‘While I’m doing this, you do that,,,’ Instead of inserting her ideas into the pot and then we all pick out what works for all of us, she just tells you what to do, screw the pot. I know that that was her style adopted way back when. She’s a very organized woman and knows how to get things done.

I’m constantly reining her in and requesting a redirect, or I just point out that she’s doing it again and she works hard to back off. She really does.

Some of the best things about Denice are that she loves me unconditionally and is always looking to my best interest; she is so generous that the saying about ‘will give you the last shirt off his back’ relates to her; no matter how things may suck in her life, she is always willing to laugh with me and laugh with abandon; she knows no strangers and she gives them different names when she can’t remember the real one (she remembers the names she gives them – usually something that can relate to how they look or talk or walk or how funny they are); she loves projects, projects that have three stages: a planning stage, a material gathering stage, and the production stage. She’s talented beyond belief when it comes to color and design; has the most critical eye for balance and relevance.

We are very compatible as traveling companions. She’s independent and allows me to be independent, as well. Actually we allow each other our own space but make ourselves available for each other when it really counts. We give one another permission to say things like ‘back off, or not now, or I’d like my space, or please just leave me alone for a bit or my favorite ‘it’s my vacation, too’.

The divorce that was suffered by Denice and her husband, Frank, was particularly sad for me. Frank had always been kind and patient with my kids and me. Every summer we invaded their home for 2 weeks. He’d occasionally watch all of the kids while Denice and I went shopping or out to dinner or a movie. He may have not liked it but he never showed that to be the case.

Whether the catalyst was – guilt or love – who knows, but after a time, Denice and Frank developed a friendship. A friendship that’s pretty strong today. It’s my bet that Frank doesn’t want to let her down again.

As he did for the last couple of cruises that Denice I enjoyed, Frank took us to the pier and the ship but first he took us to lunch.

At lunch we learned that Frank would have loved to have been on the trip with us. Denice and I gave each other a knowing look. We knew that would never happen.

After lunch Frank took us to Pier 23 and loaded our luggage onto the porters cart, hugged us and drove away. Before we knew it, we were aboard and headed to our cabin A420.