Then I went on the freeway. I thought I’d be intimidated by the freeway, but I discovered I liked it even better than downtown. And it was nice and wide, with no fear of hitting a parked car.
I did not like maneuverability, which was the last thing we practiced. In an hour of trying, I managed to squeeze through the orange cones only twice.
“You need to call in and schedule one more two-hour slot, so we can practice this one last time,” said the instructor. “Then you’ll be ready to take the test.”
I went home glowing. My head was full of visions of easy, five-minute trips to Aldi to pick up more groceries than I could schlep on the bus; taking Rosie to the playground without it being an all-day hike; daily Mass at the Latin church or Tuesday-night Paraklesis after the buses have stopped running; Sunday liturgies at the parish of my choice. I was fantasizing about going to Pittsburgh for homeschool field trips and maybe even an overnight to Lake Eerie in the cheap off season someday. I told Michael that all we needed was one more lesson– which was nonsense; we’d also need car insurance and gas money of course. But first things first, we’d need one more lesson.
He pointed out that we’d spent that generous tip on rent, paying all the utilities down to zero when they were in danger of shutoff, buying summer clothes, getting homeschooling books and a huge order of my ridiculous experimental herbal fibromyalgia remedies. The remedies were running out fast because I tripled the dose of the horrible-tasting tonics in summer to control the annual summer horrendous hot-weather flare-up and it was working, which is a miracle. Last year I was bedbound most of the time and staggering like a drunk when I did go out; this summer I’m just easily exhausted and numb. But it’ll cost as much as rent to keep it up. The driving lessons were the last treat, and now it was gone. We’d have to go back to scrimping and pinching and praying as we always have.
I am no worse off than I was– better, in fact, because now I know that I can learn to drive and that being able to drive is not too far away. We keep having good luck the past few years. Maybe we’ll keep on being lucky. But there is something very annoying about taking the bus to Aldi after you’ve tasted the ease of not taking the bus to Aldi. I confess I’ve found myself getting resentful.
This is the part where a Catholic writer is supposed to squeak out a Bible verse like “The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away,” but I’m not really into that. “The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away” comes from the book of Job, and Job spends the vast majority of that book crabbing about how rotten things are, so I always feel it’s unfair to use it out of context that way. Maybe putting a brave face on it is not what the Lord intends at all. Maybe we’re supposed to scrape ourselves with potsherds and curse our own birthday like Job. Bloggers would certainly be in trouble if we weren’t. Nobody likes to read a goody twoshoes who says “the Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.”
Maybe we’re supposed to just live our lives without wondering whether or not we ought to complain. Maybe that’s what a saint would do– live, rather than obsessing over when was the appropriate time to scrape herself with a potsherd and curse the day she was born. A saint would be much more simple about things than that. Do what is yours to do. Seek ye first the Kingdom. Don’t worry about what other people are doing. Remember that cars have two sides. Check your blind spot, and don’t run over the turkey.
A saint would surmise that everything is grace– and, indeed, a certain lovely saint did in a much worse situation than mine. I’m having a great time by comparison.
Having a bus to take in a town this small is grace. Having a perfect chance to try for a car and a little more independence is grace. And now, having to wait a little longer than I’d expected, praying nothing goes horribly wrong and the lucky streak lasts a little longer– this is a unique grace. I’ve never actually been here before. Things are usually bad or worse and now they’re just relatively annoying. That’s fun.
Whatever else happens, I’m proud of myself.
I didn’t run over the turkey.
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