Bricks and Bats

The car has been continuously buried under snow for the week, and the produce forgotten in the back seat became an art form; a block of mushrooms, a bag of snap peas that would put your eye out.  I use my large cornstraw broom to fling off the snow for it does a quick job and warms up the constitution; there is no time in the morning to fiddle with a snow brush the size of a waffle.  Got to get going, thwack.  

Every swing of the clock's hands has dumped snow on the flivver, a confectionary dollop of six-sided mysteries.  Parking in the lot or on the city street at work introduces the plows and blowers that pack brown slush up the sides or thank you so much, on top.  How the hell are you getting that stuff ON TOP of my car? The sun roof is blanketed over, which is okay as there hasn't been any sun, and the foot of snow on the roof gives the car the appearance of having a crew cut. This introduction is to let you know that every freaking morning has had a dramatic shoveling/scraping scene inserted into the commute.  And by "freaking", I mean "gosh darn".  The neighbors look at me while fluffing off their own vehicles with teensy brushes as I launch waves of snow with the kitchen broom in furiosity; I don't think it's admiration, the tension I get is as if something dangerous has entered and lives very close to them.  Don't care.  I'm going to work and have to hustle, because.

Because of Not Her Real Name 'cause she'll kick my ass let's say Chaz.  Chaz is a volunteer grandparent at my school who found out that I'm her neighbor, and could she ride with me to work?  Sure, I'm nice and will go out of my way to be nice as the philosophy is that we are all in this together.   It means an extra drive around the loop to her building, I pull up to the sidewalk and here she comes. However, Chaz is in her seventies with a recent knee replacement, so she walks slowly, and will stop walking to talk to everyone, anyone for minutes, losing focus in the idea of getting to the car because we gotta get to work.  NOW.  I have learned to get out of the car, offer my elbow and pull. C'mon, c'mon. c'mon; we gotta get you into the car.  

"I'm okay!  Oh, let me get into the car.  I'm good.  Okay, you okay?  Alrighty then."  She flops back onto the front seat, turns, and as we hold up traffic, arranges her cane.  No, I don't mean to be snarky, it's just sometimes, maybe about 80% of the time, she isn't in the lobby.  She looks out her kitchen window till she sees me, then takes the elevator down.  This slaps on another five minutes.  If she talks to the people in the lobby, ("They don't understand English"), it's seven.  

Today she wasn't there at all, no Chaz in sight; I texted her a Good Morning :) and waited.  And waited.  Finally, after a record time which surpassed my schedule, she appeared; I recognized her sway and the bobbed wig she wears.  I get out of the car and help her over the slush pleasantly while in reality deep in a corner, I wanted to catapult old lady butt up and over the ramparts.  Patience.  I have it.  

"I went back upstairs.  I told the young man to tell you that I went back upstairs.  He don't speak much but he knows sign language."

What?

"I went back upstairs to call a cab.  I didn't know what to do, so I went upstairs."

Now, this is the second year I have been driving her.  Never have I missed picking her up, and in fact, was two minutes earlier at the outset.  She had decided she was going to take charge of the situation and call a cab.  Or her son, who drives her everywhere anyways.  We proceeded while I listened to the I went back upstairs I didn't know if you were coming story for several minutes before I steered her onto how I would sign her schedule today, since the director of the grandparent program was absent.  The roads were a mess, the snow was blowing sideways, and Chaz was happy to be on her way.  Me too.

Ten minutes late, I took the back stairs up to my room to avoid any administrative eyeballs, swung into setting up the kids breakfast; because of the lousy conditions, I beat all the students to the room.  But being late throws me, knocks the synchronicity into the blender simply because the school day is rigorously planned to the minute.  So, you patch it up, toss out a component, and smooth the edges; Chaz arrives to the room, telling me how she stopped to talk to whositz, which is fine.  She cheers people up, and they love to see her; she knows half the politicians in the city, who to call up and complain to, wears false eyelashes, calls me Ivory to her Ebony, and knows that you have to crack a few eggs to make a cake.  

All I have to do is get there earlier; I think she got herself to the lobby sooner than usual, listened to her internal clock, knew time was up for her waiting, and decided to take matters into her own hands.   No, she isn't patient, but that's her way, and she's especially good with the children.   I am grateful to have her.

I cannot say, but tonight may be my Steve's last; he has an appointment at the vet's for 12:30 for an evaluation.  My heart is breaking, my poor little one.  There are trucks scooping up the mountains shoved against the outside fence, and loading the snow into larger trucks to be taken to the brownfields in South Buffalo.  It is a hollow feeling, isolation by weather, impending loss of a loved companion.  Push; push forward, what else can be done?  I don't wish to sleep, I want time to extend forever, to hold still with no deaths or deadlines; simple thoughts, these.  Sit with me.  Wait.  Sun will come.