Time, Patience & Trust

Just as I began to scan newspapers and websites, learning $2,000 would get me adequate but well-used transportation with 200,000 miles under its wheels, a surprise message offered me a car with almost half the miles for half the price.

It seems a recent graduate moving to Chicago needed quick cash for a deposit on his apartment more than he needed a car, so he was willing to pass it on for half its value. Originally his uncle’s, he received it during his high school years. He added a racing stripe, mag wheels, a thumping stereo (it’s all about the tunes!) and it got him through college. With a mechanic in common between us to recommend it, I paid cash at first sight without even a test drive.

Certainly not my style of vehicle, but between insurance and payments, it knocks $500 off my monthly budget and ignites the eyes of my son to imagine it might be his in a year once my life is more stable. Although the kid alluded to the peculiar noise it roared at a certain RPM, I was mortified to actually hear it as I drove away, considering myself once again duped into a foolish decision by my desperate circumstances.

“The Redster” sat a week in my drive as I scrounged for title and taxes, making its maiden voyage today, a trip to work at the Mountain. Completing the roundtrip of 90 miles on highway and twice over a pass, I learned to shift creatively to minimize the embarrassing rumble. The economic argument constantly reminded me that this served such a practical purpose. I got comfortable in the seat and reminded myself once again that I was responsible for making the choices and over-looking the signals that had lead me down this road, it is up to me to drive myself out.

On the slopes yesterday, our group of eight was rambunctious and needy. Sub-zero wind chill gave a good reason for tears that froze on their faces. An exploration of a new trail terrified a few into regressions of snow-plow wedges between our legs. In the lodge after hot chocolate, sorting through the pile of clothing to reunite each with their proper helmet, goggles, scarves, jackets and mittens, I really questioned plaintively (under my facemask) why I ever wanted this job.

Today started even colder, so half stayed home, but the sun shone warmly and the snow was powder soft. The most intransigent in our group was miraculously confident and excited, agreeing to take the lift that yesterday had frightened her to tears. Instead of two meager, painful and exhaustive runs, we managed six, the kids loosened their "pizza's" (wedge turns) to make “French fries” (legs parallel) and “milkshakes” (shaking their bodies to relax) non-stop in a wiggly line, asking to go up once more again and again.

My son has become a master of the teaching clown, leading the pack or picking up the stragglers, entertaining them with a game of “I spy” at trailside, or wiping faces after hot chocolate. The kids each want to ride up with him just as much as they beg to go with me, and wonder how he can actually be my son when he is 3 inches taller. At one point, as they all raced to the bottom, he flew past, smacking my glove in exhilaration, shouting with glee as loud as theirs, “Best day EVER! I get paid to ski backwards!”

The gloomy reports shadow the news, hurdles of economic challenges darken my daily efforts. The job I wanted goes to someone else and the horizon shows little promise and lots of doubts. Spirits are difficult to keep raised with my head down walking forward against the bitter cold. But these precious moments when life goes well, the car runs and the skis turn, these afternoons of careless satisfaction that lessons are well learned and hard work is applauded, make it just a little easier to awake to face the next day.

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