Driving with Beulah [Just A Moment #3]

"This is not what I need right now!" I scream at the four lanes of endless red lights. While my day ceases all progress - again, I glance in the rearview mirror like one of those girls in a horror movie. I chose to run into the butcher's workshop, and sure enough, the murderous villain looms behind me.

The five story building that tolerates Joyful Noise stands in the middle of my mirror, and the ten-story building next door feels like a long arm pulling me back. I am, after all, only a few traffic lights away. My frustration at a thwarted escape slaps my steering wheel.

"Come on, Beulah." I wring the wheel in an effort to force more progress than a quarter tire rotation. "You've only been in the building for a few months and only take up two floors. Maybe we haven't had enough time to put that kind of energy into the building." I try to comfort myself with horror movie logic, but perhaps, the address of myself in third-person is exactly the kind of thing that worries Craig.

Oh, excuse me: I should say, "Mr. McWesselton." That joker got himself appointed CEO and started telling everyone to call him that - even his fellow executives. Craig and I worked together for five years to pull this small liturgical planning app out of a college basement. Craig wouldn't even have a thing to sell, if it weren't for me and my tiny team of programmers. Besides that, sales are up every quarter under my management of operations, Craig.

"Welcome to the other lane, going nowhere!” I shout at the super duty truck - that missed my front bumper by a semicolon. "Though, if you think you can get moving, please be my guest." I aim my challenge at the truck’s rear view mirror. Despite the obvious compensation, the thing that really bugs me is the internal doubt about the truck having ever seen a speck of dirt.

I bet Craig drives something like that. I mean it has the same flash with no substance and the same ability to stop me in my tracks. I'm blessed it's a sunny day, or I could have been in some real trouble.

Now, I'm back to sitting here. It's just like today: I finally get a moment to work with Kathy. God bless her. She's straight out of undergrad and fired up about programming "for real" - whatever that means. We finally had a chance to debug her code for streamlining our database, and here comes Craig.

He throws on a smarmy smile for Kathy, just like this daily washed truck, and he says he needs only a moment of my time. Then an hour later, I'm still in his office and showing him six different reports with the same numbers on it. Even now, I have less confidence that he understands than Esther, my three year old, does about the letter "B."

Oh, but then he has the audacity to tell me that he'll pass this along to the investors for me. I have as much trust in that as Georgiana telling me something her sister wants. And, another thing: Why can't I talk to the investors? Huh, did Craig ever consider that? No, he didn't, because he doubts my ability to handle this job.

He's got to imagine me as merely a programmer, who is incapable of holding a conversation. Though I suspect that if he doesn't get the numbers, his ability to fathom someone else understanding them is low. But, guess what? The only thing that Craig needs to grasp is all the numbers are up. Sales increase; positive reviews continue to rise, and the often maligned programmers make improvements that keep customers signing new contracts. That ought to show how operations are going brilliantly.

Oh my goodness, I'm still boring a hole into that truck's rear view. That person doesn't deserve this. Plus, hey, we are moving a bit better, so that's positive. The complete stops transition to rolling stops. "People are merging, y'all. Give them some space, and we'll all get home." I instruct to all four lanes, as I give the truck a break.

At least, the tall buildings are behind me; though, I'm not sure the swirl of concrete is all that much of an improvement. Still, all the cars stay on the road, as these ramps tower over some of the buildings, which is impressive.

With the ramps behind me, everyone suddenly remembers that their cars have two pedals, and we begin to move a bit. Though, there is still the occasional slow down as someone needs to exit - right now.

Really, I suppose that's the way of things: Whether it's a host of useless meetings or four lanes of stalled cars, I always come through it. “Give up” is not generally a phrase in my vocabulary. Like debugging code, a way through arrives eventually. I must simply ride it out, so that's what I do, regardless of the annoyances.

Yet, there has to be a better way. Craig could trust me to do the job with regular meetings - instead of daily surprises. Then, I could train programmers and discuss sales challenges with those folk. Such an arrangement sounds pleasant, but here I am just riding it out.

And there is the last turn out of town. Sure, everyone must check their brakes one more time, but the race home begins soon after. Trees start to dot the hills before whole sections of woods rise as if the last survivors of a dragon raid in my Planet of Magecraft game. The sunlight even feels brighter without so much concrete, but I do not roll my window down - it's still freezing out there, according to my car's display.

I take a deep breath as if I am walking in those woods. Though, all I can smell is some leftovers from the kids in the backseat. That is one thing I love about that last turn: It's a magical barrier where the ridiculous load from the city instantly evaporates. Each foot of trees catches an annoyance from the day in its branches.

My hands lay on the steering wheel now, though I can feel the ache in them as my grip relaxes. I feel my back spread across the car seat, and the lumbar support actually does its job. After only a mile past the city, I begin to see home as the only stop in front of me.

Which brings me to the other part of that last turn that I love: Most of my drive is done. It's fascinating how the mileage to the city is almost identical to the miles in the city, but the time to complete those miles is nearly double. So, I'm already over half way home.

There, my two other bosses have no doubts about my worth, because Mommy plays the best games. They know of my unparalleled monster fighting skills, and I can get us to the top of a mountain better than anyone. I get a pleasant sense too of completing a project, which is nice. They're always excited to see me and ready to play. And, who can blame them after a boring day with Daddy?

Bless his heart! My head falls against the headrest with thoughts of Hiram. I think he actually does a pretty decent job - especially considering what he's up against. Yet, I'm not sure his time management is the most engaging for the children. I imagine he runs the house like he's still running the zoo.

Take dinner time: the table is (probably) already set, and he'll plate the food about the time that I reach the driveway. So, I walk into another situation pre-arranged for me. Someone else sets my schedule, and I'm supposed to go along with it. At least, I can see the efficiency in this case.

Then again, home life becomes too much like this interstate. The exits are precisely a mile apart, and everyone moves about the same speed. It's all regular and predictable, which means I have no more involvement at home than at work. I lean forward off my seat and lower my foot on the gas. My project of play gets delayed as all my others do.

Although, I am the late one to the home party. They've been playing most of the afternoon, so the kids reasonably need to eat. Maybe I could even use the meal too. Couldn't the meal wait a half hour? I mean give us one last game!

Perhaps, I could talk to Hiram about this? Around the same time Joyful Noise started growing, Hiram lost his job at the zoo, and he loved that job. They just never brought him on full time, and the grant money ran out, so they claimed there was no more room for him. I was busy, and he was in a slump. We kind of traded places without much discussion.

But, he could have had that conversation. Yeah, he should have consulted me instead of taking over. He took over the homeschool, the schedule, and kept the money without so much as a breath of a question to me. My hands wring the steering wheel with frustration's return. As I think about it, how typical is that? I should be able to predict such a pattern at this point.

Oh, speaking of not predicting patterns, I need to get over, or I will miss my exit. I turn on the blinker signal - if I'm going to yell at others, I might as well do it. Blessedly, there is no one in the other lane, so I slide over and wait a moment before moving to the next. This one transforms into my exit lane - so smooth sailing for now.

Then, it will be dinner time, which is pretty great. Hiram's cooking is one of the best surprises of our new arrangement. I didn't know that he had it in him. He listens well too during dinner and makes sure that the kids update me on their day. It's a great time for catching-up, and I feel a bit of involvement.

Of course, all of that could happen after one game. The children and I beat one dragon and earn our dinner. Hiram could be the tavern owner, who gave us the quest. I get my completed project, and Hiram can have his dinner. I could make a whole game happen in thirty minutes. It wouldn't take much.

Well, that depends on the girls' cooperation. If they are, in fact, hungry, the game might last ten minutes. Both girls would end up screaming at each other, and my frustration would only increase. Plus, I would run over Hiram, which is one of my major complaints. Thoughtfulness moves my hands from the top of the steering wheel to its spokes. Yet, I could talk with him about it. Since we've never discussed it, that might be the best approach.

Now, the red lights return a half mile from the exit. Everyday, they slow down before we even know about the traffic light. Then, if it's green, they slam on the gas and threaten wrecks after all this stalling. I'd tell them: “Y'all, let's see what we face before we attempt anything."

I could say the same thing about dinner time. By eating now, there's always time to play. The girls and I do get our time; we are never denied our time together. Like I said to traffic, I could say, perhaps, to myself: "Let's see what we're up against." After all, there's a chance Hiram was delayed with dinner, and I'd get my playtime immediately.

Well, we did get stopped by the traffic light. At least, this is a delay with a known end. Somehow that's easier to deal with. It's like a lunch break: I can take a moment to rest before the final push. When I put it that way, a dinner break sounds like a great idea.

With that green light, I turn onto the last road before home. My elbows slide to the armrests while home becomes an assurance. I can almost imagine a completed march of civilization on the interstate - but not on this road. The houses fight for their space against the surrounding trees, and the woods still appear to have a chance at victory.

I hated this road when Hiram and I drove down it the first time. I could only see stressful trips to the grocery story, hours to get anywhere, and roadblocks by tractors. Hiram loves wild animals, and he spent most of that first drive pointing to animals. He did a lot of convincing too about this house as a compromise between our wants. Back then, I just knew he was full of it.

However, the girls (especially Georgiana) enjoy the rides into town. Though, they make those drives with Hiram these days, so the girls become as annoying as him at pointing out the animals. Still, I make it to work on time; sporting events are never missed, and I don't know that I've ever seen a tractor on the road.

Back then, we did a lot of talking about the house. He started with room for the kids to play, but I knew that was a deflection. He quickly owned the real reason, and he encouraged me to drive my usual routes. He won me over with that little experiment.

Truly, the road is my favorite part of my drive - now. I prefer the trees myself, and the winter contrast between the bare deciduous and the full evergreens reminds me: Life goes on, even if we don't survive it the same way. Again, things seem to work out in the end.

Makes me reconsider playtime tonight. As the bare trees wait for Spring, I can wait on my time to play. Play time will come, and I'll probably enjoy the moments before play time. I need to be a part of tonight, instead of imposing myself. After all, I get frustrated enough at my coworkers for imposing themselves, so maybe I shouldn't do that to Hiram.

Once the girls go to bed, Hiram and I can talk about it. We've discussed things before and found common ground, so that should encourage me. I ought to keep in mind that Hiram (as he has proven many times) is not a coworker. For one thing, he's a lot better looking. And, there's his patience with me, which none of my coworkers possess.

Well, looky there: I did make it. I twirl the steering wheel with one hand, and the car gratefully enters the driveway. Our one-story with red vinyl siding remains hidden by the trees. The kids are probably staring out the window, and Hiram is, of course, putting food on a plate. They're all waiting on me, so I'll simply go join them for now. Hiram and I can talk later.