Well, it’s back to the real world of alarm clocks and schedules. I’ve spent a week with my wife where we were not concerned at all with schedules enjoying the scenery of waterfalls, mountains, and the fall palette of colors. I tend to even lose track of the day of the week when I’m on a different schedule than the one to which I’m accustomed. I must admit that I’m a creature of habit. Even when I’m on vacation, I tend to wake up at my usual time. I get up every morning at 5 to go to work. This becomes a real problem when we travel to the eastern time zone. Waking up there at 5 is like waking up at 4 in my usual central time zone. Needless to say, my body clock has difficulty resetting but more about that later.
First let me say that we had a great time at my cousin’s cabin in West Virginia (Thanks again, Kit and Lisa) and with my wife’s dad and his wife in southwest New York. Along the way, my wife shopped at any establishment that carried fabric in almost every state we visited. (Maryland doesn’t really count since we were only in it for 15 minutes and the gas station where we stopped had a limited selection of material.) In my mind, I deduced that I tallied quite a few good husband points for putting myself through this ordeal but in reality, I have no one to blame but myself since I had previously located these stops with extensive internet research. At least one of the stops was for fabric for her business therefore I can’t really complain either. The others were for her pleasure but Happy wife, happy life is not just a cliche. She really enjoys fabric shopping. I really love her so it actually wasn’t a sacrifice.
With all that being said, I’ll return to my vacation time conundrum. We had visited an establishment in New York that was owned by Katie, an extremely pleasant lady who is either Mennonite or at least follows many of their customs. We arrived just after the store opened on Tuesday at 1:00 pm. It didn’t take long for my wife’s dad to exhaust his interest in the world of fabric so he decided to wait in the car. Having been married for over 33 years, I’ve built up my endurance and can usually stay with my wife until she has satisfied her fabric fix. Sherry made her purchases but also considered returning to purchase some additional material for Christmas presents. I noted the hours of operation on the door for our return. This is where I can at least partly fault my vacation time disorientation. I observed the hours of operation as Tuesday through Thursday and Saturday 1-6. We got to the shop on Wednesday only to realize that it was Tuesday and Thursday. This did not pose too much of a problem because our social calendar was pretty empty and Hornell, New York is not considered a tourist Mecca. We returned on Thursday to complete Sherry’s fabric quest.
I wish I could say that was the greatest instance of time distortion but sadly it was not meant to be. We departed for home on Friday with at least the thought of driving all the way. As we approached Cleveland, I informed Sherry that if she wanted to visit a fabric outlet located in Ohio Amish country that we would need to make the decision soon. She said she would like to stop if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. What could I say? As I stated earlier, I really love my wife so there was obviously no alternative. We traversed numerous back roads avoiding countless horse and buggies but managed to complete the whirlwind of states fabric shopping spree. There was no way we would be able to arrive at home until way past midnight so we decided to stop at an exit on the other side of Columbus, Ohio because there were several hotels from which to choose. Despite a jacks tournament being played in the room adjacent to us, I slept fairly well. I did wake up about 3 am to answer a call of nature. I awoke just before my alarm went off, showered, and we left the room about 7:30. Sherry wanted to share her appreciation with the Jacks tournament participants but I thought discretion might be the better part of valor. We enjoyed the breakfast provided by the hotel and hit the road earlier than we had even planned. As mentioned earlier, I am a creature of habit and despite my earlier heeding the call of nature, my body clock decided after breakfast, it was time for a redial. We had traveled this route many times and I had already determined that a good place to stop was at a rest area just inside the Kentucky state line. We passed at least 2 rest areas but I was determined to put the call of nature on call waiting. The Queen City of Ohio may have much to offer with its scenic view as you approach and cross the Ohio River but to distract my urgency the song 25 Miles by Edwin Starr blared in my brain trying to count down the distance to my salvation.
But I just can’t lose my stride
Come on feet don’t fail me now
I got ten more miles to go
I got nine, eight, seven, six, eight, six
I got a five more miles to go
Now over the hill just around the bend
Huh although my feet are tired I can’t lose my stride
Whew, I finally spotted the sign Rest Area 1 mile and felt that I had avoided a possible catastrophe. Sweating profusely but trying to be as casual as possible, I made my way to the men’s room. My prayers were answered because even though there was a line for the standing receptacles, the door to the second stall I tried was gloriously free. I noticed the toilet was one of the stainless steel varieties and with the cinder block wall felt a little like I had entered the cell block A lavatory. Beggars can’t be choosers so I took what was available. I don’t care what the commercial says; I didn’t spell relief: R-o-l-a-i-d-s. Now that the pressure was off I was tempted to tap “We’re breaking out of here at 1:00 on the stall door. My moment of merriment was extremely short lived when I began to examine the stall more closely. In my haste to alleviate my distress I had failed to check for the one thing you should always check for before taking a seat. The stall was equipped with an industrial toilet paper holder. You know, the double barreled ones with the Paul Bunyon sized rolls. After I concluded answering the call, I reached for the first only to come up empty. I thought that surely the back up would be loaded only to misfire on it also. I was unsure of the etiquette for asking if anyone would mind passing any available paper for rest areas in the state of Kentucky. The cinder block wall prevented an under-stall transfer and the height of the wall made an over pass difficult as well. I would have gladly paid the contents of my wallet for a single roll of Charmin. Knowing that I had a fresh pair of unmentionables in the car, I concluded the best course of action would be to locate a fully equipped stall. I was as cool as possible, considering the situation. Unfortunately, there was now a line for the other possible choices. I can’t be sure but I’ll bet those who had seen me exit the stall thought I must be suffering from a Vesuvius-like flare-up of IBS when I got in line for another stall. My altered gait at least made no one question me as I finally was able to enter the handicap stall. I may even heard a “poor soul” muttered over the rattling of the spinning toilet paper roll. The quality of the paper may have been somewhere between coarse and fine grit but I have never been more thankful for one-ply. I noticed that everyone else by the sinks avoided me like the plague while washing my hands. My wife was about to call out search and rescue teams or least put my picture on a milk carton I had been in the rest room so long. I backed down the entrance to the interstate to avoid any further embarrassment. Needless to say, in the future I should believe my body clock when it tries to tell me what time it is regardless of the time zone.
Today’s verse is obvious as well as appropriate.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-2
There is an occasion for everything,
and a time for every activity under heaven:
2 a time to give birth and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to uproot;
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