Road Trippin'

I just returned from Michigan, where I helped celebrate my brother Steve's 50th birthday. It was the first long driving trip I've done by myself. I went "up over the top," across Wisconsin and through the UP along Lake Michigan. At 50, I now wonder why it took me so long to discover the joys of road tripping alone. It took time and a good reason for the urge to manifest itself.

My sister expressed trepidation when I told her I was driving. Ronda's my sensible, motherly sister, and she and her husband were flying out. I love her dearly, and though our birthdays are only 11 months apart, we have always been very different from each other. She was a "good child"- polite and ladylike, straight A's in high school, then directly onto college, followed by hard work as a nurse, with an eventual masters and career in hospital administration, married 25 years to her doctor husband. A solid citizen in every sense of the word. She's also a wise woman and a good sport. She seemed to understand when I explained that the fear of allowing my circumstances to limit me by doing only the things that are most comfortable and convenient far outweighs any trouble I might encounter along the way. Becoming an old lady who sits around waiting for something fun to happen is not what I have in mind for the rest of my life. My oldest sister told me when she and Ronda discussed my trip, Ronda said, "You know she's going do exactly what she wants to do anyway." That's probably closer to the truth of why she eventually agreed with me- ha!

I took different routes each way. I explored the UW campus, found a decent Indian restaurant, and took an hour-long bath listening to polka music in Green Bay, walked the boardwalk along Lake Michigan in Manistique, looked for pretty rocks on the sand dunes, drove the Tunnel of Trees Highway, crossed the Mackinac Bridge twice, ate a Pasty on the Iron Range, and lost count of the number of pretty lakes and rivers I saw in Eastern and Central Wisconsin. Sandwiched in between were long walks with my sister Arliss in her town of Bellaire, nibbles of freshly-smoked late trout my brothers-in-law caught on a fishing excursion, and cuddling with my brother's six-month-old granddaughter whose huge, round eyes and naturally smiley face make her a double for the Bob's Big Boy kid. I wondered who else might me reflecting on the terror of war as military jets screamed over the bay in a Traverse City air show. I ate way too much party food, drank wine with my sisters, and slept in four beds that made me grateful for my perfectly fat, comfy futon mattress at home.

As I returned, Bev and Laverne, two of my elderly neighbors, were picking raspeberries from the bushes behind our building. Last night Bev brought me a slice of berry-topped, homemade angelfood cake. She encouraged me to help myself to the berries on the bushes, as there plenty out there, and when I said I had never picked raspeberries, she told me to tug gently, and they'd fall into my hand if they were ready. If not, they were meant to be left for the next picker. I thought about this as a metaphor for lots of things. This morning, I hopped out of bed, threw my flannel shirt on over my pj's, and 20 minutes later I had a bowlfull. Another new experience, right in my back yard.

As I write this, I'm reminded of William Blake's poem "Auguries of Innocence." The most familiar stanza is this:

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

But my favorite is this one:

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

Sometimes life seems complicated, confusing, and sad; fears and worries threaten to consume, but when I tug at my comfort zone and gratefully accept what falls into my hand, I find luscious adventure and...joy!