Work, travel and a conundrum

I have been falling behind in my blogging as the work and travel schedule during the last week has been pretty hectic. The result of all this rushing around has meant that I have not been able to take any pictures, go out for a motorcycle ride or wash and wax the cars, for more than a week - all things I consider to be balance-restoring and therapeutic.

I miss the bonding experience with the cars and I am sure the cars miss it too. The black brake dust turning the silver wheels into burnished gun-metal, offers mute testimony to my lassitude.

The lathering of the body with suds and the washing down of the flanks with a soft sponge. The gentle coaxing of tar and tree-sap spots with a warm wet rag and drying off with soft terry cloth towels. The brushing between wheel nooks and crevices with a soft toothbrush and the final detail with a gloss enhancer spray. The ritual of car washing allows me to spend some quiet time with the cars, perhaps with Mark Knopfler on the iPod Sound Dock in the garage, re-acquainting myself with every curve and crease-line of their bodies as the late afternoon light glances off the surface. When I don't find the time to enjoy this communion with one of my favorite art-forms, I am a lot poorer for it.

On one of my trips last week, we had just boarded our flight from Denver to Minneapolis, and I settled myself into the window seat at the exit row. As the rest of the passengers filed in, there was a significant contingent of young families, off on vacation at the start of the summer. The air started to fill with the cry of babies who seemed to sense their impending incarceration in an air-tight aluminum tube, making their displeasure known.

As a young family squeezed into the seats behind me, the father with 2 kids stowed away his hand baggage and got the kids settled. The mother with another child moved to another row further behind. The kids ranged in ages from about 3 to about 8. The oldest, the 8 year old boy occupied the seat directly behind me, and decided to make my acquaintance by delivering a vicious kick to the back of my seat, causing me to almost plant my face in the back of the seat in front of me.

I thought a baleful glare would be sufficient admonishment at this time, and so turned around and delivered what I thought would be my most piercing old-fashioned look. The kid seemed not be in the least bit affected by my efforts and continued to page through a coloring book. The father, I thought was being particularly cavalier about his parental responsibilities, having buried his nose in a sudoku puzzle book that he had brought along.

My attempt at shaming the family into an apology having failed miserably, I turned around and started getting into my book again. Barely a paragraph into my reading, came a couple of swift belts to the back of my seat that caused me think that I had mistaken a mule for an 8 year old boy. So violent and determined was the kick, that it shook not just my seat but the entire set of 3 seats causing the couple next to me to put their reading down and look quizzically at each other.

Just as I mustered up the will to turn around and say something, the boy delivered a couple of well-aimed wallops to the small of my back. The thought of enduring the hour and half flight to Minneapolis, all the while being subjected to this assault was unthinkable.

I turned around, and having attracted the father's attention by waving my hand in front of his face and shouting "Excuse me", I said " Could you please see that your son doesn't kick my seat? It really is quite unpleasant".

"Can't do that, man" he said. Very matter of fact. No apologetic tone. Just a statement. Providing information.

My face must have registered the incredulity I felt. The dark thoughts that came to mind at the time all involved inflicting pain on both the child and the fatuous father.

Just short of becoming apoplectic, I could only muster a feeble "But...." when the father continued.

" He's got mild cerebral palsy, with autism as well. He doesn't listen very well, and doesn't have very good control over his limbs. So tends to kick his legs and throw his arms about, and there's nothing we can do. We can switch seats if you want and he can sit next to you, but he could shout and scream. He does that without warning as well"

" I'm not making this stuff up, man. These are problems you don't joke about" said the father without any trace of apology or irony.

I turned around wordlessly in my seat and devoted my attention my book, trying to zone out the periodic kicks and the occasional yelp emanating from the seat behind me. Bewildered and confused I hunkered down in my seat with a dark cloud hovering over my head.

As the flight came mercifully to its end at the gate in Minneapolis, the family gathered up their things and vanished into the terminal, with the boy playing and teasing his siblings, seeming to be at no perceptible disadvantage.

Was he really........? The thought remained unformed in my head as I watched the family traipse off together to begin their summer holiday.

Travel
Cars
Irony