01/07/2021
Read all about it! Click here:http://www.lindasegallanable.com/horizon/current.pdf
Welcome to our big blockbuster Summer Reading Issue! It’s truly wonderful.
First off, Mike Lisagor went through a health ordeal that revealed a problem that could have been life-threatening; next, a two-fer experience that will blow your socks off, even if you aren’t wearing socks: a beautiful story by Linda Kaye and Winterlude Bambi Patterson, aka Kayla, who discover their close family connection. Beans D, our gal in Barbados, tells how she overcame being bullied in her youth; Prakash Chandra Pradhan recounts the amazing benefits he and his family have received since he began practicing Buddhism; finally, artist and scholar Lynette Yetter shares the mystery of some seabirds that washed up on the beaches of Oregon, and how this became a mission reminiscent of her days as a determined YWD. Also, this story from me, which involves my car, seen here in the garage where she is safe from my bad driving.
My husband Thom recently faced a weeks-long recuperation following shoulder surgery, during which time I became his caretaker as well as taking on his share of household duties. It wasn’t just a few physical things, like schlepping our trash cans up and down our long, steep driveway (lethal when it’s icy) or emptying the dishwasher, which he does every morning. There were more challenging chores on my schedule. Such as being upbeat and sympathetic all day long, which I find a stretch – I’d rather crack jokes than sit at your bedside and wring my hands. But mostly it was the driving.
Thom’s daily activities involve moving vehicles, which he’d been forbidden to operate for at least two weeks post-surgery. Sadly, my driving is even worse than my bedside manner. One of Thom’s and my greatest strengths is that we cover a wide spectrum of skills – we like doing what the other hates. Driving is top of that list. Thom says about my driving, “Linda isn’t a bad driver – she’s just not a good driver.” So I keep it to a minimum and chant daimoku when I’m behind the wheel. Always. I’ve never even turned on the radio in my car. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo is the only sound I hear. From my own lips.
The opposite of me, Thom enjoys even a boring jaunt to the supermarket. He keeps his classic 2002 Audi allroad in meticulous condition; it’s an awesome car and he’ll never give it up. His mechanics, who see him fairly often about one thing or another, call him a “lifer.” Being prohibited from driving “Audrey” had Thom climbing the walls. He’s as bad a patient as I am a nurse. Thought he was fine to drive after a few days, but I said no, he had to wait until it was safe. Two weeks, the doctor said. I’ll do the driving; you don’t have to lift an elbow.
Neither of us was the least bit happy about this situation.
I knew that these new responsibilities came as a result of my campaign to expand my life and become more capable, despite being at an age and status – old and retired – where I could kick back and spend my time playing Mahjong with the girls at the club. Except I don’t play Mahjong or belong to a club. I’m a fierce bodhisattva, dedicated to bringing peace to this world through my Buddhist practice and making positive causes that benefit humanity.
One of these is working on the development of a Broadway musical – not a typical retirement activity. However, I own the stage rights to Heaven Can Wait, the play written by my grandfather, Harry Segall, and I have been chanting 40 years for just such an amazing benefit to materialize, a long story about which I’m writing a book. To do all these things, plus being a successful homemaker, dog mom and cranky nursemaid, I feel pressure to be in the finest physical, mental and spiritual shape possible. On the Heaven Can Wait project I might be the only person on Medicare.
During Thom’s recuperation, my biggest challenge was keeping my driving anxiety in check, a life-and-death matter as being bad at driving is not an option. One morning I drove to the supermarket, where I hadn’t been in at least five years, and parked the car okay despite my poor depth and width perception, then zoomed through the aisles at Fred Meyer’s, finding everything easily, smiling beneath my mask. Unlike cars, I’m good at navigating shopping carts. Nailed it! Bags in tow, I hopped into my shiny white Subaru and was backing out of my space when I heard a scraping noise. Oh crap, I hit a curb. I straightened out and was trying again when a guy in the parking lot yelled at me from his car, “Hey, you totally hit that truck,” and sped off.
Uh oh, not a curb – a pick-up truck. Mortified, angry at myself, I left a note on the truck’s windshield with my phone number. I did not hear back. The incident irritated me no end. I’d failed again at driving. I had to do better, pay more attention to every nuance in my environment, especially when behind the wheel. I apologized to my car, who must feel very unlucky to have me as her owner; however, I do chant all that car-moku, which has got to be a huge benefit for her.
A few days later our cable was out due to a power outage, just when I needed to go to Trader Joe’s. And now I needed a wifi signal to make a phone call. During the short drive there I felt stressed, got honked at a couple of times (don’t know what I did, but whenever I hear honking, which is rare in ultra-polite Portland, I assume I’m at fault). Still nervous when I arrived, I tried to shake it off and focus on the multitasking job ahead: getting the things on the shopping list and making my phone call.
Maybe I was distracted by the discovery of coconut cream whipped topping in an aerosol can that I almost opened right there in the store and squirted down my throat, or making doubly sure I got the correct beer for Thom, or just agitating for no good reason, but somehow, after my call, I lost my phone. Possibly dropped it in the tomato bin. No idea. It wasn’t turned in.
That wasn’t like me. I don’t lose things. I knew it meant something, that my life was urgently trying to get my attention: Stop being so hard on yourself. You do not have to be superwoman. Settle the bleep down. Right, thank you, Buddha wisdom. The crazy tension I was wallowing in was unsustainable. I went to the Gohonzon and made a vow to become a calmer, more focused driver. And less high strung in general.
On his eighth day of rehab, Thom decided he’d had enough of my putting the drivers of Portland in mortal danger, and demanded his car keys. He couldn’t stand it any longer. Neither could I. Fact is, Thom is a far better driver than I am, even with his arm in a sling. He once drove stunt cars in the film business.
I’ve been doing better. The other day I did a masterful job of driving to the paint store, which is over the river, across town – zero mistakes. No one gave me a honk. I gave myself a gold star.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to up my driving. No way. Now that Thom and Audrey are back on the road, happy again, I can stick to my favorite form of travel: in my hiking boots, with my dog, on six feet, pounding the trails, smelling the trees.
There’s no honking in the forest.
Linda Segall Anable
Editor
