It’s About Time It’s About Space. Last Monday set the tone for the week. It was destined to be a mixture of flub ups, unexpected niceties and frustrations. And some nice road trips.
That day we headed to Sarnia for a scheduled meeting with our accountant to discuss some financial strategies. On route, my daughter called and I told her what we were doing. “Who are you?” she asked.
Manfred and I had lots of time, so we drove along the St. Clair River, spying a Lake Freighter, Indiana Harbor, that we had seen the previous day in Amherstburg. Still with time to spare we stopped at a local diner in Courtright to have a coffee. We were tempted by French Toast stuffed with cream cheese and topped with fruit.
Manfred likes watching boats, even pirates, along the River in Amherstburg
Unfortunately by the time we finished this treat, time was evaporating. With less than 15 minutes until our across town meeting, we followed the car’s navigation to the unfamiliar location. In the last minute before our appointment, we were a bit testy as couple’s will be as they disagree about which parking spot is closest to the door.
Once in the building, we approached the receptionist.
“Can I help you,” she said, looking like the office did not receive many guests.
“We’re here to see Brian,” I said.
“He’s away this week.”
I recalled the phone call I made a couple of weeks ago when the receptionist told me of the accountant’s planned absence and agreed to make the appointment the following Monday. All of a sudden it became clear.
“Oh no, our appointment is for the 25th. That’s next week,” I said. “I guess we’re not late.”
It’s about Time, it’s about space
Tuesday, Manfred traveled to Watford via a tractor to pick up a piece of farm machinery he had purchased a day earlier. This trip was not to involve me.
At 3:17 p.m. my phone rang.
“Are you still at the barn?” Manfred said.
“Ah, Yes”
“Oh you rode your bike there, didn’t you? I need some help, I’ve got a flat tire and no tools.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
I raced out the door at the Crazy 8 Barn and jumped on my bicycle. I had to ride 11 kilometres home to pick up the car and the tools and then find Manfred on a back road about halfway home from Watford.
I took a moment to connect the App on my phone that measures speed and distance of cycling routes because I intended this to be a fast trip home. I locked my shoes into my pedals and with a tail wind, I rode as fast as I could. I tried to remember the symptoms of a stroke or heart attack, in case my conditioning was no match for my enthusiasm.
I made it home in what I thought would be record time. To bump up my vanity, I took a moment to look at the App to see my speedy results. Oh crap, it hadn’t saved the trip. So there was no record of this great ride, only my aching thighs.
An hour later, I found Manfred pulled over beside a ditch. Once the tires were changed, I followed him home. This was not fun. We blew two more tires and each time Manfred switched other tires from less important positions to keep moving forward. I think he could work in the car racing pits changing tires; he does it with such speed and skill.
Wednesday’s road trip through Elgin, Norfolk and Brant counties was much more enjoyable. The forecasters said the weather would be delightful, and it was. Besides the rolling countryside, the highlight of the day was the pickerel tacos we enjoyed on the beach at Port Dover.
The remainder of the week was filled with fruitless tips, errands that never seemed to be complete and a surprising visit that filled me with joy.
If there is a moral to this week, it should be: enjoy the ride, no matter where you go or how long it takes. It’s about Time, it’s about space
Have a great day.