I’ll Give You A Driveway Moment

You want a driveway moment? I’ll give you a driveway moment. No, it’s not some sad, uplifting, or enlightening story I’m listening to on NPR. And it’s not a favorite golden oldie on WWAM. Nor am I out here in the car contemplating the theory of relativity.

I’m sitting in the car that is parked in my driveway because I don’t want to go inside my house – at least not yet. Because when I walk through that door I have to be an adult who worries about my spouse (who thinks I take our marriage for granted), about my grown children (who won’t leave home), and about my parents (who may soon need to go into a home), and about planning for retirement (a train that has long since left the station).

Driving home from work I was able to find respite from all these wonderful topics, but now that I’m in the driveway, the only thing between me and the boogey man is the sanctity of my car. It may be old and have over 150,000 miles on it, but the seats still smell leathery and I am comfortable behind the wheel. I know everything about this car. The new tires on the back, each of the disc brake rotors I’ve had replaced, the new radiator hoses, it’s all documented in my mind. Really, when I think about it, I realize I have replaced 50-60% of the car by now. But the sound system is still A-1 so I can listen to some soothing classical music while working up the courage to leave the comfort of my “cabin.” Might as well put the seat in the reclining position to see if that will lessen the throbbing sensation in my frontal lobe. That’s working. I can already feel my heart rate slowing down, my hands have stopped clenching, and the damp brow is drying off.

I feel transported to a better place – a place where no demands are made of me. When I’m hungry, food appears. When I’m drowsy, a soft bed is there for me. Everyone speaks softly and we are gentle with one another. The sense is that everyone is solicitous without verging on obsequious. This is good – very good.

A loud rapping noise on my window shatters the reverie into a thousand tiny pieces. My son is staring at me through the fogged up window and mouthing some words. I’m confused – I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me. He makes a motion that I should lower the window, and I comply.

“Can you move your car so I can get mine out?”

No hello. No how are you. Doesn’t ask if I’m okay. Just stands there looking idiotic wearing a backward ballcap, waiting for me to move on, so that he can move on.

Fine. Until tomorrow then. This driveway moment is over.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept and at BoomSpeak. He's written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

The Debtors

Ned and Carol, where are you? The reason I ask is that we keep getting calls for you. It’s been five years since we moved here and signed up for landline phone service. They gave us a number that must have once belonged to you.

But you two – you little imps – you two must have run up some mighty big debts, because not a day goes by that we don’t get a call from a collection service looking for you kids.

“If you are Ned Street or you know how we might locate Ned Street, please call yada-yada-yada.”

Now, when I see the collection agency name come up on caller ID, I pick up the call for two seconds and then disconnect. They are such wearisome calls after five years of hearing the same recorded message. And if I were Ned, would I really call the number for the collection agency? I hardly think so.

And not just one collection service is looking for you. There are several that would be interested in knowing your whereabouts. You and Carol must have racked up some serious debt. I imagine that it all started with some profligate spending on the credit cards and perhaps some gambling. The next thing you knew, it spiraled into a second mortgage and then maybe foreclosure on the house. The banks must have come after you too, but by then you and Carol had split town. Speaking of splitting, my guess is that the stress of your indebtedness drove a wedge between you and Carol, and the marriage folded. I could be wrong, but it seems unlikely that a marriage could survive the such a tremendous fall so far down the rabbit hole. I imagine you’ve gone your separate ways and tried to disappear into the cracks somewhere new, but it must be hard to try to rebuild a decent credit history with the collectors breathing down your neck.

I don’t know when the calls will stop. Maybe never. You would think the statue of patience limitations would have run out after five years, but hope springs eternal in the collection biz. I guess my own hope that the calls would finally stop demonstrates that I too have unrealistic expectations. Anyway, Ned and Carol, I hope you’ve landed on your feet somehow and find a way to rebuild your lives. If you’re ever feeling nostalgic, call your old phone number and let us know how you’re doing.
Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept and at BoomSpeak. He's written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.

Shacking Up?

When was the last time you heard that phrase? For me, hearing those words was like traveling back in a time machine, to circa 1970. That was when baby boomers began living in sin, or more popularly, shacking up.

Scandalous as it was at the time, it made perfect sense to us. You love someone, you’ve had sex at least once but more likely a few dozen times, well, dammit, you might as well move in together. It wasn’t about splitting the rent (for most of us….can’t speak for some cheapskates), it was about setting up house, being together all the time, enjoying each other’s company, living our lives together, etc. Holy smokes, were we surprised when the greatest generation looked down their noses at us and began whispering about how their kids were “shacking up.”

We thought it was more like taking a test drive. We were compatible in so many ways, but could we really live together? Was marriage in our future? One way to find out was to move in together, and we did learn a lot. It taught us about respect for one another’s space, shared decision making, and who was not so neat (i.e. which one was a total slob).

So it was with some surprise that I recently read that baby boomers are in the shacking up mode once again. Cohabitation, as the researchers like to call it, is on the rise, big time. The number of unmarried people over the age of 50 living together had doubled in the past 10 years. About one third of all baby boomers are unmarried today, and it looks like the prospects are slim for them getting hitched again at this point in their lives.

In 2012, living together as opposed to marrying may have a lot to do with finances. Widows and widowers don’t have to give up their spouses’ Social Security benefits or take on each other’s debts. You can have your own bank account and there’s no legal bond that forces you to stay together. If you’ve already experienced one divorce, shacking up is a great way to avoid another.

As for the stigma of “living in sin,” whom are boomers going to offend? Their parents are gone (literally or just mentally) and their children are just fine with the concept. That leaves friends and acquaintances and they aren’t going to throw stones at someone doing what they might be doing someday.

It could be worse – we could be forced to live in shacks.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept and at BoomSpeak. He's written a mystery novel, which therefore makes him a pre-published author.