The Earring

Book 3 Part 5

After that weekend, our schedule did not ease. Our children were still full of energy, draining mine. The church members still felt they had the right to critique me and mine. David still poured massive energy into the church. The difference was that our love tanks were replenished and our perspectives transformed. We learned the importance of retreating. We decided to build couple and family retreats into our lives. Each year we resolved to take one or more two-day couple's retreats. We also would take a family vacation. If the vacation involved a visit to grandparents, we decided we would take a few days en route for an adventure with just our kids and us.

Our first vacation after the decision was almost enough to override the desire for an adventure with the kids. Joshua was in the midst of the terrible twos, and Zach was a toddler.

A friend graciously loaned us the use of his cabin in the Smokey Mountains. We packed our car to the gills and set out. A few miles down the road from home, David asked to see the atlas.

"Oops," I said. "I set it on the top of the car while I strapped Zach into his car seat. I guess I forgot to retrieve it."

"Well, it's long gone by now," David said, refusing to turn around and retrace our steps. He hates to go back once he's started somewhere. Instead, he began to fuss at me for being irresponsible.

"Accidents don't happen," he growled. "They're caused."

After listening to his complaining for what seemed an eternity, I was actually relieved when Zach began to make chicken noises in his car seat.

"Bawk, bawk, bawk," he cackled.

'Bawk' was his first, and at that time only, word – if you can call it a word.

When the chicken dosed off after 30 minutes of cackling, David dropped a bombshell into the ensuing quiet.

"Do you have the keys to the cabin?"

"No," I replied. "Billy Bob gave them to you. I haven't even seen them."

"We're going to have to go back," he sighed. "I guess I accidentally left them at home."

"Accidents don't happen, they're caused," I said as he turned around and headed back.

I managed to keep from audibly gloating during the hour's drive back home. As we neared, David suggested I watch the ditches to see if I could spot our atlas. I'm sure he wanted to take the spotlight off of his error by reminding me of mine. I didn't see the atlas, but when he got out of the car, he discovered it on top of the vehicle plastered against our luggage carrier.

When David got back in the car, I could not resist pointing out that my mistake had cost us nothing, while his had added two hours and a tank of gas to our journey. After that comment, silence reigned momentarily in the car – until the chicken started up again. That toddler practiced his chicken imitation all the way to North Carolina.

When we got there, it was later than planned because of our "accidental" delay. We had a bit of a hard time finding the cabin. I showed admirable restraint in not pointing out to David that if it hadn't been for his "accidentally" leaving the key behind, we would've arrived in plenty of time to locate the cabin while the sun was still high in the sky.

During our time in the Smokey's, I conned David into doing some cooking, since he needed to pay for his irresponsible behavior in leaving the keys at home. I guess I should have realized that she who rubs in another's failure is doomed to have her own quickly exposed.

On our way home, we stopped to visit some friends in Kentucky. When we left their house on Monday morning, they left too, heading out for a two-week vacation. We drove blissfully down the road, trying to teach Zach something other than "bawk, bawk."

When David pulled into a gas station and I reached for my purse, I realized I had to stop him before he pumped too much gas. Rolling down the window, I hollered, "Stop! Don't pump the gas yet."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Check your wallet to see how much money you have first."

"Just use the travelers checks," he said, lifting the pump.

"No, wait!" I said. "Your cash will have to do. I left my purse at Keith and Karen's house."

I had all of the traveler's checks and the rest of the cash. He had $10 in his wallet. The children were already fussing because they were hungry. We were heading for another friend's house. We were still a ways off, but we had a quarter tank of gas. David thought it was possible that we could get close enough to Ben's that he could drive out and meet us with some money. We spent a precious quarter calling Ben, but no one answered the phone.

David had to decide whether to put gas in the car or buy eats for the boys. He spent the money on gas, deciding we could stop at a bank and get money using our Visa Card. What neither of us remembered was that the Visa Card was in my name, because when we got it, David was a full time student' and I was the one with a job. That was in the days before you could put your card in an ATM machine; you had to go into the bank and deal with a teller.

The first bank we stopped at refused to give us money because I didn't have any identification. Despite two fussy preschoolers, they refused to take our word that David was my husband and allowed to use the card. The third bank we stopped at finally had pity on us and gave us the money. By that time our hungry boys were in full voice. They may have given us the cash just to get us out of their formerly peaceful bank.

All through lunch I had to listen to a lecture on behaving responsibly and keeping up with my purse. Finally I told David that the cash dilemma was really a result of his irresponsibility. If he had carried the money like a real man, my misplaced purse wouldn't have mattered.

#

Faith smiled at the familiar anecdote. It was part of their family lore, a bit of oral tradition told so often that she felt like she had been there, even though she would not be born for years afterwards. She knew that the Lander children did not bother with traditional first words.

Josh's first word had been 'bite.' The budding family lived in a tiny 2 1/2-room student apartment. The kitchen was the ½ room. It was arranged along one wall of the living area. Folding doors closed it off from the rest of the room, when you wanted to hide the unwashed dishes. To keep from wasting precious space with a dining table, TV trays served instead. Josh wandered from tray to tray begging for 'big people's food' using his only word, "Bite?"

Zach's initial utterance, of course, was the infamous "bawk.' He was born after the growing Lander clan moved to the rural parsonage. They raised a calf, a puppy, several cats, and some chickens. Zach was born an animal lover. Rather than asking for his Mama, he would sit in his high chair and reach for the back door, saying, "Bawk, bawk."

Faith's first word had been 'bo.' Syd would say to her, "Look, there's your bro." Since the letter 'r' rarely comes easily to an infant, Faith's imitation came out a 'bo.' She would careen down the hall in her walker calling, "Bo, Bo." When she learned her brothers' actual names, she would call in her baby voice, "Bo Za-a, Bo Jo-o, where you?"

Without thinking, she said aloud, "I'm so glad you were a writer, Mama. These stories are so much fun to read." As she spoke, she put down the book she was reading and picked up the first book of memoirs, the journal she had given her mother. The cover of the journal was a picture frame. Before giving the book to her mother, Faith had placed a picture that David created on Photoshop in the frame. A picture of Sydney as a baby was in the background as a sort of shadow, with a picture of her at age 45 in the foreground. He had made the picture for Sydney's birthday. Faith thought it a fitting photo for a life journal. On the back, she decoupaged a candid picture of her parents taken on their 29th wedding anniversary. They were laughing together; this was the way Faith pictured them when she thought of her childhood. "We had a lot of fun joking around," Faith told the photo. "You taught us how to laugh at our idiosyncrasies."

In a more relaxed state of mind, Faith put down the journal and fell asleep. The next morning, she woke to the sound of rain. She snuggled down under her covers. She had no desire to get up.

"I don't have to," she thought. "I'll get the obits by fax or email."

She tapped the touch lamp on her beside table and picked up the journal.