Efficiency

I like things to go my way. I like things to be efficient. I never know when to quit. There is never enough of a good thing. Last weekend was one of those weekends, the weather was brilliant, spring is in full swing, I can feel the flowers growing and I can barely keep the expectations from bursting my chest.

I knew that this weekend would be an impossible one to manage our household so I had put in a little extra effort scheduling our only son’s birthday celebration for Friday night. He didn’t turn 16 till the next day on Saturday. This type of management is nothing new for me but it was an entirely new concept for Trey. I hope he understands why it was necessary to celebrate his birthday on a day other than his birthday. Trey did have a Special Olympics voluntary service project in the morning of his birthday and a soccer game in the afternoon. Besides our girls had a choir contest in the morning and a birthday party for a friend in the evening also. So we pulled off Trey’s birthday celebration at his favorite restaurant where he ate a full rack of ribs with one hand and opened his gifts with the other. We pulled it off without a hitch and then took him to blockbuster where he got to choose the movies.

We got home by 8:30 pm and I knew that I was way too keyed up to sleep. And I could not afford a sleepless night because of all the plans I had for the weekend. Before we started Trey’s first movie “Yes Man” with Jim Carrey, I slipped a couple of Tylenol PM Pills to ready myself for night fall. Shortly after the movie started I was able to sleep and slipped off to bed as soon as the movie was over.

The next, day Saturday, I actually had the morning free. I spent it weeding the flower gardens at our house. Lorilee worked steadily at my side. I was glad for the companionship. I knew why she was with me working so steadily by my side. She has always complained that I am always opening up new flower beds without helping enough with the weeding or even realizing how much time it takes to weed each new bed. We were able to get most of the weeds taken care of before I had to take off for my first destination of the weekend.

I had to be at High Dive Park in Elkhart by 12:00 noon sharp. This is the annual Dahlia tuber sale put on by the Elkhart chapter of the Dahlia Society. I have never been to one the Dahlia Society’s sales before but I have seen the flower show that they put on at the local mall each fall. I wanted to get there at the start because I figured there would be plenty new gardeners just like me ready to swoop down and scoop up any spare tubers the Dahlia growers had to offer. I left with plenty of time to get to my destination but unfortunately all the access roads to High Dive Park were block by road construction. I finally made it into the park and much to my dismay I saw several women filing out of the pavilion with their bags overflowing with Tuber’s. It was only ten minutes after noon and it looked to me as if most of the transactions for the day had already completed in the sale that was supposed to last until 3:00 pm.

But as I entered the pavilion I saw that I had the long table stacked with bag after bag of tubers almost all to myself. The society’s members were all busy eating the potluck dinner that they had provided for the event. I began carefully counting out tubers and placing them in my bag as I sifted through the picked over piles. Actually my excitement was growing as I had found treasure chest after treasure chest and no one around me seemed to be aware that the treasure was there for the taking. Eventually an elderly gentleman from Ohio came up along side of me and began showing me which tubers he had brought up from his green house in Ohio. He had carefully written the names of each tuber on its side with a magic marker. He couldn’t believe that I hadn’t labeled my other finds. But I was too excited to think straight let alone write down the extravagant names of the flowers. I explained to the old man that, “I don’t care about their names; I just like to look at the flowers or pick them and give them away.” Every once in a while the old man would slip a tuber in my bag saying, “You’ve just got to have this one.” Finally I asked one of the pot luckers what the cost was as she hurried by for another dish. “Two dollars each,” she called out over her shoulder. I continued along the tables with my new found friend pumping him for every bit of advice I could get about growing Dahlia’s. Finally I cornered another member of the society and told her that I have to get out of this place, “My wife will kill me if I stay much longer and pick out any more,” I said. “How many do you have?” the society member asked me. “I think 25,” I offered. “That will be $50”, the lady commanded. “Can’t he go back and pick out a few more for free since he is buying so many?” another society member who was listening called out. “No way,” snapped the cashier as she took my $50.00 and handed me a Dahlia growing brochure as I hurried out the door clutching my treasures.

I hurried to our cottage on Westler Lake where I would spend the next 24 hours of this glorious weekend. When I arrived I laid out the tubers in a dry sunny room in moist potting soil where they will wait a few more weeks until the soil is warm and dry enough to receive them. There on the table I laid out about 40 eyes not the 25 that I had estimated for the society cashier. I spent the rest of my day putting in a dock and mowing the lawn and just enjoying the lake. I went to Subway at 7:45 pm and bought my favorite 12” sandwich in prepation for the big game number seven (7) in the NBA series between the Chicago Bulls and the Boston Celtics. It was sure to be a great game since the series had already produced at least 6 overtime sessions. At 8:00pm I settled into my sandwich on the couch with the game just beginning. I fell sound asleep as soon as I finished my sandwich and didn’t wake up until 1:00 AM. In my daze I found the ESPN news channel and was relieved to find out that the game I had missed had been a boring one anyway.

The next morning I awoke bright and early thrilled to be ready for my now weekly tradition of gardening while the rest of my family does the church thing. I pulled weeds, spread Peat Moss, watered with miracle grow, and enjoyed one of the most beautiful, restful mornings I’ve had in a long time. At 10:30 AM my phone went off alerting me that the boat lift man was making his way across the lake in this pontoon especially designed for putting boat lifts in place in the water. He arrived and after about 30 minutes of adjusting and positioning we had the boatlift in place for the summer. Stan charged me $40.00 and moved on to his next job.

I quickly put my gardening tools away and headed for home. I had to meet my family for our days planned activities. I drove past the church just as its members were streaming toward the parking lot and had just a moment of wistful thinking. I arrived home and heard our now 16 year old son making a plea for a change of plans for the day. “No,” I thought to myself, “This has been a perfect weekend and nothing can be allowed to change that now.” I knew that everything had to go exactly as planned in order for me to get everything done on my list. Then I said aloud, “Trey, this is a chance for our whole family to spend the afternoon together. If we have to come home and get you before we go out to dinner that will cost us an extra ½ hour. If you multiply that by 4 family members you will be costing us 2 whole hours.” And so with this logic I persuaded Trey to join Lorilee and I as we watched Alisha and Dana win another soccer game down at Newton Park near Plymouth Indiana.

After the soccer game we headed for Lorilee’s favorite Chinese restaurant to celebrate her birthday. We toted her gifts into the restaurant in a brown grocery bag so that she could open them at a favorite round table in the restaurant. Sunday was a day early for her birthday also, but of course Monday just did not suit enough of us to have a birthday party. As the evening progressed I began to watch the clock knowing that it would be I tight fit in order for me to pull off the final coup d’ tat of the weekend. After Lorilee had opened her gifts and most of the partying had subsided I slipped in my first of foreshadowing of things to come. “Is anyone up for helping me with launching the boat yet this evening? The sun is still so warm and the weather so beautiful.” I tried to persuade. Both of the girls quickly offered up their excuses as if they had known this were coming all along; they are probably well ahead of me. I know better than to ask Lorilee for this kind of help on a Sunday evening; besides I could see her eying one of the gifts she had just unwrapped; David Baldacci’s latest novel, First Family. Trey gave me a slight nod of assent seeming to know, as usual, that it is his job to help when I need it.

As soon as we arrived home Trey and I quickly gathered the items we would need to remove the boat from winter storage and put in on its lifted perch for the summer. Then we jumped into the truck and headed back for the cottage. The suns rays were just beginning to slant as we pulled out of the drive, setting off a whole new wave of beauty for the day’s ending. For a brief moment as we drove away I knew that I was pushing this weekend just a little too far. The weekend had been so perfect; things had worked out so well just as planned. Would this need to be the time that the weakend headed south? I paused to take my foot from the accelerator just for a moment as the omen settled in, but then I pressed onward.

We arrived at the cottage with about an hour of sun light left. Trey hurriedly began cutting the winter’s plastic wrap off the boat and I prepared the trailer for transport. This took about 15 minutes and finally Trey directed me as I backed the truck into the boat’s trailer hitch. We hooked up the trailer and now we were ready to head for the boat ramp. We have had more than our share of rain this spring and the soft ground just would not support our plans. I began to spin the tires and in a moment we were sunk; stuck in the mud. I knew that my omen was about to come true; I had gone too far. I began mumbling under my breath to that effect and Trey asked me, “What do you mean? You mean working on Sunday?” “No,” I stubbornly explained to him, “I’ve just tried to get too much done today.”

Suddenly, as usual, our neighbor lady, named Janet, came to our rescue. She came out of her house, seeing our predicament, made that same call that she has made on at least two other occasions for me already this spring. Within 15 minutes Ken, Janet’s friend, and now mine, showed up in his four wheel drive jeep with a tow rope. There is now even less sunlight left but I am now in command again. Ken chided me, but just for a moment, “You’d better get this young boy home to bed, he has school tomorrow you know,” he said. Ken pulled us out of the mud in moments and Trey and I were free to head for the boat ramp.

We wanted to be as efficient as we could with what was left of our weekend. Trey scrambled up into the boat to prepare for launch as soon as we pulled into the ramp area. I backed the boat into the lake then barely noticing the blazing sunset all around. I too climbed into the boat now resting on the still water just above the trailer to see if it was going to start. I pumped the priming bulb about five (5) and then began to turn the starter over. We sat there cranking the motor for about 5 minutes. I had forgotten to take the battery inside for the winter and I was beginning to worry. Finally when the battery seemed to be on its last few cranks the 125 horse power mercury engine sputtered to life and began its low rumbling roar. The “sound of summer” I thought to myself.

I jumped up confident that I was getting my way after all. I gave Trey a last few launching instructions and sprinted out toward the front of the boat to pull the trailer out of the water just before dark. I swung my feet out over the front of the boat feeling with my feet for the trailer down below. My wet tennis shoe’s found the trailer footing and I released my grasp on the boat just as my foot touched the trailer preparing myself to make a second jump from the trailer over the water and onto dry ground. But the omen came true. My tennis shoe’s wet sole did not stick to the wet trailer surface. I slipped. Both legs slipped down inside the metal crossbars underneath the trailer as I fell from the boat toward about two (2’) feet of water. My mind race as I imagined my legs snapping against the metal cross bars under the weight of my 200 pound torso. I flung out my left arm and grasped the deck rail of the boat at an awkward angle just as I disappeared over the side of the boat. My grasp of the railing saved my legs and kept me out of the water but the awkward angle caused my shoulder to slip from its socket. I quickly reached up and grasped the railing with my other hand letting my injured shoulder slump to my side. I called out to Trey now desperate for more of his help. He came forward and I weekly yelled, “My shoulder is dislocated.” He is the only person who has been through his experience with me before. It happened one other time to me on a skiing trip to Colorado in April of 2006. No, we weren’t skiing some black diamond trail when it happened last time. We were at a miserable rest stop in an ice storm near Lincoln Nebraska.

Anyway, Trey helped me to the ground with my remaining good arm. He collected my tennis shoes that were now floating in the lake. I was struggling to remain conscience as I leaned over my truck hoping that no else wanted to use the boat ramp any time soon. Trey just looked on helpless as I struggled unable to get the shoulder to go back in its place. He finally blurted out, “Shall I call 911?” “No,” I shouted at him, frustrated that anyone would try to help me now. He just stood there watching me. I looked at him and said more weakly, “Go on, warm up the boat, and get ready to finish the launch.” Then I slumped back over the truck waiting for what would happen next. Trey warmed up the boat for a few moments but soon he was back standing beside me waiting for what was to happen next.

Then, as suddenly as it went out of its socket it slipped back in. I smiled immediately at Trey knowing that it was over and that we had survived. There will be consequenses though. The last time it happened I got an MRI after about six months of pain. It just takes a long time for the pain to go away. Dad and I will have to build our seawall this spring with me nursing a sore left shoulder. Trey and I finished launching the boat. I took pictures of the last of the sunset to show during my visit to JC and Rosie’s place next Sunday. As Trey drove us home I closed my eyes as he dodged Amish bikers and buggies on their Sunday evening drive home hoping that I learned a lesson that day, we’ll see.