A Midsummer Night's Screed

  • By Mike Dewey
  • August 14, 2011
  • 278
                        
SUMMARY: An unexpected car repair and the impending end of summer create in Mike Dewey's mind a scenario for optimism in an uncertain time. We're all lucky, he suggests, as the storm clouds gather. It's a helpless feeling, really. I mean, there are no good options available. You either bite the bullet or risk one being fired into your brain. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the feeling's true. Say that a widget has gone all bad on your car. Say that replacing the widget is beyond your skill set. Say that your car can't run without a new widget. Say that the widget costs around three bucks and when you're presented with your bill, you owe $142.18. You can't go all DeNiro in "Taxi Driver," now can you? No. You have to eat it, just pull out the plastic and swear to yourself that the next time you need a widget, you'll just walk for the rest of your life. Or ride your bike. Or find a friend who knows what he's doing and might trade a quick fix for a sixer. I think it's a true sign of the hideous times we live in that it's perfectly acceptable for an American citizen to be denied health insurance while, at the same time, the government insists that a person must insure his or her car. Mine's 20 years old. Not even worth a hundred bucks. Costs me $241.76 every six months to keep me legal on the Carolina roads. The layers of irony are inestimable. My car's worth less than nothing, but I have to keep the payments. My body's 56 years old, likely to break down sooner than later, but I'm on my own when it comes to repairs that could keep me alive. My totally uninsured self sure feels better getting into my fully insured '91 Civic. Yep. It's a great country. I WAS WALKING along the shore the other afternoon, contemplating a future that might not exist, appreciating the view, not taking a single second for granted. Yep. I'm lucky to live less than an hour from the Atlantic. It's always great to watch the people, especially those who have arrived on the edge of the continent from places hundreds, thousands of miles away. The sun had long since hidden behind the scudding clouds and rain was in the air. I could smell it, taste it, almost feel it drenching me as I walked along. And, to quote Dylan in "Isis," the wind was a-howling. But I couldn't help but smile when I watched a couple and their two small children establish a beachhead, working together to anchor a blanket, laughing as it threatened to blow so far inland, they'd have to drive to Raleigh to retrieve it. A shoe on one corner. A cooler on another. A child's bucket filled with sand on the third. And a bag full of books on the last. I paused, watching, and said to myself, "They didn't come all this way not to get in the water." And sure enough, once the dad had secured their place in the sand, all four of them -- painfully pale, not a trace of tan -- joined hands and walked into the heavy surf. You should have seen their happiness, jumping and dodging the waves. It was a sight. It's always fine to get back to the coast. "Seems like a lot of Ohio plates," my wife said, as I steered her car down the highway, heading for the sand and sky and surf. "Middle of August," I said. "Prime vacation time." Which it is. We're still playing the License Plate Game and, with about two weeks to go, we still lack three. Two you might guess: Montana and North Dakota. But not to have reeled in New Mexico by this point in the summer is almost laughable. With it's bright yellow background and bold red letter and numbers, it's identifiable from 200 yards away. But, so far, we've had no luck. A year ago, we'd seen all 51 plates by the middle of July. This year, we're still searching. I guess folks aren't traveling as much anymore. Can't risk blowing a widget. And getting taken for a ride. SUMMER'S ALMOST GONE, to lift a line from the Doors, and my advice is to make the most of what remains. Who cares if the stock market's volatile, more unstable than nitroglycerin in a hurricane backpack? What does it matter when Mariano Rivera can't get a save anymore and your fantasy baseball team's in free fall? Why is it important when someone shouts, "The sky is falling and we must have a Republican in the White House!" Nah, I'm not interested in doomsayers and prophets of an ill wind. When someone hands me a bill for car repairs I didn't authorize, I sign it. When I break a tooth and no dentist will see me, I suck through a straw until the pain recedes. When a friend of many years decides I'm not worth the trouble, I watch reruns of "The Andy Griffith Show." And when I get a chance to go to the beach, I'm there. We all set goals and we, most of us, fall way short. All we can do is, as Neil Young says, walk on. Hurricane season's about to hit its zenith and I'm watching the skies for omens and clues to the new direction. Soon, perhaps, windows will be boarded up and churches will fill and the highways will be jammed with visitors turned back, just this close to their destination. Bridges will be closed and dreams will be dashed. Unless ... they're not. If there was ever a summer for folks to catch a break, this is it. Gasoline costs $3.65 a gallon. Every day, more jobs vanish. Tomorrow is a 50-50 shot at unhappiness. No one knows when it'll get better. But I believe it will. Firmly. Unequivocally. With passion. Three days after I drove Benny -- that's my car's name -- back from the shop, I got a thank-you in the mail from the folks who'd repaired him. Now that was a nice thing. They didn't have to do that. They just did. So .... I'll be driving Benny back down the coast soon, even as the storm clouds gather and Creedence warns us all about a bad moon rising. Mike Dewey can be emailed at CarolinamikeD@aol.com or snail-mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560.


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