Driving Miss Jeanne: Highway Meditations
A couple of weeks ago I drove my grandmother, Jeanne, from Michigan to Florida. She’s actually my wife’s step-grandmother. But Jeanne says that’s just a technicality, that “step” business and the “relative by marriage” business. I am her granddaughter.
Even without knowing anything else, it’s hard not to love someone who says things like that.
Then there’s the fact that she’s lived the most marvelous life: Was married to the love of her life for almost 50 years before he passed. Traveled the world. Attended balls. Had a successful career at a time when that was not possible for many women. Had a beautiful family and loads of friends. Filled retirement days with tennis games and long walks in the sun.
She’s smart and sharp witted and just, well, fun to be with.
Jeanne has been going to Florida for the winter months for years, first with her husband and then alone once he passed. For a while now, family members have given her a lift. It just makes sense that she not make that trek alone. This year, though, the usual suspects weren’t available.
I had always joked that I would be happy to do it if she could handle my slow driving and Dateline podcasts.
So when she called to make the request, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
It was fun and hard and eye-opening — and I couldn’t be happier that I agreed to the adventure. Jeanne took the first shift, which I think she will forever tease me about. “I’m so glad you called and asked me to drive you to Florida,” she said, ribbing me after I had drifted off to sleep in the car.
The truth was, I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept for two nights in a row, anxious about the trip. Would I be comfortable driving her car? What would we talk about? What would we listen to? How will I manage 20 hours of driving? What if? What if? What if?
I needn’t having worried — about anything.
After that, I did all of the driving, save for a couple of hours leaving Atlanta when my navigating skills were more necessary than my driving skills. We ate at Cracker Barrel (Yes. I know. Not my choice obviously). And we stopped at every Buc-ee’s we could find. It was her first Buc-ee’s experience. She LOVED it. And I loved that she loved it.
We talked and laughed and listened to Coffee House radio and my Taylor Swift playlist.
I got road rage in traffic, and she — sweetly and incredibly unsuccessfully — tried to calm my nerves. We shared a king-sized bed at the Hampton Inn and the baked fish at a diner. She lost her earring back, and I discovered we left the car door open all night in Valdosta, Ga.
It was fun and relatively easy, all things considered, barring the traffic and the last 20 minutes of the drive when I had to pee so badly I felt like I was at a concert where I hadn’t wanted to miss one song.
When we arrived, we encountered all sorts of dilemmas, as one does after not being in one’s condo for three years — a water heater that dies, a fridge that had to be replaced, a few cracked tiles, a bulge in the ceiling.
I stayed for five days, and my wife joined me for a couple of those. We all worked together to get things running smoothly again.
The whole experience got me to thinking about karma. When Jeanne needed help, she had no trouble getting it, even from a brand new, step-granddaughter by marriage who was immediately promoted to granddaughter. Why? Because Jeanne is kind and thoughtful and generous. She loves without hesitation, and she considers others before herself.
The world could learn a lot from my grandmother. Sure, she’s quirky and set in her ways (which, by the way, is exactly how I plan to be when I’m pushing 90). But she has also created a legacy of kindness and acceptance. It can’t be easy losing the love of your life or being the step-parent/step-grandparent, or, heck, just getting old in a world that hasn’t been tended to properly for a long time.
And yet she manages to do it with enough grace that people are ready to jump in whenever needed.
Someone in my own family asked me to transport them over a number of state lines a number of months ago. I reluctantly agreed and then heeded my wife’s and sister’s and daughter’s urgings to decline because it would be unsafe physically and emotionally. It would have been the absolute opposite of this journey for a number of reasons, and there was no one else to do it for many of those same reasons.
It makes me sad to think about it.
We reap what we sow.
And, so, I will continue to tend to my gardens. I hope you’ll do the same.