My daughter’s apartment, somewhere in Brooklyn, where a tree grows.
“Marriage is good for those who are afraid to sleep alone at night.”~ St. Jerome
“I went from adolescence to senility, trying to bypass maturity.” ~Tom Lehrer
“In the true married relationship, the independence of husband and wife will be equal, their dependence mutual, and their obligations reciprocal.” Lucretia Mott
At 7:00 this morning, our daughter still slumbered on her couch in her Brooklyn Heights apartment in a 140-year-old brownstone. Her new home is beautiful in that grubby New York overpriced sort of way.
She let us sleep in her bed when we decided to turn in at the perfectly reasonable hour of 9:30 last night. But now it was morning, and we were starving. We struck out in quest of poached eggs and Cream of Wheat in 
these new haunts and found The Apollo Diner filled the bill. We tucked into a turquoise Formica-topped booth, placed our order, and I snapped open the Sunday New York Times.
I was unusually deferential to my husband, Rick, this morning. I plucked out the sports section and handed it to him. I shoved the salt and pepper shakers toward him without being asked. And I wore a sweet smile as I criticized the ugly maroon sweater he had chosen to wear. My kindness was borne of fear, not love. You see, I needed him.
Unparalleled Parking: I might remember this Brooklyn landmark, a vertical parking lot.
I married my husband when I was nineteen. He was a worldly man of twenty-two. I let go of my father’s arm at precisely the same moment I started to hang on to my husband’s. That August day in 1972, my life skills development stagnated.
It’s not that Rick held me back or controlled me, it’s just that he was so darn competent. Actually, I don’t think it’s possible that he was twenty-two when we were married, because I’m pretty sure he was forty at birth. I can only imagine the little man he must have been in kindergarten, sporting a pocket protector, calculating the trajectory of kid spit, eating liver and onions for lunch.
I could have consulted a map, but here’s the truth: I can’t read maps, and I can’t fold them, either.
He was this genius who knew stuff, like how electricity worked and how to write a check and how to change the oil in our Mustang. I was lacking in the most rudimentary skills, like how to paint a kitchen and how to do the laundry and how to replace a toilet paper roll.
And, remarkably, my husband kept gaining these new skills sets. It wasn’t long before he figured out how to secure a mortgage, how to prune a bush, how to pump water out of a leaky basement. And I was proud of him. And I was so happy for him to do it all. Like Cher, I’d say, thankfully, “I’ve got you, Babe.”
I went on to finish college and graduate school, and then some more graduate school. Even to teach graduate school. To the outside world I was proficient, savvy, even. I chaired committees, wrote curriculum, enamored parents, unjammed the copier, controlled snotty-nosed administrators. But the staggering quantity of things that I still can’t do and still don’t know is a dark, dark secret.
Florida–one of “my” states
So, here’s the truth. I don’t know what or where a car’s transmission is. I can’t tune into NPR, can’t perform CPR, can’t save on DVR. I don’t really understand the stock market, though I have a faint awareness that bulls and bears and NASDAQs are related principles. I know nothing about filing taxes, and apparently, that’s a pretty important thing.
Even though I’ve been to every continent, I can only place Florida (which will become important later in our chat), California, Ohio, Alaska, and Hawaii on a blank map of the U.S.
Last August I admitted to my girlfriend Karen that I have absolutely no idea how much money we have, how we got it, where it’s stored. She was appalled. “What if Rick died suddenly?” she asked.
My friends Karen and Scott
She wasn’t too keen on my reassurances, but here’s the truth. First of all, Rick has this accordion file with everything arranged, get this, in alphabetical order! He has all of our usernames and passwords on an external drive in our safety deposit box—and, yes, smarty pants, he showed me where the key is. He has explained to our lawyer and accountant, in the nicest possible way, that his wife is an idiot.
But none of that matters, because Rick will not die suddenly. He will plan the date and location of his death and enter them on his online calendar and his iPhone. And before he dies, he will cancel his Sports Illustrated subscription, trade in his SUV (which I can’t drive), and change the air filters.
But after that conversation with Karen, I saw myself through her eyes. Pathetic child/woman. Domestic slave. Doting wife. Second-class citizen. Somehow I missed all those empowering songs during the Age of Aquarius and wasn’t listening in the seventies when Helen Reddy sang, “I am woman, hear me roar.” I scoffed at Annie Hall’s neckties. I doubted Anita Hill. I thought Hilary was smart to stand by her man.
I’m over sixty years old, and I can’t do anything. I know almost nothing. And what little I know, I’m rapidly forgetting.
I decided to show Karen/myself that I could manage without Rick should it become necessary. Here was 
my plan. I’d fly out to visit Karen! As luck would have it, she lives in Florida, one of “my” states. When I announced my decision to Rick, he went into full assault competency mode, ordering plane tickets, renting a car, printing Mapquest directions, cancelling the mail and newspaper, and putting timers on the lamps. It was fifteen minutes before I could get his attention long enough to tell him I was going alone.
“Alone?” he said, incredulous. “You mean, alone, without me?” And his left eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly.
“Yes, I’m doing this alone.”
On the day of departure, I insisted on packing my own suitcase and counting out my own medications. Rick assured me he would be right by his phone if I needed him. I assured him I wouldn’t need him.
I parked the car at Fast Park, just like Rick had a hundred times before. I remembered to have the shuttle driver write my parking location on a little card and, no, I was not going to lose that card.
I got to the terminal in plenty of time, and I advanced to the check-in kiosk, just as Rick had a hundred times before. And then I was prompted to key in my frequent flyer number. Hmmmm. Well, here’s the truth. I don’t know that number. And I also don’t know our credit card number. Fortunately, I do know my name and was able to check in.
After locating my gate, I broke tradition by going to Chick-fil-A for a snack, instead of McDonald’s as we had a hundred times before. I made the first leg of the trip, navigated the Atlanta airport to board the plane for the final leg, and arrived in Jacksonville right on time.
My second hitch of the trip was at the Avis desk where I asked for directions. “Just head east,” the clerk said. “You’ll be fine as long as you just head east.” Well, here’s the truth. I don’t speak “East and West.” If you give me directions, you must translate into “Left or Right,” or give me landmarks like TJMaxx or Dunken Donuts. I am directionally challenged and only know that south is down on a map. Now my husband was apparently born with a compass rose imprinted on his brain, and he instinctively knows cardinal directions, in the same way I just know what shade of paint will match the curtains.
“East, did you say? That sounds simple enough,” I bluffed to the clerk, knowing I had Mapquest directions
and a GPS (and my husband’s phone number) in my handbag. I didn’t actually know how to operate the GPS, didn’t even know how to get the ball shaped thingy engaged in the holder doohinkie, but I figured it out. I headed east and stopped before driving into the ocean.
I checked into my hotel and changed into my nightie. I took my Lipitor, Lisinipril, calcium, Vitamin D, baby aspirin, fish oil capsules, Claritan, and One-a-Day for Seniors, and climbed into bed. A bed I did not have to share. I was puffed up with pride. Today I am a woman, I thought. I fell soundly asleep — without checking for the emergency exit, bolting the door, or requesting a wake-up call.
The rest of the visit was wonderful, but I never felt sure enough of myself to be smug. I kept thinking, “I feel like I’ve forgotten something.”
Three days later, I arrived back in Cincinnati. I boarded the shuttle, the right one. I whipped out that little red card with the car’s location marked on it and handed it to the driver. I pursed my lips as I observed the gentleman sitting next to me dig through his pockets for his little red card.
Then I opened my pocketbook and stirred the contents— receipts, a wallet, three highlighters, and a dusty breath mint—but I could not find my keys.
Just as the dented fender of my silver Cavalier came into view, I remembered what I had forgotten. Three days before I had locked the keys in my car . . . while the car was still running. My car was locked — and out of gas.
I didn’t call Rick. I called AAA, all by myself.
This morning at that Brooklyn diner, I didn’t have money for the bill, the keys to the apartment or any idea how to get there. But here’s the truth: I could manage if I had to. It’s the truth, but don’t tell my husband.
Copyright © 2015 Sandy Lingo, All Rights Reserved
Readbacks:
Fortunately I do know my name….
I headed east and stopped before driving into the ocean.
Love reading your posts, Sandy!
I love readbacks! That is one of the most miraculous practices at WW. Thanks for reading. Good to see you yesterday.
Yep, we ARE the same person!
One of the many things I love about your humor writing is the times you create a list…the specifics are hilarious…the contrast of the items makes me REALLY lol. Thank god my car has a built in compass because I, like you, do not speak “east and “west.”
I look forward to your blog! Thanks for another great one!
You are the bestest fan! Love you! Thanks for your loyalty and your marketing.
Sandy, althought this is my first comment, I have read all of your publications, since being added to get amailing list. I have enjoyed them all and always get a chuckle out of them. They always seem to hit home. Keep up the great work.
Jim Scheibling
I can’t tell you how happy it made me to see your name in my comments section. I was reminded of the times when our kids were little and spent time together.
Loved this…I am directionally challenged. Locked my car with keys turned on and motor running…long story. I relate to this whole story. Thanks. Don’t feel so alone .
Well, I have my faults, but at least I never, ever, ever toot!
Okay- have left keys in car with engine running and then hubby up flying! An very directionally-challenged- never have gotten North, South, etc, either Bonus points: left purse on top of car and drove off.
Another wonderful Rick and Sandy story! You two are so lucky you found each other!!
Oh, Ned! You made me remember when I left my purse on top of a car, but it wasn’t my car. I put my purse on the back of another car as I was strapping my kids into car seats, and when I turned around, the purse was gone. I remember I did this on my birthday and I cried all day, but someone eventually called saying they found it in the middle of the road.
I wish I had an “internal” navigation system! I only know which direction I am heading if I see a sign!
I thought you did! When the kids were little, you were so brave about driving all over the city. Your sense of direction will serve you well now as you explore your new world as a retired person.
Hitting closer to home than I would like to say, though I have become a much better problem solver than my family of origin prepared me to be, thanks to husband Howard. Your piece is a good reminder to look daily at the U.S. map laminated onto a placement that has been on my kitchen desk for years awaiting my daily gaze so as to learn where all 50 states are! Keep ’em coming, Sandy!
I think I need to create a GA for those of us who are directionally challenged. I love seeing your name in my comments because I miss you at class. What’s that about? By the way, a while back I saw a picture of an elderly woman with your last name. Was she related to you?
Oh, Sandy, I am laughing out loud!! And to think that I thought YOU had it altogether – ALWAYS!! To tell you the truth, I also depend on Scott for all of those things that could happen if he should die suddenly. I just didn’t want you to know that!! And I can’t tell you how much that visit – and all your others – meant to me! Just so you know, even if you can’t tune into NPR, do CPR or save on DVR (which by the way, neither can I), your friendship, and your creativity are most special to me. Don’t ever stop writing!!! Love you friend!
Me, together?!! So many things are beyond my capacity, but friendship has a higher priority, so I concentrate on that. You are easy to love.
Think how many trips you’ve taken on your own since then! You even came to NYC alone when I wasn’t here!
Enjoyed your post, Sandy! I, too, am directionally challenged. Can’t begin to tell you how many times I been lost. GPS …best invention ever!!!
I was a born-again driver once I had a GPS. It is not overstating that it has changed my life. I would never have ventured to shopping malls in Kentucky or an acupuncturist in Eastgate without one. There is something so comforting about punching, “Go home,” when I’m ready.
I would never have guessed any of this was an issue. Anyone able to cook has my respect, loyalty and admiration. None of the rest really matters.
Well, it’s true I cook, but I need someone to help me wash the dishes–that would be Rick.
You help me feel like my humanity is OKAY……..love it!
Thanks for reading my blog. I enjoy your writing and your openness and your heart. It’s been fun getting to know you at WWf(a)C.
I’m so pleased to be connected with you. The story of your grandfather reminded me of a long ago incident involving my husband, three little girls and myself. On a trip down south we decided to tour the Vicksburg Confederate cemetery. We were late, it was getting darker and darker, and we were hopelessly lost, the girls were crying, etc.etc. I’ll save the ending!!!
I am honored that you are reading my writing. The anxiety surely ramps up when kids are around. Miss seeing you at DKG.
You are my sister from another mother! We are so very fortunate to have incredible husbands, but your story is a gentle reminder to me to take on more responsibility when it comes to “adult” things…just in case.
Thank you! I LOVE the humor and vitality you share with the world!!!
David takes good care of you, too. You are a great team–though I bet he’s glad he doesn’t have to hang artwork at DMS anymore!
This is HILARIOUS! My husband demanded to know “What ARE you laughing about?” The clencher was when you answered your nagging question …. “What did I forget?” With the car, out of gas, with keys left in the ignition. Hahaha! Classic!
I love your husband, BTW! I confess that my husband shares many of your husband’s characteristics.
Thank you, Ellen! It makes me so happy to know I made someone laugh . . . WITH me, not AT me. right? Right?
Loved your piece yesterday at SWAN Day. Thanks so much for participating.
Sandy, you may not be able to do all those things you mentioned, but you sure can write!!!! I really enjoyed reading this. Thanks for sharing.
What an awesome thing to say. Thank you! You made my day!
Love love LOVED this, Sandy. You made me laugh out loud. When Tom was in China last Spring for 2 and half weeks, I realized that I had absolutely no clue how to operate the lawn mower. Still blissfully ignorant (and happy to have my lawnboy home) . . .
Not learning how to operate a lawn mower is a good thing, as Martha Stewart would say. But back up . . . why was Tom in China?
I’m reading this finally, a month+ later, having to do my own “stuff”, being single. I can relate still to your experiences, having been graced with each of those learning opportunities. Love your writing always.