Friday, April 07, 2006
A Sunday Drive
This past weekend my wife and I threw caution (and ten bucks or so for gas) to the wind and took a Sunday afternoon drive.
I mentioned in earlier posts that I suffer from depression. And suffer from having a royally screwed up back. Well, this winter has been tough on both, despite my living in Florida, and winters are very mild here. Heck, I didn't even pull any April Fool's jokes on anyone. Not. One.
So, the problem is, that drives are one of our favorite things to do. We live only fifteen to twenty minutes from the Atlantic and it's so easy to go sit on the beach for a while. For years and years I longed to live within easy driving distance to the beach. In fact my work is much closer than my home, so I can go to the beach, sit and eat for about twenty minutes and still be back at work in the allotted forty five minutes. I've done this many, many times. A great mental lift I must say, and the whole time there I'm truly appreciating being so fortunate.
But depression hit pretty hard over the past few months, and with my back problems, well, it was just easier not to go. While we were out on our overdue drive, and it was Chamber of Commerce weather too, we tried to remember the last time we had gone. Our best estimate was sometime in early October of 2005.
Get this. We love the beach. Our home is a twenty minute drive from being parked on the Atlantic ocean. And we hadn't seen the beach or ocean in FIVE MONTHS.
Bummer. The Doctor has me on new medicine for my depression, and discovered some other problems that are probably contributing to it and referred me to a specialist in that area, but still. Five Months!
The day and the water were so beautiful that it was worth the wait. I just hate it though, because the wait was totally unnecessary.
Here's a photo that I took that day. (click on it)
The other day, we were watching some TV and my wife got up and went to the kitchen to check on something that was cooking. We traded some innocent banter back and forth. I can't even remember what we said now. But she slammed me and my daughters were all, Ooooh. Like my wife got the better of me.
So I said (in mock anger), "That was un-called for. That, young lady, is going on your permanent record." My wife was all "Oh no! I'm sorry!"
My younger daughter asked me. "Is there really such a thing as a permanent record?" So, we explained to her no, not really. You leave a trail of paperwork about you with things from your school days and at your various jobs, but that there was not an official 'permanent record' kept anywhere. (Unless of course one habitually runs afoul of the law.)
She had heard the reference once or twice, but didn't really understand what it was all about. She's never been threatened with it.
My wife and I, on the other hand grew up in maybe the last generation in which all kids were kept in check through fear of negative marks on our 'permanent record'. In our case this was mostly done by teachers over the years.
Thing is, I distinctly remember mentally taking a step back when threatened with this. I have always been fairly naïve, but I was especially so when young. So, the ol' Permanent Record threat was absolutely as good as threatening to tell my parents, if not more so.
I hadn't thought of that in years but it just came out when my wife outsmarted me. Good times. Good times.