Yeah, I posted Valentimes Part Duex before I posted Part One. Also, I’m posting Part One after the big day. I’m not offering a defense of my timing, either way. It’s my blog and…
Anywho…I’ve given between 3500 and 4000 rides since I started driving for Lyft about 18 months ago.
There’s been fewer than expected drunks.
More than anticipated Tinder “dates” – and you’d be surprised how many people pay extra to spring for a Lux ride to take them away from said “dates”…
Rides to funerals and memorials.
Countless healthcare and essential workers during the – sadly – ongoing pandemic.
A couple of unapologetic
Trips to or from the E.R. Too many, in fact.
Side note: how sad is it that our effed up healthcare system makes it necessary to take a goddamned Lyft to an E.R. instead of calling an ambulance?!?
And exactly two women who made me cry either during or after their rides.
Goddamned widows. Rubbing my perpetual singledom in my face.
I was actually okay at one widow.
Specifically, the one whose husband died a few years back. He sounds like he was a great husband, I heard their love story – which lasted 41 years.
But he sounded like a fucking badass, too.
Not because he drove a vintage black Mustang convertible.
Nor because they were high school sweethearts.
Or clearly wealthy. Particularly because his widow seemed like she was continuing to live a modest life after his death in honor of his memory, suggesting that the pleasures of their lives together were similarly modest.
The more exciting adventures I learned about during our ride were short bursts compared to the simple daily joys she described.
Their first date. Birthdays. Humble chivalry.
These were the things neither of these people took for granted in their relationship. They didn’t use one another in pursuit of the next big thing – either as an excuse or a means.
Her story was one of a satisfying life together. Inspiring to me in its endurance, something that I fear too few even aspired to in today’s value system.
The second widow was actually the first. Hearing her story made me think I should write a Valentine’s Day post. But it was the second widow who made me realize that the universe wasn’t going to let me off the hook.
Writing a book about my dating misadventures or fictionalizing my own ideals of relationships in my No One Of Consequence book series wasn’t going to cut it.
The least I could do is write an account of true love, even if it was only second hand.
Widow Number One earned her title when her husband had a major heart attack on Valentine’s Day last year.
Strictly going off visual cues, I’d say she was late 70s. I was taking her to work. She was looking like she’d be her own badass, and ended up being a heroic example of living a life for me.
Fret not, I picked her up in the South Waterfront neighborhood, which is pretty high rent. Ok, it’s fucking high rent, so she wasn’t working at nearly 80 because she had to.
Turns out, she doesn’t drive at all. Her husband used to take her to work before he died. Luckily (?) the pandemic closed the office down before her bereavement leave put her back to work. Now, she only had to go to the office once a week to ensure things were running smoothly. Normally, she figured she’d take the bus, but…pandemic + late 70s = bad combo.
She was enjoying Lyft, though, and the way she said that made me suspect she was enjoying it as a throwback to her husband taking her to work. I’m pretty sure her return to the office after this all ends will include at least an occasional escort to work.
She told me that when she was going through her husband’s things, she found several Valentine’s Day cards he’d made for her. I thought it was weird that he’d kept them, not her. But as she continued on, I realized these were unused cards.
That got me.
On top of being the kind of guy who encouraged his wife to work a part time office job after their kids left the nest, then celebrated her success when her search for post-child rearing purpose earned her a promotion to office manager after several years – she told me proudly that her employee number was 13, so she’d been there a while.
This is the guy who found his own post-retirement fulfillment in driving his wife to and from work to support and nurture her happiness.
This guy spent his in between hours working on his art. He was a post-career artist. Why would I be surprised that this guy made or was in the process of completing future Valentine’s Day cards for his wife?
Putting myself in that mindset, I got it. It wasn’t about making a card instead of buying one. It was about making one that appropriately captured the depth of feeling he had for his wife. Something that expressed the gratitude one must feel toward the person who accompanies you on the journey of a literal lifetime.
You might not always get that on the first pass. She said these cards were, of course, beautiful and I could tell that finding them had touched her very deeply. But I could easily stay a while in that position her husband must have found himself in – even now: not fully being able to express how this woman made him feel. Abandoning a card because it wasn’t good enough for his wife. <sigh>
But it shows how attitudes and behaviors have changed over the decades. I don’t think I’d have to defend the additional statement that a lot of those changes might have been for the short term good, but long term bad of the individuals.
And I can’t even get a return text.
While you’re here: If you haven’t yet and are curious about the writing works I mentioned earlier – Dating Into Oblivion and No One Of Consequence – check out my author page: https://www.amazon.com/Christopher-Galbreath/e/B07PLNKTHB/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1 for a view of my work. All books are available in paperback or e-book formats – and the e-books are cheap and the pages don’t fall out as I’ve heard from one of my supportive blogging buddies! It’s also a good way to keep up with the blog, since they post to my author page as well as here. I can’t say the same about the consistency of my Facebook author page…
Regardless, thanks for stopping by!
2 thoughts on “Valentimes Part One”
Facebook “Author” page = waste of time, much like the rest of it unless you are looking for pictures of long-distance relatives. The apparent lifetime love affair, as a friend of mine said, is same lives, different houses. Or as Thoreau said, “lives of quiet desperation.” We’re all seeking some sort of fulfillment beyond “work” that is an unrelenting, demeaning requirement. Even if one finds “purpose” as a functionary. I wonder how many people really can equate purpose with fulfillment? Obviously many or who would be living in those 4-million-dollar houses?
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Thoreau might be one of those figures – like that Jesus fella – that I’d bring back just to see his reaction to modern day America. Probably kill him again I’m not too short a time, but I’d still like to get him take on the whole literally/figurative thing…and McNuggets. He’d probably assess the situation and decide that we did the same thing to words like “quiet” and “desperation” that we did to “literally”. This is why I intimated that people seeking a lifetime companion for their journey are likely looking more for someone to make a trip of a lifetime possible, once again misdefining some of the core concept words.
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