I have reconciled with Grandma Friday after a few misunderstandings. We have been together for a long time, so naturally one expects a few bumps along the way. She explained it all to me more calmly after throwing her chain off in a fit of frustration, and forcing me to listen. “It’s my expectations that are the problem,”she explained. She is just not as young as she used to be, and as she bluntly pointed out, neither am I.
Her frustration with me has been building up for a few days now. She hears me complaining about her lack of gears, and quite frankly she was just fed up. After all, without her I would certainly not be on a Camino. She no longer has the gears to allow me to cycle up the steep hills, but I don’t have the knees to do it either.
Yesterday, I dragged her up a stony Roman road, ignoring her repeated suggestions that we take the paved alternative. She fought me all the way up, until she just went limp and let me carry her. We did manage the climb, but only with a bit of Gordon’s help at a critical moment.
Today we finally talked it out and came to our current compromise. She wants to be treated as my companion on the Camino, not a beast of burden. After all, she is a pilgrim too. We will walk up hills together amicably and without complaining. We try to pick roads that won’t shake her teeth loose. I am welcome to jump on her back and together we can whiz down all the hills, grinning and passing all the walking pilgrims. On the flatter terrain we can both enjoying walking together or cycling, whichever appeals to us at the time. And there will be NO more jokes about her needing a new hip! I can can live with this.
Funny how we personify shelter and transportation. I had a used $500 lemon-yellow 1978 Renault Le Car for 10 years–a model in the running for the ugliest car ever made–and I named him Lucky. He was he/him and Lucky from the beginning. Only let me down once when I had taken him for granted and neglected him for so long that he needed a tune-up so badly he refused to run anymore. Easy fix. The back seat was often full of empty beer bottles (college days). At the age of 20 (him, not me) I drove him to the wreckers and got $25 for him. On the highway to the wreckers, I had to be careful not to let my feet hit the asphalt through the big hole in the floorboard on the driver’s side.
Great story about Grandma Friday; poor old girl! Lovely photos too.
Yes, we sometimes need to exercise our creativity to understand other ‘beings’. Well done! Loved this sharing.