WordSisters

Category: Transition

  • My New Rocket

    I recently bought an electric vehicle, which we’ll use as our around town car. After much research, we settled on a Hyundai Ioniq 5 because it’s highly rated and has AWD. Owning an EV launched me into a whole new mode of transport. Not exactly a jet pack, but definitely a different way of thinking about getting around.

    Some mind shift was inevitable. My RAV4 was 15 years old. Any modern car would have been a shock to my system. But it was time for some upgrades. To use the phone handsfree, I relied on an aftermarket media center we’d installed. Sometimes the tiny microphone and speakers worked. Often the system hissed during calls and wasn’t worth the trouble. I didn’t have a backup camera. In parking lots, I’d learned to swivel my head like a horror movie villain to spot any oblivious people walking behind my car.

    The Ioniq 5 is a beauty! Gray green with light gray interior. Sleek and modern looking. It has good pickup and handles well. It also has a million systems and functions I’m only beginning to understand.

    Fob + push button start. Keys were easy to remember. They were integral to unlocking and starting the RAV, but now there’s no reason for the fob to leave my purse. After decades of obsessively managing keys, this is a disconnect—one of many. 

    My phone can open the car. Until my husband (thank goodness I’m married to a very patient tech genius!) reconfigured it, the car unlocked whenever I walked by with my phone in my pocket. That’s OK in my garage. Not OK in parking lots. Eventually it would lock up again, but the uncertainty made me uneasy. Now I touch a magic spot on the door handle to lock and unlock the car.

    My car knows me (and likes me, I’m sure). When I open the door, it adjusts the seat and mirrors to my exact preferences. It greets me when my phone syncs. Nice, but a bit of overkill. My RAV never spoke to me (it was more of a humble workhorse), and adjusting the seat wasn’t an issue since no one else drove it. 

    Finding good driving tunes can be a lot. Now I have AM/FM plus Apple Tunes and Sirius. And way too many ways to change from an annoying song to something better. Toggle controls on the steering wheel up and down. Or press Star for Favorites. Or slide through 3-4 screens on the electronic control panel and push buttons. Whoa! Maybe I’d better pull over to do that. Thanks to the Tech Genius, I now can get from the local NPR station to Bluesville on Sirius and back. One day I may even figure out how to play a podcast. What I don’t hear is road noise. Only the EV hum. 

    There are endless ways to fuss with the temperature. The car is engineered so my comfort and the front seat passenger’s are paramount. Each of us can specify our preferences. Probably there are ways to enhance backseat passengers’ comfort (one day I’ll figure that out). 

    I can choose AC, fan/no fan, or I could even open the windows. The car also has air-cooled seats. (Wh a a a t?? Crazy, but good.) If I mindlessly set my temp at 71, the car will do everything in its power to keep it there including turning on AC without asking. If I turn off the AC, the fan will come on full blast in attempt to maintain 71 degrees. Wait, I didn’t mean it! 73 degrees with the window open a little is fine.

    Let’s not overlook the obvious—battery instead of gas tank. In the olden days, when the RAV was down to a quarter tank, I refilled. I got approximately 22 mpg, and a tank lasted about two weeks, since I just drove around town. Fill-ups ranged from $36 to $48.

    When I get in, the battery may be at 80%. Or 61%. The question remains: how much battery do I need for my ordinary trips? I. Do. Not. Want. To. Run. Out. That’s not likely since I’m only putting on 70 – 90 miles per week and the car has a range of 280 miles. 

    How often to recharge is a different learning curve. Before we had a high-speed plugin installed, we charged the slow way, which added about 10% to the battery overnight. I didn’t let the battery get too far down. 

    Now the high-speed system adds 25% in about 1-1.5 hours and costs $1.06 or $5.25 to charge the battery from 20% to 80% (car batteries last longer if they’re not charged to 100%). Hmmm. $5.25 for electricity every two weeks vs. an average of $42 for a tank of gas. Even I can do that math, and I love reducing the role of fossil fuels in my life.

    No more oil changes. It took a minute to register maintenance will be very different. No engine, so no lube and oil. No exhaust, so no muffler system. Now maintenance is the mothership computer talking to my computer on wheels. I’ll still need tire rotations and a filter or two. (Wait, how will I get my car washed if I never go to the gas station?)

    Although the technology surprises and baffles me sometimes, eventually I’ll master the major systems. I’m brave. I’m fierce. I’m doing this . . . with help from the Tech Genius. Most days I really enjoy this brave new world of transport.

  • Lost and Found

    My Aunt Corinne, who died nearly 12 years ago, nudged me recently. It took the form of a question from my cousin, who wondered why the plaque on Aunt Corinne’s crypt had never been completed. The cemetery staff told her they’d never received her ashes, so they couldn’t update the plaque.

    The ashes weren’t there? Where were they?

    My mother’s younger sister Corinne was a widow without children, so her ties to her nieces and nephews—to my cousin and her siblings and to me and my siblings—were important to her. As she grew older and her health deteriorated, my two brothers and I helped with practical matters and some financial paperwork, and my sister managed her health care. When Aunt Corinne died, I flew from Minnesota to Ohio, and one of my brothers and I set her prepaid funeral arrangements in motion. 

    Aunt Corinne was sweet, fun-loving, and thoughtful, so her death was certainly a loss. Even as we mourned her, we were besides ourselves with worry about my mother. The day after Aunt Corinne died, Mom fell and ruptured her spleen. She needed emergency surgery and was in ICU so she couldn’t attend the funeral. She went to rehab where she fell again. That began the downhill slide which ended with her death two months after Aunt Corinne died. 

    During those months, I’d flown back to Ohio several times to see Mom. Distraught and preoccupied, I overlooked the email from the funeral home telling me Aunt Corinne’s ashes were ready to be interred. I don’t recall the funeral home following up to remind me about them.

    When my cousin asked me about the ashes, I had no idea where they could be. I began trying to piece together the trail. None of us had them. Had Aunt Corinne donated her body to science and her ashes never came back to us? My sister said no. Aunt Corinne nudged me again. I recalled saving an old email from the funeral home. I thought it was related to my mother’s funeral at the same funeral home Aunt Corinne had used. When I opened it, I saw it was the original email about Aunt Corinne’s ashes. I can’t explain why I still had it, except Aunt Corinne needed me to find it.

    OMG, could the funeral home still have the ashes almost 12 years later? 

    They do! I was so relieved. We had all done our best during that difficult time, but had missed the last step. After several calls to the funeral home and cemetery, I was able to arrange for Aunt Corinne’s ashes to be sent to the cemetery. I appreciate the chance to fix what we didn’t even know was broken.

    Soon Aunt Corinne will join her husband Uncle Bob in their crypt. She’ll have lots of company. Her brother and sister-in-law (my cousin’s parents) are in a nearby crypt. I’m glad she’ll finally be where she belongs! 

  • The Ducks Will Return Without Us

    The Ducks Will Return Without Us

    Every spring, the shout goes up.

    “Ducks are back!”

    For thirty years, this has been a constant. Snowmelt pooled on the pool cover before spring fully arrived, and the mallards landing there every season, trusting this small temporary pond the way we trusted the house.

    It could be startling, sitting quietly on the deck, reading or meditating. Then the silence would break: quacking, the whuff-whuff-whuff of cupped wings slowing descent, ducks materializing out of the sky in a downward swoop. Sharp orange feet skittering across the wet cover — slap, slap, slap, scrrrch. Splashing and rippling. Finally, the settling sounds: little shakes, bills dipping into water, softer quacks, even a low gurgle from the mother duck.

    Most often it was a pair, though this year we’ve seen as many as four drakes in the pool with no hens in sight. Lately it’s been just one drake returning, again and again, during the day and evening.

    I wonder if he, too, feels the pull of change.

    This year, their return feels especially poignant because it is our last spring here. Our house has sold. All the rooms are empty except Crystel’s. Last in, last out, I tease her. She’ll dawdle with the ducks as long as she can until it’s time for both of them to move on.

    With the cover peeled back, open for swimming, the ducks still come. Gliding across the open water, bathing, napping, resting. There will be an ending or a moving forward for us. A final day. A final jump in the pool.

    Our house has a heartbeat. It is not just wood, walls, windows, and yard. Its heartbeat has been the four of us. Jody and I brought Juan and Crystel here when they were babies. We built a nest. We raised them. They pulled themselves up. Took their first steps. For twenty-four years, this house held us through changes, noise, laughter, growing up, letting go.

    The house has been saying goodbye to us, too. The lilacs bloomed their fragrant light purple. The flowering crabapple tree burst open in dark pink blooms. White blossoms on the back apple tree were in full regale during the open house. Peonies bloomed in time, as if giving us one last gift.

    Juan and Aryanna

    I am writing this under the shade of the apple tree in the backyard. I hear the schoolchildren next door, the birds singing, the quiet drift of clouds overhead. So much is the same, even as everything is changing.

    In a few days, we will close the door on making more memories here. But this is not really goodbye. The house will go on. It was alive when we came, and we have been good stewards. We filled it with love, with children, dogs and cats, hamsters, fish, and an indoor playground. Many projects were completed. Many dreams realized.

    What I will miss most is not the house, the landscaped yard, or even the pool. I will miss the four people we were here: Jody, Juan, Crystel, and me. We were the pulse. The collective heartbeat.

    The house will look different in thirty years. New voices will fill it. A different timbre will shout, “The ducks are back!” But the ducks will keep returning. The lilacs will bloom. The trees will flower. The house will keep beating.

    And so will we.

    Like the ducks we will shift to the next stage the season asks of us. We will circle back to each other, returning again and again.

    Crystel's final jump
    Crystel’s final jump!