Commuter Mode

Husband John, grandson Nate and I set out for New Jersey last night after I came home from work.  It was daughter Kate’s 40^th birthday, and we wanted to have a tiny celebration with her to mark the day.  John is nearly always in commuter mode.  I define that as being sure that you’re going to win the traffic game as long as you are moving.  Last night John was in classic commuter mode, and that’s how we came to go from sea level on Long Island to New Jersey via the mountains.

Back to last night:  We hadn’t gone far before John tuned the radio to traffic and weather.  There was the dire prediction that we’d sit on some notorious parkway for half an hour.

“We’re NOT going to sit on the Cross Bronx for three hours.  I’ll try something else.”

That was the story of the whole trip.  After we were on the first alternate road, electronic signs said to expect delays. Although John is left-handed, he kept edging to the right with each successive announcement of jammed traffic.  The cars on the road were not necessarily stopped ahead, but a pessimist or a true commuter would jump to that conclusion.  By the time we were well north of the city, Nate was sound asleep.  In the dark, no one could see that I was glassy-eyed and hardly able to focus on the hint of interesting scenery sliding past.

John crowed, “We may have put on extra miles, but we kept moving.  That’s better than sitting still, looking at somebody’s bumper, isn’t it?”

Husband detected a bit of disagreement in my silence.  I could tell he was feeling victorious, whereas I had lost all feeling in my back side an hour before.  I finally mumbled something about I was glad he was driving and not me, which was a true statement as far as it went.  By then I was dreaming of my own warm bed far behind us.  I will say traffic was moving well across the Tappan Zee Bridge.  I called Kate to tell her we were off the bridge and traveling south.  I didn’t know it then, but we would soon be crawling, not traveling, behind a big truck on a two-lane road.  We also stopped for cheap gas, because that station would be closed when we left for home.  I watched the clock, hoping we’d make it before Kate and Michael’s bedtime.  Their house was dark as we pulled in the drive, although there was a small light shining feebly next to the garage.  Nate, now awake and eagerly wanting to present his mother with her gifts, leaped from the car and charged up the front steps.  If Kate and Michael had fallen asleep, they covered it well.  They were graciousness personified as they served huge mugs of hot tea and Michael’s delicious strawberry cake.  The least we could do was sing Happy Birthday, but we forgot that fine point in the relief of having arrived at all.  We might have outstayed our welcome before we arrived, but we settled down at the dining table as if we were wanted guests.  Maybe we were – you know how the posters read – wanted, dead or alive.  After an hour’s visit, we headed home, making it in one hour and twenty minutes instead of three hours it took the first time.  We stumbled back in our house, and my dream of being in a warm bed came true an hour before midnight.  It’s a good thing that we don’t commute to New Jersey or anywhere else on a daily basis.