Tag Archives: #relationships

Driving Mr. Larry

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“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Source Unknown

The day of reckoning was finally here. For fifty years, Larry had been the designated driver. But rotator cuff surgery in the spring of 2023 changed our family dynamics. Guess who was now behind the wheel? And guess who was in the passenger seat?

Larry has told me repeatedly that he preferred to drive as part of our division of labor. “You do so much. The cooking. The majority of the cleaning.My driving when both of us are in the car allows you free time.” He is happy to turn on a Jimmy Buffett station and head to one particular harbor—or anyplace we need to go. 

Which is true. My perch to the right allows me to read a book, play with my iPhone, or sleep. Furthermore, I can relax knowing that a person I consider an excellent driver is getting us where we need to be. 

The challenge is that when I am driving, Larry feels the need to help. Needless to say, his “help” makes me anxious, nervous, and, at times, furious. Larry and I have had few fights in our 50 years of marriage. Some of the worst are a result of his backseat driving. It is just easier for me to let him take over the wheel.

The proverbial backseat driver (BSD) has been the butt of numerous jokes. Suggestions to cope abound: Turn up the music. Turn on the GPS. Give the offending party responsibility for another task. (“Can you Google some restaurants near by?”) Put the offender in the trunk or tied to the roof. Or just refuse to drive.

I’ve had my own ideas on how to cope. A month before his shoulder repair, Larry had surgery to fix his trigger finger. It only required a local anesthetic and someone to drive him home. Forty-five minutes after the procedure, the nurse was going over the final paperwork for his release. She asked if we had any questions.

“Do you have duct tape?” I asked

“Errr…no.” she replied.

“Then how about giving him a shot of Valium?” I said. “I need to keep him quiet for the 25 mile ride home.”

As I expected, the nurse refused. We didn’t make it out of the parking garage before Larry was compelled to start giving me directions.

“You need to go left up the ramp,” Larry instructed. 

“No, I need to go right.” 

“You need to go left.”

Aware that his sense of direction was better than mine, I went left. We got to have a nice tour of the upper floors of the garage before passing by our space on the way down to the exit. By the time I merged the car onto I-4, Larry had already notified me of two lane changes. [Full disclosure: I almost missed the ramp] Fortunately, he had the go-ahead to resume driving the next day.

This was obviously not the case for Larry’s rotator cuff surgery. His right arm was in a huge sling, and his limited shoulder movement meant he would not be driving for at least six weeks. Staying home was not an option. We had Special Olympics practices and state games, numerous doctors’ appointments, and outing to restaurants, supermarkets, Disney Springs, and Bok Tower. 

Each trip came with its own set of instructions. “You need to be in the left lane for the upcoming turn.” (The turn wasn’t  happening for three miles.)“Is there a reason you driving so slowly? (I was in a school zone.) “There’s a stop sign ahead.” (Really? I didn’t notice. Duh!)

My “Driving Mr. Larry” stories may bring a chuckle and a flash of recognition to some, but such “help” has a darker side.”A 2011 ‘Driver Distraction’ study, commissioned by Esure car insurance revealed that 51 percent of respondents have gotten angry while driving because of backseat commanders.The statistics get worse: 14 per cent of motorists have had an accident or near miss due to being distracted by a backseat driver.

Adding to the challenge is that from the day I got my permit, I have never been an enthusiastic driver. It didn’t help that my mother, who was extremely tentative behind the wheel, taught me how to drive. I can still envision her “braking” every time I got close to the stop sign during our tense practice drives. After taking my driver’s education classes at Keeseville Central School with Ken Goodspeed (I kid you not), it took me three tries with Plattsburgh’s DMV to pass the New York State driving test. (To this day, I hate parallel parking!). 

Thousands of miles later, I take pride in having only one traffic ticket—going 47 miles in a school zone. Embarrassingly, my transgression occurred in front of Okte Elementary during Adam’s first grade recess. If I had any hope of not sharing my shame with Larry, it was dashed when Adam asked at dinner that night, “Mommy, why did that nice policeman stop you in front of the playground?”

I also take pride in our 1272 mile trip we took in 2015 to our new home in Florida. We came in two cars, Larry driving the Prius; me, the Camry. Despite the traffic jams, horrific rain storms and all the crazy drivers we encountered, we both completed our three-day trek successfully. Ten years later, I have managed to drive both by myself and with passengers with a level of assurance I hadn’t enjoyed when Larry is in the car. 

In the five weeks following his surgery, Larry became more comfortable with my driving—commenting less and complimenting more. He was very appreciative of the miles I logged being the designated driver while he was incapacitated. Those miles gave me the valuable experience needed to drive in this crazy state of Florida, which autowise.com, an insurance site, ranked as the “official home of the horrible driver. “ 

I had hoped that there would be a  silver lining hiding in Larry’s huge sling. Maybe Larry the Backseat Driver would morph into Larry the Happy Passenger, glad to hand over the driving to me and to enjoy the passing scenery. Confident in both my abilities and the GPS to get us safely to our destination, I would turn off Jimmy Buffett, turn on the On Broadway station on Sirius XM, and sing along with “Defying Gravity” on our way to our next doctor’s appointment or our next on-the-road adventure. 

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Larry still prefers to take the wheel. So I have found a different silver lining.  Safely ensconced in the passenger seat,  I get to play with my phone, read a book, or take a snooze. Larry can have his “Cheeseburger in Paradise.”  I have my license to chill. 

Sources:

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2006332/Back-seat-drivers-cause-seven-accidents-near-misses–chances-youre-guilty-too.html

https://www.tampabay.com/news/transportation/2019/08/20/floridians-complain-about-bad-drivers-more-than-any-other-state-study-says/

https://wtov9.com/features/drive-safe/6-polite-ways-to-deal-with-a-backseat-driver#

We still have it, as long as we are away from our car!
Still happy after 50 years!

A High Holiday Romance–or Two

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Marilyn and Larry in 1974
Sarah and Adam 2019

The High Holidays are a special time, but it is even more special when family—and a little romance—are part of the season. 

In 1951, Larry’s father Ernie, a World War II veteran, was called back into the US Army. Larry’s mother Doris, along with Larry and Larry’s older sister Anita, moved from Schuylerville, New York,to Syracuse,  her hometown, to live with her mother Rose and brother Asher during Ernie’s deployment. 

Larry, who turned three shortly after their move, remembers riding the family coal truck with Asher and tagging along with Bubbie when she went to her card games. Relatives and friends, filled the house, including meal times, as Bubbie was a wonderful and plentiful cook. 

This was especially true during the Jewish holidays, a tradition that continued after Ernie returned home. Doris, Ernie, Anita, Larry, and later Marilyn and Carole would pile into the car before each holiday to share huge meals around a crammed dining room table in the flat on Jackson Street.

By the time Larry had completed his bar mitzvah, Bubbie Rose found making the huge dinners for the entire family for High Holidays was too much. Doris took over responsibility for not only the meals but also for opening up her house to friends and family. Doris spent weeks preparing the food, and the table showed it. Matzah ball soup, chopped liver, brisket, chicken, kishki, potatoes, kugels, several vegetables, honey cakes—it was a feast that was repeated on the evening before Kol Nidre. Then Doris would outdo herself with the Break Fast.

The 1973 High Holiday season especially stands out for Larry and me. In March 1973, Larry and I met at Jewish singles Purim party. We both knew fairly quickly that the connection we made over hamantaschen was special. We dated throughout the summer, and six months after our Purim meeting, we were both ready to commit. On a beautiful day Indian summer day. Larry took me to  romantic overlook at the Saratoga National Battlefield. As he was about to pop the question, he got stung by a bee. Man plans; bees sting. Oh well! Larry felt terrible, but I was clueless. 

Rosh Hashanah fell only a few days after the bee debacle. Larry and I turned down offers for a ride home from services. While walking home, Larry talked hypothetically about where we would live, how many children we’d like, our future dreams together. I finally kiddingly asked him if this was a proposal. He said “Soon.”

When we got to Larry’s house, we said hello to the family who were about to sit down for dinner. Larry and I went into a bedroom to drop off Larry’s tallit and my purse. Larry said, “Will you marry me?” I said yes. We started to kiss when Corky, the Shapiro’s wire haired terrier, jumped up and licked my face.

As I wiped Corky’s saliva from my lips, Larry and I made a pact: We would keep our engagement a secret until after the holidays. Larry’s father’s birthday was on Yom Kippur. We would announce our engagement at the Break Fast.

The next week  went by slowly, especially for me, who wanted to shout our news from the rooftops. After Yom Kippur services ended, Larry and I called my parents to tell them of our engagement. We then sat down with Larry’s family for-the-Break Fast dinner.

We brought out dessert and birthday cake. Ernie blew out the candles and opened a couple of presents. Then Larry was ready for our big announcement.

“Dad, I have a present for you too!”

“What?” said one of his sisters. “Another stupid tie?”

“No,” said Larry. “I am giving you a new daughter-in-law. Marilyn and I are engaged!” Everyone was thrilled. My now future father-in-law regarded it as one of his best presents ever. 

Larry and I were married on September 8, 1974. A few weeks later, we attended High Holiday Services with Larry’s family. After the last shofar blast we went back to the Shapiros  for their annual dinners, a tradition we maintained for almost twenty wonderful years. 

When Larry’s parents passed away only eight months apart in 1994, Larry and I hosted a Rosh Hashanah dinner at our home in Upstate New York for over twenty years until our move to Florida. Since our move so far from family, we have shared Rosh Hashanah dinners with our friends at each other’s homes. and our Break Fast with our fellow worshippers in the synagogue.

This year, the High Holidays are about creating new memories and celebrating another romance.  On a visit from his home in San Francisco this past January, our usually reserved son told us that he was “kinda sorta seeing someone,” a woman whom he had taken out for Chinese food on December 25. As Larry and I had similarly experienced many years before, Sarah and Adam both knew fairly quickly that the connection they had made over fortune cookies was special.They dated throughout the winter, and only six months after their Asian dinner, they were both  ready to commit. On a beautiful summer’s evening, Adam took Sarah to a romantic overlook in Bernal Heights. Fortunately, no bees ruined their moment. Adam proposed. Sarah accepted! They were engaged!

Adam and Sarah will be getting married in San Francisco in October 2019,on the same day as the 46th anniversary of the day Larry and I announced our engagement and what would have been Ernie’s 100th birthday. Life has come full circle. 

After the wedding, Larry and I will remain in San Francisco to attend Yom Kippur services with Sarah, Adam, andSarah’s parents. The six of us will share a pew in the synagogue. After the last shofar blast, we will all go back to Sarah’s parents’ house for their annual Break Fast, an event that will include Sarah’s Grandma Minnie’s blintzes. “As we prepare for this time of reflection, renewal and rebooting of our spiritual lives,” read their invitation, “ we wish you L’Shanah Tovah Tikatevuh!” And we wish our newlyweds much health, love, and happiness.