The Chauffer's Tale

As a little purple capsule of happiness pulled onto the I-40 on ramp that rainy Christmas evening, the engine died. Wails emerged from the back seat about how badly the day was turning out, and assurances from the front about how good we really had it, and what a wonderful life we've been given.

Several strenuous weeks later, that testimony is still valid.

On Friday, December 22, we rented a 9 passenger van, and piled seven people (five Smedleys and two Coblentzes), a dog, and a new Dell computer on board. Vicky, she of the uncanny timing, thought this would be a good year to throw a pre-Christmas party for both sides of our family. Three hours of white-knuckle driving later (big van, heavy rain), we pulled into the King driveway, visited, and gave a new computer to a delighted older couple.

A few hours later, we esconced ourselves in the lodge on Daddy's farm. Started a fire. Enjoyed more conversation. Then, the lights went out. Dad found a few candles, we talked for a while longer, the lights came back on around bedtime.

Saturday, the crock pot did its thing with a festive turkey, the ladies laid out the feast, and the rest of us visited and gossipped. Five of the Tom Smedley the Elder's kids showed up with spouses and children. Evine and Betty King came by as well, along with their kids and inlaws. Justin had leave from the USMC, and enjoyed catching up on family news. The weather had miraculously cleared up and cousins played outside. Then, we hit a hard deadline, and headed back home to return the van.

Sunday, Christmas Eve, included routine church attendance and further visiting with the California contingent. Greg, Dave, and Dori joined us at King's Park International Church for carols and goodies that evening. Monday, a "traditional" bacon and pancakes breakfast for all seven of us, the orgy of gift unwrapping (Laura got the lava lamp she asked for!), more visiting in Durham, and an invitation to meet at Greg's pad for a Christmas dinner.

Well, we didn't make it to that meal -- but in retrospect, we still had so little to complain about.

A few days later, a 2:00 a.m. phone call brought the news that Vicky's dad, Evine King, was going to the hospital with chest pains. It was New Year's Day, and Vicky was "manager on duty" at the retirement community. She started that work day early, ended early, and we fumbled our way through complex logistics. Rented a car. Drove it, van, and family to Greg's pad, with a 20 mile detour when I took a wrong turn. Kids parked with Greg and Dori. Vicky and me packed and on our way north.

As the rain poured down, I mercilessly pushed the little rented Caliber up route 220, twisting through narrow roads that were familiar three decades ago. The economy car had a small motor and a sloppy transmission, so the RPMs would skyrocket on upgrades. We successfully negotiated the speedtrap gauntlet of Boone's Mill, and were on our final approach to Roanoke when the cell phone rang. Dori had taken her adoring younger sisters out to Starbucks for cocoa -- and locked the keys inside the van. We got the particulars, and Vicky called GEICO while I continued pushing on through the rain. An hour or so later, we were relieved to learn, a locksmith showed up to rescue our girls.

The next Saturday, a crowded chapel full of friends and family bade farewell to one of the solidest men I've ever known. The church he'd worshipped in for more than half a century provided lunch to the bereaved. We pulled ourselves together and headed for home on Sunday afternoon. At the Orange Market, I learned that the cashier also knew Evine from the days when she'd run a sheltered workshop, and he'd brought components by for her people to assemble.

When the dust settled, I'd made four 300 mile round trips in less than a week, depreciating a rented car for $26/day. Put in 12 hours at work -- but Tek Systems, my contracting agency, gave me 8 hours of "personal day" time, significantly boosting the bottom line on that week's paycheck. We could "be there" for Vicky's family because Dori was on this coast for ours. We'd been able to provide a new toy and a festive reunion for Evine a week before he died. Justin's leave permitted him to be with his family for the event. Of course, we hate to see Evine go. Beth wrote a sentimental poem, and precise, concise Laura pondered, then asked me, "Why do I feel as though a large chunk of my life has just crumbled?" 75 seems so young nowadays.

Still, we are grateful that we were able to help fill the last few weeks of a worthy man's life with delight and family.