Driving with Jay - Story Jar

Driving with Jay

Wellsville, 1998: An important element in teaching Jay to drive was teaching me not to scream. There were moments when fear and anxiety welled up inside and beat their little fists against my throat until I yelped or yelled or squeaked with apprehension – at various volumes. Jay complained that my screams made him nervous and that I really had to get a grip. Gee.

The thing was that I wanted the car to slow down before Jay started slowing down. Occasionally, pedestrians (including Larry, the crossing guard one day) did not get the right of way. One morning, Em’s Geo’s tail pipe/muffler made rapid contact with the front porch bending it up under the car as if it were merely aluminum foil.
We collected bits and splinters of the porch spindles and railing - Rick’s recent summer project - and put the damaged car into the garage then I insisted that Jay drive my car to school.

The problem for all of these incidents was that Jay had a tough time remembering which foot ruled the brake and which the gas. Trying to be logical about this, sometimes he would avoid both pedals while he thought about it. Unfortunately, time couldn’t stop while he mentally chewed his choices.

Jay didn’t explain this until after a white-knuckled whoosh down Madison Hill. The car picked up speed coasting downhill and, noticing other cars stopped at the traffic light, I suggested slowing down. Jay intently looked forward and the car intently sped. I gently called his name, admirably controlling myself but he remained frozen.

I considered three options (screaming, grabbing his arm and being patient) –okay four options (invading his space to smack the brakes) as the nanoseconds whipped with wind around the car. Then Jay touched the brake, sighed and really thumped it. After we stopped Jay said that he appreciated my squeezing the begeebers out of the armrest instead of screaming while he was thinking about the pedals.

Of course he knew we were speeding downward but figured that getting the gas would make things worse so he wanted to be sure before he chose. After that day he remembered where the brake was.

He had less trouble with the manual transmission in the truck though that wasn’t always smooth. One time Rick picked Jay up at the school. Jay revved the engine, popped the clutch practically doing a wheelie and nearly mated with Elsie Swartz’s much-loved, red Thunderbird. Rick claims to have remained calm and advised Jay to back up and give himself a bit more room.

Jay had a lot of experience with the truck when he was tiny. He’d sit on Rick’s lap and “steer” the truck when taking garbage to the dump. Later, he and Emilie “drove” on back roads when I wasn’t around. Part of the deal was, “Don’t tell Mom.”

Of course we all have stories about learning to drive. My favorite is that while demonstrating figure 8s during my motorcycle road test, some demon force goosed the throttle and sent me bouncing over the curb, through a shrub and up two steps before I stopped. I thought a bit of levity was in order but my brother couldn’t have been more embarrassed when I asked the examiner if I could have one more try.

Story Jar: Metro One, Budapest

Metro One, Budapest

Hungary, 2007: Subways are great. I say that with all sincerity right now because we stayed out too late and missed the last train to our hotel so had to hike a considerable number of blocks across the city.

Budapest is actually two cities (Buda and Pest) divided by the Danube River, a body of water without a hint of blue. It’s easy to get around Budapest on the Metro lines, the trolleys or the buses. We used the Metro for several days and took it for granted until tonight.

We boarded on the red line and meant to transfer to Metro 1 but when we started up the stairs a woman at the top shouted a string of Magyar (Hungarian) to which we responded with blank stares. She then said, “Finished.” That we understood. Didn’t like it but understood so we exited the station and pulled out the worn map that Em and Josh’s had given to us. We had to hike a distance equivalent to 7 stations on Metro 1. We walked down the wide center avenue on a clear, spring evening talking about the yellow line, Metro 1. It’s a gem.

It’s a series of Little-Engine-that-Could trains with sweet, small yellow cars that arrive every 2 or 3 minutes all day long with seating for 16 and, the poster says, standing room for 50 more. (I would challenge that because we were on a full car once and I counted 24 standing passengers with virtually no room between elbows and bags. There is no way another 26 passengers could have gotten on without some sitting on others’ shoulders.)


Hungary had the first underground system in Europe and while I don’t know that Metro 1 is part of that first construction, it certainly has the hand-crafted look of an earlier time. Metro 1 has oak doors, steel pillars with art deco tops and two-toned ceramic walls. We particularly liked that the Metro 1 cars play a happy little tune when entering stations, as if they are pleased once more to make it out of the dark tunnel.

When we arrived in Budapest we purchased a one week pass. We each carried a tiny, colorful ticket entitling us to ride any of the trains, trolleys or buses in either Buda or Pest. The tickets don’t open gates or pass under scanners. It almost seems as if a person could get around without a ticket but at any time while on the system, someone with a transit system armband might ask to see the ticket and if it isn’t produced, they collect a large fine right there. If a person has neither ticket nor money, the transit officials may confiscate anything that the person does have and hold it ransom until the fine is paid. There’s no messing around.

The system is the same in Prague where we were asked for our tickets several times. Generally tickets were checked on the bus. Not only did we always have our tickets but every person around us during those checks also produced one so we never witnessed a problem in Prague but in Budapest we saw three people pay fines. To say they looked glum would understate their appearance.

On the night of the long walk, this night of the missed train, we witnessed such a fine on the red line. We walked into the station at nearly 11 p.m. when 3 officials asked for our tickets. Rick pulled them out of his pocket and we were nodded onward. A train had just come into the station, disgorging an assortment of passengers – a band with trombone, guitar and sax, a man with a suitcase and a number of couples. These people were also stopped by the transit officials and the man with the suitcase had no ticket so one officer scribbled out a citation. The man handed over several bills, took his receipt and wheeled his suitcase out of the station unhappy to have taken such an expensive ride.

We had time to watch all of this because we had an enormous ten-minute wait before our large, modern train arrived with screeching brakes. That train took us to the station where the woman told us that the service was finished for the night.

We spent the next 20 minutes walking and missing the wonderful, yellow Metro 1 trains.

Story Jar: The City of Brotherly Furniture

The City of Brotherly Furniture
The Story Jar

Philadelphia, 2002: Jay spent Sunday with his friend, Cora. After lunch they went to a thrift store for a few things to dress up their apartments. Jay wanted a ceiling fixture and a carpet. Cora wanted a comfy chair.

At the first store Jay found a ceiling fixture - functional but ordinary, nothing of a sparkle to it - but he considered getting it for $25 if he couldn’t find anything else.

After a bit of shopping in other stores, they headed back to the first one to get that fixture but they spotted a ceiling fixture discarded on the curb. Not totally brimming with character but lacking a price tag, it was perfect for Jay. They tossed it in the truck and Cora told him that he was a lucky guy.

The next thrift store had carpets. Persian style carpets. Just what Jay wanted. The one he liked best was about four by six feet and carried a whopping price of $200. While that’s cheap for a carpet, it’s way out of Jay’s budget so he told the guy that he would think about it. He didn’t have to think for very long.

Cora said that, luckily, they turned down a narrow street, so narrow that they generally avoid using it, and on this day the street was carpeted. Sticking out of a box was the end of a carpet. It was dirty but plenty large – 9 x 12. Into the back of the truck it went with the light fixture and room enough for steam carpet cleaner.

By then Cora had to get to the train station to head back to work in Rhode Island for the week. Jay drove her there but it was a busy day so Cora was bumped off that train. She had to wait for the morning train which was a mild disappointment that she would feel better about if Jay could just find a chair for her.

Jay took his no-problem attitude and cruised Philly. They drove down a couple of blocks and found, abandoned on the street and waiting for Cora, a fine, almost new, leather recliner. They stood for several minutes to see if someone might come back for it but no doors opened, no trucks stopped, no people showed up at all so the chair went with the rug and carpet cleaner.

They felt successful and headed home but the streets of Philly held one more treasure. It was a sticky, empty beer keg – the kind that means a $40 deposit when returned.

All this success built an appetite so they went to Jay’s house to make dinner. Cora went to Jay’s garden to clip some fresh basil leaves but she accidentally cut leaves from a pepper plant. Ah well, everyone's luck eventually changes.