Two days from now will mark the first complete month of my six month jail term of no driving. When I say jail I mean it. It feels like solitary confinement in a maximum security prison with no food and bluegrass music being piped in day and night. It’s the law in Iowa that a person cannot drive until he/she makes it six straight months seizure free. I guess I understand the law but it’s kind of hard if you’re the convict.
For 28 years I have driven myself wherever my heart desired. Now, I either walk, don’t go anywhere, or Karla drives me there. Many others have also graciously volunteered to take me places. I fully expect their grace to be summarily recalled upon reading this entry.
The 1.4 mile stretch to the church several times a day is usually comment free (from me), but in journeys more than 5 miles I tend to manage to comment on the driving in such a way that it evokes one of the following comments from Karla in descending order. 1. I think I need to put a paper bag over your head, and 2. I think you need a blanket over your head. I understand Karla’s position. After all, I am being a huge imposition on her daily life. But it’s truly very difficult for a man not to be allowed to drive. Brain surgery may seem daunting but I assure you riding shotgun for five more months is right up there.