The best laid plans

WELL, SO MUCH for the concert idea.

We took the half day so that we could have some time to get there early and do some shopping.  Realistically, what that REALLY meant was that we came home early and took a NAP!  ;-)  One of those blessed, long deep ones, about an hour and a half of bliss.  It was hard to get up and go.

We set off about 2:30 and got out of town about 3, once we'd made a few stops.  It's an hour and a half drive to the big city from our little town, and we wanted to be able to stop at Costco and do some last minute shopping before the concert.  The tickets I bought were at the will-call window, and we wanted to leave enough time as well to be able to go through the line.  I had a really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach as we left town, but I wrote it off to the seafood dip from our buffet lunch earlier at work. 

The dashboard thermometer read 33 degrees when we headed out.  It was foggy, but not terribly bad.  The weather report said fog all the way, but we figured if it looked like it did at home, we were home free.  The miles passed, and gradually we became aware that the thermometer seemed to be moving along with the miles. 

31...30....29...  The tumbleweeds from last week's windstorm, blown up against the barb wire fences and the wheatfield circles, were glistening with hoarfrost.  Our attempts at chitchat seemed to close in as the fog did. 

28...27....  The fog got deeper the further we went.  Big semi trucks were slowing down.  The cars that passed us threw up no road spray.  It became apparent that the fog was freezing on the road instead.  My unease deepened, and I looked over at B.  He was intent on his driving, and he frowned.

"How much did you pay for those tickets?"  He said finally.  We were about an hour into a drive that should have taken us thirty minutes.  The turnoff to Highway 17 which marked the middle leg of the route was coming up in a few miles. 

"Not enought that I'd risk my life for them."  I said.  We looked up at the thermometer again.  "It's really been dropping."

"Holy crap..." he said, watching the numbers change.  "It was 29 a minute ago."  We watched it turn from 27 to 25. 

He took the turnoff, white knuckling as a braver soul in an SUV rode our rear down the off ramp.  Luckily, we were able to stop at the intersection at the bottom.  "I'll just go up to the next little town and see."  He said.

As we pressed on it just got thicker.  By the time he got close to town, you couldn't see much beyond the car.  We pulled off the road in a parking lot and sat to regroup.  The what-ifs loomed.  What if we didn't make it to the city?  What if we made it to the city, and then had to come home at midnight?  Did we really think it would be better at midnight?  And there was a long stretch of road ahead of us in a steep canyon to go. 

We looked at each other.  "Let's go home." 

I called the box office and found out what I knew - that the tickets were non-refundable.  The lady at the ticket counter said that the show was sold out, and that I could give them to someone who could come.  I told her no one in our town would want to make the same drive (especially this late) and to go ahead and make someone's day.  "Give them to someone who is looking for tickets."  I said.  I thought later that I should have told her "And tell them 'Merry Christmas'." 

Almost immediately when we turned around I felt better.  Something was telling us not to go.  We lost a hundred dollars, which was to be our joint Christmas present, but the way I look at it, I could have lost a lot more by insisting we make it to a silly concert.  I'm very, very happy that B feels comfortable enough to speak up out loud.  "I guess I'm just the chicken."  He joked, but for that I am very, very grateful.  Too many men would allow their pride and testosterone to press the issue, and to what end?  He is not a risk-taker.  He is a thinker, and for that I love him.

We came back to town and had a wonderful dinner out to celebrate instead.  Then we went home and put on our jammies and had a fire in the fireplace.  I think whatever it was bothered the girl too.  She was visibly relieved to see us home, even though she said if she were in our place she would have gone.  I told her "At my age, I've learned what's valuable and what isn't.  I no longer feel like I am bulletproof." 

Later that night as she was going to bed she said "I'm glad you came home.  I don't like it when you guys aren't here." 

I know what she means.  Yep, I'm a mother hen.  I don't feel whole unless we are all present and accounted for.  The whole is definitely greater than the sum of its parts.  I can't think of a single thing in life- no concert, no event, no experience, no possession, that I would trade for one of my family members.  There will be other concerts.  I want to make sure we are there for them.