Trena Eiden

Albert Einstein said, “The significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them.” I’m a little sad about that because I only have one level of thinking, and it’s used for everything and it’s especially great at creating difficulties. When it comes to solving the problems, that’s a different kettle of fish. My thinking frowns on doing any sort of excelling to solve the pickles I get myself into. I’m doomed. My only conquering hero is my will to survive, which is in direct relation to how much chocolate I’m able to locate at the bottom of my purse, nestled among cracker crumbs and cheese chunks. 

I work two hours from my house and at present, I’m on the job from Monday to Wednesday, laboring somewhat continuously for around 46 hours straight, then drive home. This, let me assure you, has absolutely nothing to do with my brain insufficiencies. I was never the one a math teacher boasted about. They learned early on that it was best to just overlook my natural ability to be completely inept at geometry and also ignore my barbed remarks about algebra. Basically, I save myself a lot of bother by not being the kind of person you question.  

I get gas at a particular station because it provides points in the way of dollars off food, depending on how much fuel is purchased, a “scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” agreement. One day last winter, getting home from work, I went to gas up, but the pumps weren’t working due to the computer being down. I could have gotten fuel, but no points, and you know, if I’m anything, I’m cheap, so I said I’d come back. But I didn’t tell my brain I hadn’t gotten gas. It remained under the impression that A. I was at the gas pump and B. I had the fuel handle in my hand so surely there’s gas in the tank. Maybe my brain didn’t get the memo because it isn’t part of me. You know, like there’s a little head on my shoulder that holds my brain, like a conjoined twin that didn’t grow a body.  

On Monday morning, I loaded my gear, and was an hour into my work commute when my gas light came on. My first thought was I’d forgot to tighten the cap, then I looked at the gas gauge and gave myself a little fright. Empty. Oh dear. This SUV has 230,000 miles on it and I’ve used it for work since it was an infant. Given that I’d never ran out of gas, I had no way of knowing how far we might get. And I didn’t want to find out. I started praying, asking Jesus to take pity on me. The outside temp was somewhere below zero and I was driving on ice. Not knowing if shutting off the heater and radio would help, I turned them off. Not that I didn’t trust Jesus, I just felt a little back up couldn’t hurt. I recalled years ago, those two guys on “Mythbusters” who rolled car windows down vs. using the air conditioner to see if it saved on gas, and wondered if they’d ever been in my situation. I didn’t have their number or cell service. Pity, I’m sure they’ve waited years, on the edge of their seat, to hear from me. I contemplated flipping the 4WD to 2WD and decided no, better late, than not at all. I passed men in a turnout, sitting in a truck that was pulling a trailer with two snowmachines, and considered stopping to ask for gas, but they were probably joyful, going somewhere fun and I hated to ruin that. I do that periodically just by showing up and giving my opinion, so I drove on. I know some of you are wondering why I do the things I do and I have corresponding questions. I had some time to fret to myself about myself. “Is the way I’m doing things working? Why no. But more importantly, I’m not a quitter.”   

I’m happy to report I made it to a market with gas pumps and was so grateful I considered handing out cigars to everyone in the store. I called Gar and he chortled, “Life is full of teaching moments.” I countered, “What about older and wiser?” Somberly, he answered, “I’m not sure that’s a thing anymore.” He didn’t say it, but we both knew he meant, for me.