Olallieberry Odyssey

by cheri block

There are some men who know how to pack a car and others who don’t.

I am married to an amazing packer–the Honorable S. Queez Itin.

When our children were infants,  he masterfully layered a plastic infant seat, a bale of diapers, and a playpen into our tin can that was the 1971 Dodge Colt.

When our teenagers (and their friends) needed transportation to sporting events, he jammed soccer balls, filthy cleats, and seven live midfielders into the back of our GMC Suburban, along with three coolers overflowing with orange slices and at the bottom, one lone beer.

One would think that as the children left, his days of wedging stuff into all available trunk space would be over. Not quite.

Last weekend, in a test comparable to Odysseus’s battle with Penelope’s suitors, the Judge faced   the packing challenge of his life.

It must be noted that unlike Odysseus, the Judge chose this challenge. For her part, in weighing in about the potential for packing success, Penelope referred to Cheri Sabraw’s List of Criteria for How to Live a Real Life, choosing to adhere to Rule #2 (Listen, Don’t Talk) and Rule #5 (Let Go of Control).

The problem presented itself at Miner’s Nursery in San Luis Obispo where the Judge found the 27 Olallieberry plants that he had been searching for. For every three plants bought, one 60 pound bag of organic mulch came along free! Whoopee! He agreed with Norma, the master gardener facilitating this purchase, that this heavy load of bagged manure would fit perfectly in my luxury car.  (I again deferred to Rule #2).

When we arrived at our central coast home and were ready to head back to the Bay Area, his packing artistry began.

First, he collapsed the second seat in the car. Into the small space went the following items: six bags of mulch (three would ride on the roof), two bags of golf clubs, several pieces of soft luggage with my clothes and toiletries, a small cooler, the Judge’s  briefcase, my briefcase with computer and wires, 27 Olallieberry bushes (with thorns)  in one gallon cans, and…..a live yellow Labrador Retriever, her leash and chew bone.

Could he do this?

In my warm house so close to the pounding of the Pacific Ocean, I listened to the heartbeat that is Mother Nature’s. The dog and I made eye-contact, she misjudging it for “treat time.” She rose, nosed over to the cupboard where treats sit and pointed at the cabinet, all while wagging her strong tail like a rudder heading into port. I gave her a treat and then ate one myself out of nervousness.

Meanwhile, Odysseus set to the rigging of the ship.

When Penelope, looking very rested I might add, came out to inspect the packing job, all met with her approval.

“Let’s go!” she said. “What an amazing packing job, Ody.” She kissed him in glee.

Over Highway 46 we sped, on our way home. I exhaled a big breath of relief and glanced back into the space to see how Dinah, the dog,  was coping. She was nowhere to be found under an earthy thicket of thorns and the richest of loam. I guessed that she was rolled into the tiniest ball in the southwest corner of the car, probably licking the mulch bags.

Once in the valley town of Paso Robes, His Honorable Odysseus S.Queez Itin suggested,  “We should stop here for a nice dinner, Penny.”

“What about the dog?”

At the restaurant Artisan, parked and ready to go in, I wondered what would happen if the yellow Labrador Retriever, wedged between cow manure and berry bushes, might have a panic attack. Clearly, I was projecting my own potential, were I in her paws.

“Have a glass of wine, Penny. It will all be O.K.,” soothed Ody.

I took his advice, adhering to Rule #5 (Letting go).

When we left the restaurant, I didn’t bother to inspect the cargo until we arrived at home and unloaded the dog, the plants, the clubs, and the manure–all in tact.

There are some men who know how to pack and some who do not.

Rule #6 ( Set those in our lives free to be who they are!)

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