Shotokai

For the past few weeks I have been busy with wedding planning and homework.  I have been unable to do some things that I really enjoy, Shotokai Karate being one of them.

Finally, last night, I was able to attend practice.  My muscles ached, protesting the now unfamiliar strain.  My mind careened every now and again; not used to the mental exertions.  My excitement grew as the time passed.  Pain came, pain left.  The joy of focus remained. 

"My car won't start.  Can you come pick me up?"

"Of course I will pick you up," I think as I walk down the south hill for BYU.  "You are my Fiancé."  My car waits, now the only means of transport for a school teacher and a BYU student.  When I arrive at the scene there is a fellow teacher helping Brooke trouble shoot the engine.  We decide that the problem must be the battery.  A quick battery test validates our fears. 

"A trickle charge should do it," claims the mechanic.  "As long as the battery is still good."  It isn't.

I hook up a new battery gleaming with black promise.  I tell Brooke to turn the key.

Nothing.

She tries again.  Again, nothing.

Did I hook it up wrong?  Is there another problem?  I don't know.  I call my dad and he agrees to come out.  After he arrives I can tell he is getting frustrated with the situation.  I had hooked everything up right and nothing else seemed to be amiss.

"Let's tow it to a mechanic," suggests dad.  "I've got some climbing rope we can use."

As I stepped into the car being towed, I felt time slip away.  I was in Wyoming again and was helping my dad tow a truck, a tractor, a war member's car.  I had to focus on keeping the line taunt with out causing the truck to break unnecessarily. Time found me contemplating nothing important and everything at the same time.  Finally, the transcendental moment passed and I found myself discussing my fiance's car with the mechanic. 

Jamba, Anyone?

On my way to the Center for Service and Learning I ordered a Mango-go-a-go, then entered the office.  I would come back out in five and get my drink.  My phone vibrates.

I read the text from my mother.  I feel as if a mountain sits on my shoulders. The text reminds me that I need to send her the information of how many people will be at the lunchin for my wedding and where the lunch will be held.  I know she is helping me out but it reminds me of the discussion I had with my future mother-in-law the other day where we discovered that maybe a lunchin would be too much on the day of the wedding.  These memories only enhance my agitation. 

I call my mom.

A minute into the conversation and I feel more than agitated.  I am stressed beyond control.  I ask her to just let me speak.  I explain the concerns as best as possible and wait.

“Let’s not do it then.” But we need to do something….

“We can do a dinner the night before for immediate family only.”  Should we?  What about the people that come to the sealing, shouldn’t we provide lunch for them? I stammer my thoughts.

“They will just have to fend for themselves.”  It breaks tradition, will people be insulted?  Yet, I cannot deny that the idea brings the breath of relief to me as I hang up the phone and begin to think about which homework assignment to attack first.  It has been twenty minutes.  As I adjust my computer scree, I remember that my Jamba was waiting for me outside.