Too hip

They were talking about dirt on public radio. The guest, some kind of eco-dude engaged for Earth Day infotainment, suggested there should be a contest. Offer some kind of prize, he suggested, for the first caller who can name the state soil. I’m fumbling in my shirt pocket for my phone, left hand on the wheel, suppressing the Arnold Horshack “ooo-oooo-oooo, I know!” in order not to drive off the road in my excitement.

As it happens, I’m already much recovered from my earlier confusion at the UW Hospital elevator, but I still need both hands on the wheel. I’ve always been elevator savvy. When I want to go down, I push the down button. When the elevator arrives, I watch the buttons and if the light on the down button goes off, well… that means it’s my ride. Today, I was staring at the arrows above the door. The down-arrow was illuminated. The up-arrow was not. I confused the arrows with the buttons and just stood there. A random guy helped me sort it out. “We’re going down,” he said. “Oh great,” I thought. If I can’t even understand elevator signals, how will I drive?

In fairness to myself, I had just watched Beth being wheeled away to the operating room where she is even now having her hip replaced. The surgeon suggested I come back in six hours or so. I was feeling a little adrift, drifty.

And, in a burst of synchronicity, I just got the call from the operating room nurse. They’ve finished the surgery. Beth is fine and she’ll be wide awake and in her own room in an hour or two. I’m off to the hospital again, quite sure I’ll be able to figure out the elevators this time, and not even a little miffed that my knowledge of the state soil was wasted this morning when the radio host had to show off her own knowledge and spoil the game by blathering, “Oh, I know that! It’s Antigo silt loam.”

Too hip.