I think most people, and I mean the overwhelming majority of people on the face of the earth would agree that they hate waiting; and I mean for anything. Worse, the amount of angst associated with waiting is directly proportional to the absurdity of the delay. Raise your hand if you have experienced any of these frustrating situations: (I don’t really mean for you to raise your hand. I guess you could of course in keeping with the spirit of the story, but I can’t see you so you should probably put your arm down before somebody else sees you.)
Life Lesson Scenarios
Being told at a sit-down restaurant that it will be 30 minutes for a table when you can clearly see that there are open and clean tables in the restaurant available. While living in Wisconsin and shopping near downtown Sheboygan, it was pretty close to five o’clock and we wanted to try a new downtown bistro that had just opened next to their performing arts theater. The actual show didn’t start until 7:30 and the entirety of the restaurant was empty but the hostess asked if we had a reservation. I laughed out loud and then apologized.
“No, we do not have a reservation, but I see that you are relatively open at this time” I said.
“We are fully booked in advance of this evening’s performance”, she replied.
“We expect to be quick, in and out. We just wanted to give you guys a try”, I smiled as sincerely as I could. It was met with an entitled smirk you might expect from a twenty something wanna-be model wearing a black Kohl’s evening gown.
“I’m sorry”, she said. “Perhaps another night”.
“Um. perhaps not”.
Needing to visit your own state’s department of motor vehicles, or Secretary of State offices is another of my favorites. Even taking the time to be at the office a few minutes before it opens is frustrating because there is already a line of people waiting at the door, fists clenching some sort of paper to be processed. Through the glass door and large front windows you can see the staff is already at their front counter workstations. The clock visible on the inside wall then ticks past the 9:00 hour when the doors should be open. 9:01 passes, then 9:02. Finally some lumbering fat man with a yellow shirt, brown tie, handle bar mustache and no hair fumbles through a 5 inch ring of keys as he walks toward the door. He pauses for effect while facing the crowd still looking for the right key. An elderly woman behind me mouths the words, “Come on. COME. ON.” The throng begins to adjust their feet into sprint position as the door is unlocked. I take my ticket when I get my turn at the “Take a Number” kiosk. There are 15 people in front of me. Each patron takes at least 10 minutes at the service counter. I settled back into my hard plastic and uncomfortable bucket chair and wished I had brought snacks.
In my later years I began to appreciate the value of having somebody else change my car’s oil. A sacrilegious statement for anyone who grew up in the Motor City I know, because a real man changes his own damn oil. But beyond the age of 50, it becomes a literal pain in the ass to crawl around on a cold concrete garage floor fumbling around for the drain pan bolt and then get dirty oil pouring all over your hands. And so I now prefer to pay someone else to ruin their own shirt sleeves while I wait to get fresh automotive oil. The key word here is “wait”. With my last two cars, the dealership threw in a 36 month free package of oil changes and routine system checks when it was time for maintenance. So when I take the time to book my appointment in advance to snag the first available time slot of the day, I’d expect to get my oil change without the opportunity to watch a full length movie in the waiting room. “Momma always said life was like a box of chocolates”. Call me Forrest. They should have at least provided popcorn.
Waiting is something you CAN get good at with practice. During my traveling days, waiting became a normal part of each week’s beginning and end. Waiting for the airport shuttle bus to take you from your car to the terminal. Waiting for the plane to actually show up at the gate. Waiting for plane maintenance to complete or the incessant weather delays impacting departure. Waiting for the de-icing truck to hit the wings just one last time because the plane sat on the tarmac too long collecting snow. Waiting for slowpokes deplaning in front of you with heavy overhead baggage to just for God’s sake move along. Waiting for a cab at your destination city. Waiting for the customer’s security guard to let you into the building when you’re already late.
You tend to inhale and then exhale, settle back into a waiting area chair or bench when available and at least for me, close my eyes and think of something else calming while the second hand on your watch screams, “tick, tick, tick you feckless dweeb”. Having said all that in dramatic fashion, you learn to get good at waiting. I still don’t prefer it, but I’m good at it.
The Lake
Closing in on retirement, we started to think about selling off our little vacation cottage and our house close to work in order to consolidate those into a single retirement property. This was all about the time when my wife had beaten back a TNBC breast cancer diagnosis with a year of surgery, radiation and chemo therapy. IYKYK. Figuring that the least I could do was entertain her preferences for the type and location of retirement house, we looked for a modest piece of property with a water view. We found one, she loved it, but without a lake actually visible at the time of the home’s purchase. Let me explain this latest and most frustrating of waiting periods.
We chose a spot in Mid Michigan on a series of four connected lakes that had suffered multiple dam failures in 2020. The ensuing flood damaged or wiped out over 2,500 homes across two counties and took years to rebuild the water management infrastructure.
If you were a home owner on or near the lakes sitting withing the 100 year flood plain, it was the worst of times. If you were a prospective home buyer for a property above the flood plane, it was an opportunity to start fresh and stake a claim to a promise for a water view. Our Realtor talked a pretty good game with encouraging information about the city and county wanting to restore the damaged dams and the lake as quickly as possible. “It is lakefront property after all”, she said. We smiled, we liked the price, we bought the story and the house. That was 2022.
For years now we’ve looked out on what could only be characterized as a barren, unusable, muddy grassland. Calling it a swamp might be too harsh, but it is NOT picturesque. Yes we can see geese on the river that passes through the grassland and an occasional muskrat on the river bank seen with the help of binoculars. We do have an eagle that will swoop down on the open plain and find himself a meal in the form of a mouse or a mole; creatures that have made homes on what is supposed to be a lake bottom. But after all, it is not a lake.
Each year, we heard encouraging rumors about how the construction “would soon be complete” and our thoughts would race towards, “maybe next year”, but those expectations would quickly be dashed by the reality of more delays.
Waiting. I remembered that I hate waiting.
Late in 2024, a small group of homeowners from one of the four lakes opened a lawsuit to stop the entire restoration process. They were opposed to, among other things, any additional taxes that might be attached to their properties for the restoration. While funds were being provided by private donors, corporations and FEMA, some additional property tax would be levied on parcels around the lake. Improvements mean a property value increase too, but nobody likes more taxes. I get it, I do, but this is what lakefront ownership is. Their lawsuit however, stopped all construction, tied up the issue in state court and delayed the restoration further. Ask me what the rest of the property owners think about that small group bringing the suit. They’re not on anyone’s Christmas card list anymore I guarantee it. Put another way, if I ever have a chance to pee on their cornflakes, (figuratively of course), stand back and avoid the splash.
And so, I sit back in a comfortable chair and wait again because this year, finally this year, the largest dam will begin to raise the water level on the lake bed in April. The lawsuit was tossed out of court. The construction was finally completed. Water permits were obtained by the state, and we should begin to see actual water at the back of our house later this year. Er, I mean the front of the house. For some strange reason on a lake, the back of your house is referred to as the front. I don’t make the rules. I’m just sayin.
2026 is the year. It only took 6 years since the disaster to fix the broken dams and get to a point where the water levels can rise again. Only 6 years? Waiting. I know. More waiting. Only another month of waiting. But we are assured that all will be well and spirits will be restored in parallel to the lake’s return. That is unless there is some sort of unforeseen, additional delay.
Those words should have never come out of my mouth.
TFW Woodworking 