Ohio Girl

The leaves have all hit the ground and are hanging about in wet piles around my garage. The farm fields I passed on the way to my folks’ for Thanksgiving were all vacant. And we have had our first lake effect snowstorms here in the land of Cleve. Winter is upon us. (If only this freakish-global warming-60 degrees-BS would oblige.) And that means the NASCAR season has ended. Lucky for me, and those like me, who drown the doldrums of the everyday in Bud Light and fast cars (I am trying to be romantic)—just as the end of the 2005 season marks winter’s march, the beginning of 06 will herald the start of its retreat. Sort of. You get my metaphor. Or is it a simile?

The race at Homestead turned out just as I had hoped. Stewart won the championship. Johnson choked. And the Julia Roberts of NASCAR—Carl Edwards—came in third. Biffle won the race and pulled off a second in points. (Bifff-Fuuull!) All that’s left is the awards banquet in New York where the drivers will swap their fire suits for tuxedos and will all show up with the same date. (Seriously, can anyone tell the NASCAR girlfriends apart?) I plan to tune in if only to see what will happen with 10^th place driver Kurt Busch. He is entitled to a speech at the podium, but after being suspended from his team, will he show? Or will he use the time to say exactly how he felt about the suspension?

I have started knitting again. The perfect winter activity. I put up the Christmas tree complete with my Dale, Jr. ornaments. I will trade Bud for egg nog and I will funnel my Go Smoke energy into Go Bengals! Sorry Cleveland, I will always be a Southern Ohio Girl at heart.

Drama… the likes of which I have not seen since Alexis and Crystal were punching each other in the pool on Dynasty; one of them shouting out “you bitch” to the other. Of course, if someone had said the ‘b’ word during yesterday’s race the brouhaha would have been even bigger. You just can’t curse on television like you used to--the good old days. Not during family-oriented sports, anyhow. But I digress.

The drama did begin with a ‘b.’ Kurt Busch--reigning NASCAR Cup Champion, competitor in this year’s chase race, and all around grumpy guy—was suspended by car owner Jack Roush for the remainder of the season. Out. See you later. Don’t let the door hit you in the arse.

Tension has been high around the 97 team ever since Busch announced his plans to go to Penske and asked be let out of his contract to do so immediately in 2006. And despite his success, Kurt Busch has not been the easiest driver to deal with. He can be taunting and belligerent and has shown a general disregard for authority. (Of course why the latter is a shock coming from a sport born out of Appalachian shine-running escapes me.) One can understand Roush may have not been feeling generous when Kurt stepped in it big time. He was pulled over this weekend and charged with reckless driving and reportedly shared his winning personality with police.

On the other hand, despite accusations that there was alcohol involved, there is no evidence to corroborate this. (The sheriff reported that the breathalyzer device ‘failed.’) The sheriff, who was happy to be interviewed on television about the incident, also seemed to have a chip on his shoulder that at least rivals Busch. Innocent until proven guilty I say and the hearing isn’t until December. I think old Jack found a way to punish Busch and he went for it.  

But the junior Busch found a way to do some punishing of his own. Also formerly involved with Roush racing and now a rising star with the Hendricks team, Kurt’s little brother Kyle Busch, as well as Greg Biffle, pretty much set the pace for the day. Busch led and was overcome by Biffle only to go back by Biffle--who drives a Roush car--to take the win. Upon arriving in victory circle Busch defended his brother. In your eye Jack. That was the subtext.

Stewart finished ahead of Johnson, as did Edwards, maintaining his points lead by 52. Next week is it. And then it’s on to 2006.

…I just got an automated message from Michigan International Speedway . The disjointed voice kept saying, “It’s not too late. It’s not too late to renew for the 2006 season.” But the emphasis was on the first part; repeated and emphatic. I deleted the message with a sense of foreboding about what might happen when it IS too late…

It is has been a week. My sleep schedule is still altered, but in an advantageous way. I have shifted from an insomnia-plagued night-owl to an energetic early-riser. It can’t last.

I was worried that being surrounded by the beauty of the sea in Greece would ruin Lake Erie for me. I was wrong. I returned for my favorite time of year; the lake and the sky merged into shades of pale blue and steel grey. And all of it framed by the yellow, orange and red of the trees.

I went to the gym. A few of the regulars greeted me with questions about my absence. When I said I had been out of the country I was met with raised eye brows and dubious nods as if I were passing out a lame excuse for laziness.

The pictures are back. They are strange to look at; like I am a character in a comic strip about my trip. Pictures are always anti-climatic.

The eagle landed; a package containing three tapes of the three NASCAR races I missed. My sister-in-law is some kind of patron saint of the VCR. Charlotte : a cluster**** of blown tires and spins. Martinsville : yawn, Gordon won it again. Atlanta : fast and furious capped with back flip. I watched Texas live and in-person from my third-hand easy chair. I am rooting for Stewart, who still holds the points lead, but it is hard not to get roped into the momentum of Edwards. He speaks articulately and humbly and thanks his Mom a lot and has that plow-boy smile and drives the hell out of his car. **Heavy, day-dreamy sigh** He won for the second week in a row. I do love to watch him flip. 

I have been having the same dream since my return…Steep, cobblestone streets. Palaces and domes. A mosque surrounded by the faithful; men washing their feet, women--I fantasize--coyly covered. Warm, apple tea with charming, incorrigible men who have a dozen ways to describe the green of my eyes. The feel of rain and the smell of kebab all at once. Smoking from a tall, ornate, water pipe with Abdullah…dreams of Istanbul; a city where I did not even scratch the surface.