Thursday, July 16, 2015

Running Late

People warned me this would happen. "Now that she's getting ready to go off to university, prepare yourself," they said. "She might get a little lippy with you. It's just her way of starting to spread her wings before she leaves the nest."

 My daughter? Never.

 And then this morning, I was sitting at the kitchen counter, doing what I do every morning. Sipping coffee and Facebooking. I said, "Hey Sophia, what should I write about for this week's column? Give me some ideas." She looks at me, eyebrows raised, and said in an exasperated tone, "Really, mom? Why do you always wait until the last minute?"

 My daughter, my precious little angel, is getting ready to fly away. It's so cute. And totally annoying.

Not that she doesn't have a point. For the last umpteen years, as long as she's been alive, basically, I've been the kind of person who pushes deadlines.

For 13 years, I dropped my daughter off for school with less than 5 minutes to spare every time. And sometimes I had to call the office and explain her my tardiness.  If I have somewhere 15 minutes away at 7pm, I leave the house at 6:45. I never show up early to anything, just ask my husband. He will totally back up my daughter on this one. If you asked him what he likes least about me it would be that I never show up early, and sometimes I'm late.

I'm the 14 year old who showed up to the premiere of the first Indiana Jones movie just as he was moving the monkey idol off of its stand in the cave, so I watched Harrison Ford run from the giant rolling boulder while standing in the middle of the aisle, much to the irritation of pretty much everyone else behind me.

I'm the student who totally should've been appointed as Editor-In-Chief of my high school newspaper, and wasn't. When I asked my journalism teacher why I ended up Editorial Editor instead, Mr. Wells said, "You're good, but you never make your deadlines!" Couldn't argue there.

I'm the gal who missed the only northbound flight out of town to Seattle to attend a wedding and sat crying on the sidewalk in front of the airport because I didn't realize just how early I had to show up to get through security.

I'm the gal who once (and only once) showed up 15 minutes after I was supposed to be onstage to introduce a performance at the Cascade Theatre. And if you're wondering, yeah, the show will go on without me. You should've seen the look on Todd Tracy's face when I walked in the door. "Are you here to introduce the show?" he said. Of course I was! "No you're not," said Todd.

So Wednesday evening as I was leaving work to go home, change and return to introduce Lyle Lovett & his Large Band, I waved goodbye to the crew at the Cascade and said, "See you at 7:30!" and just before the door closed someone said, "7:15!!!!!"

So there you have it. It's been well established. There are plenty of witnesses ready and willing to testify that I'm almost never early, usually there at the last possible moment, and often-times a moment too late.

But not today, friends. I got this puppy finished long before my deadline...whatever my deadline is, I'm not even sure. Seems like usually I'm until almost midnight, long past the time that Doni has gone to bed, and my column usually ends up in the inbox of her son Joe, who's just waking up to his Friday in the Czech Republic. Not this time, Joe. Not this time.

All hope is not lost for me though. I hope. I figure I'm just setting myself up to someday live up to my favorite quote of all time, no matter who you think said it first: motorcycle racer Bill McKenna (who's version involves skidding to the finish line leaking oil), Seattle octogenarian Mavis Leyrer (who's version adds a glass of bubbly in hand and yelling "Holy Shit!"), or gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson's weirdly tame version:


Enjoy today's Running Late playlist, which is not, coincidentally, late at all. Just click on the Spotify play arrow in the box below, or scroll through the list to check out the songs.


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