I turned out of the driveway at the height of an early morning mist, the windshield wipers clicking busily in an effort to give me clear sight of the road ahead. For awhile I thought my glasses were dirty but I remembered cleaning them just before I left the house. I turned up the heat and the fan and the windshield cleared.
I decided to drive in on the 9th, avoiding the 401 and the trucks that I knew would swamp me with the spray from the fast-moving wheels. I had lots of time, and there is something extraordinarily peaceful about driving through the rolling countryside, the corn now taken in and the fields freshly furrowed. It feels like breath.
I dropped the car off for servicing then pulled the foot long ‘to do’ list from my pocket. I had time to go to Wal-Mart before picking up the car. I don’t particularly like shopping there, but it is the only real department store locally, at least at this end of town. I entered the store a few minutes before 9 am. Already people were shopping, not many, but I was surprized to see anyone. Other than the Greeter the store seemed rather empty as I roamed the aisles looking for light bulbs for my outdoor Xmas lights, a new timer, toys for kids and an assortment of other items all conveniently located at opposite ends of the store. On my rounds I noticed all the employees gathering to the west side of hardware and as I wandered further afield I heard them cheering. Is this a daily ‘warm-up’ ritual I wondered? It took me 45 minutes to find the five items on my list.
The car was a shiny fire engine red once again. You have to love a garage that not only changes the oil and puts on your winter tires, but also washes your car. I think the last time it was washed was during the last oil change! As I drove from the Nissan dealership, the car felt new, accept for the four tires piled up on my back seat in mud caked plastic bags.
Next was the five-week hair treatment. The grey on my head was once again leaking through my brown locks. As I parked the car I puzzled over the really important points of any woman’s ‘do’ – should I cut my growing locks, should I change the color, does my hair age me or make me look younger? As I plopped my bottom into Nicole’s chair, the usual greeting erupted from her lips, “So what are we doing today?” I am very glad she is competent and that she knows what to do with my uncertainty. Two hours later I emerged with a slightly new layered look, taming my lengthening locks and a new colour, somewhere between auburn and chestnut brown. Whatever, like my shiny newish car, I felt buffed and polished too!
Next to my favorite cafe for a latte and date square. I had conveniently forgotten to pack my Isagenix Protein Bar and thought the cafe to be a perfect place to catch my breath before tackling the rest of the errands. I settled in with my coffee and Micheal Beckwith’s book, Spiritual Liberation. It feels like an academic version of ME FIRST – If I Should Wake Before I Die, and I am loving the poetry of his words.
“When you fully participate in life you courageously venture into unexplored territory, aspects of being you didn’t know existed because you kept on settling, surviving, conducting life as usual, in a state of mediocrity. Be bold enough to step out without knowing how things will end up but trusting enough to break through the safety net you have created for yourself.”
Three young women were gathered at the table beside me, chattering away in french. One of the three was breast-feeding her infant, no more than a few weeks old, still red-faced and wrinkled. I did not want to stare but I was totally drawn into their energy, that look of motherly bliss and love on the woman’s face as her babe lay across her lap. This was unconditional love at it best.
The remainder of that day passed in stops – starts as I finished the remainder of my errands, finally heading home at dusk, the mist still embracing the car. I felt very settled however, a day away from the office and computers and phones and the everyday busyness. We all need a day on the town from time to time.
Until next time…
Betty