Blondie and the LunchTruck

There I was driving up Union Street minding my own business, following a state dump truck. The speed limit on that street varies depending on what neighborhood and town you are traveling through, but generally it doesn't go over 45 mph. The day was warm and sunny, the air kissed with coolness just enough to be comfortable. I was in no particular hurry.

Suddenly a silver roach coach (patty wagon, lunch bucket, sandwich salon) appeared in my rear view mirror. I had not seen it approach, wasn't sure where it had come from. But it was entirely too close to my back bumper. It felt like there was hardly a hair's breadth between us. "Hey! Back off!" I wanted to yell, gazing in my mirror, craning my neck to see who was driving.

Instead of some big burly construction type that I was expecting to see, I discovered a diminutive young girl. She was probably in her mid twenties and could barely see over the steering wheel. She was obviously in a hurry, likely late for coffee break business somewhere. I could read the anxiety on her face, see her gesturing wildly for me to get out of her way.

"Not gonna help if I move, blondie," I thought. "I can't go any faster than the truck in front of me and neither can you." That apparently made no difference to her. The hand gestures were becoming a bit obscene as she nosed closer to the line in the middle of the road, trying to see if she could pass me despite the solid line. Now I was more than a bit worried. She was driving dangerously - the kind of person you want to let by you so they don't cause an accident.

We were coming up to a light. Surely she would just have to wait it out. But no - she pulled into the turn lane and gunned it, zipping past me, past the dump truck and past the pick up in front of that, swooshing straight through the red light without turning just before oncoming traffic would have wiped her out. I could see her blond hair flipping back and forth as she gripped the steering wheel, gritting her teeth, determined to meet whatever deadline was driving her.

Surely one touch from her tense hands would curdle the cream and sour the milk in her lunch basket. What on earth! I reached my turnoff not a block later, glad to be rid of such a nuisance. As I tooled along on Spencerport Road, a car pulled out right in front of me, going slow. "Hey buddy," I thought. "The speed limit here is 45, not 20. Push that foot down on the pedal and get your jalopy moving." I edged closer, thinking to wake him up and encourage him to go faster. After all, I do have a doctor's appointment. At this rate I will be late.

I nosed my car towards the middle line in the road to see if I could pass the old cout when suddenly I realized *I* was blondie! How horrible! What I detest in someone else had reared its ugly head in me. Ashamed, I pulled back in place and slowed down, backing off. Three speed demons zipped by the two of us, crossing a solid line to do so, and I waved and smiled at them all. Today, I will not be rude, no sir. After all, doctors often keep me waiting, so if I am a wee bit late, what does it matter? At least I will not irritate this person in front of me.

I flipped my definitely un-blonde hair and turned on the radio. We will get there when we get there and not a moment before. No sense making everyone miserable along the way.

Compline

At last the season has begun. The downtown church faithfully presents their compline services starting with the first Sunday in October - today. I look forward to this treat, though I cannot convince my boys to try it. It is better than drugs (my friend's description of true religion!), this blessing, this reminder of God's grace, goodness and provision, this pronouncement of uplifting words that remind us we are not alone, alleviates our anxieties, brings us into the presence of God. It is good.

Once again the sanctuary is lighted by a hundred candles, the soft light accenting beauty and hiding scariness. Once again the singers in their long brown monk's robes silently file onto the platform, form a circle, lay their music folders on stands surrounded by flickering candles. Once again the music begins from nothing, first one voice, then joined by others, repeating familiar and yet strange words, joining us with medieval monasteries and futuristic sacred places, calling out to God to remember His children.

We are here Lord. Do not forget us. Give us peaceful sleep and quiet nights. Take our burdens. Unite us with your other children. Now let your servant go in peace. Our Father. Ave Maria. The sounds float in and out of unity, filling the entire vaulted ceiling, reverberating throughout the entire building, a beacon straight up towards heaven, like shining a flashlight into the darkness.

The church is filled. People have discovered Compline and flock together for the comfort, the blessing. They are all ages, in all stages of life. They come to seek God. They come to seek the comfort of music. They come to hear the Words of the Lord. They sit quietly, drinking it in, some praying, some resting, some numb from life's blows. We add our heart to the singers' song, hear us O Lord.

Too quickly the time disappears, the music barely begun floats upwards and away, the service concludes as singers swish silently from the platform, music folders closed, eyes downcast. The ethereal vibrations still hold us transfixed as the priests slowly make their way to the singers' stands and begin extinguishing the candles. We are loathe to leave, awaiting every last crumb of comfort.

I tiptoe silently outside, filled with the wonder of the glorious sounds, the ancient texts, the opulence of the architecture. It was good. I am glad they have not given up on this service. I will come again.

The Seagull and the Apple

I had been craving a scone for the longest time, and refusing to give in to the desire because I often can't properly digest them and end up having to walk it off literally. Today, I just needed a bit of something, so I stopped at Starbucks to get one.

You never know what flavor they may have, and there are a number of them that I won't even try - no cinnamon, no maple syrup (yuck), no raspberry (seeds), the frosted ones are too sweet, and I don't really care for the pumpkin. They have yet to discover peach, but they do a decent cherry and blueberry.

The absolute best scone I have ever had was at a cactus park in Arizona, of all places! Who would have thought you would find a real English tearoom in the middle of the desert??!!! I was not expecting it at all. I had thoroughly enjoyed walking around the paths, seeing the hundreds of varieties of cacti, feeling the warm sun in winter, enjoying the mild climate, taking in the grandeur of the mountains.

I was mostly thirsty, but also a bit hungry, though my tummy wasn't in a mood for anything heavy or greasy. As I perused the menu, it was the fresh fruit that caught my attention. The scone and fresh cream didn't mean anything to me until it arrived and I suddenly realized what a treat was set before me.

I have to admit, I didn't bother to stand on ceremony, just gobbled it down hungrily, practically moaning with every bite of sumptuous delectable delicacy. The tangyness of the strawberries and succulence of the blueberries and melon were such a sharp contrast to the light whipped cream and the moist texture of the scone it made your mouth water before during and after each bite. Starbucks can't hold a candle to that. I am told there is a real English tearoom here in Rochester, but the $35 price tag is a bit much to get past.

Anyway, I lucked out and Starbucks had one blueberry scone left. Unusual for them, the berries were plump and filled with moisture. I was a bit sad that they didn't have the capacity to warm it up (listen to me, what a spoiled brat!), but I thankfully took the little brown sack and headed to the car to do the "drive the kids to the next event" thing.

As I stepped off the curb, I was startled by a flutter of wings on the ground next to me. A rusty brown seagull was making a ruckus over a mid-sized green apple rolling about on the ground. As I watched, the bird pecked the apple, trying to gouge off a piece. The apple merely rolled to one side and the little bit dropped to the ground. Apparently the bird couldn't pick it up off the ground because of its hooked beak and it squawked and spluttered and hopped about madly (maybe not as mad as a wet hen, but definitely riled).

Again and again it attacked the rolling apple. Again and again a tiny shred splattered on the ground, out of reach. Juice from the apple was spattering all over, wetting the blacktop, releasing its pungent fragrance. Two other birds flew down to see what the commotion was about. As soon as they discovered the apple fracas, they swooped away, as if they knew the hopelessness of the situation.

I watched this peculiar dance for awhile, amazed at the bird's determination, rooting for the successful consumption of at least one little piece. That crazy apple dodged and darted and dashed about as if trying to avoid the razor stabs of the seagull's sharp beak. What a bizarre game, this hopping and pecking and squawking was. Just as I was about to give up and get in my car, the apple rolled over a drain and got stuck between the slats of the iron slots.

The bird went wild pecking at the now stationary apple, tossing bits and pieces everywhere but into its mouth. It was practically raining cider and the gull kept flapping its wings wildly to keep from getting stuck to itself. At last it managed to break off a fairly sizable chunk which landed on its foot. After flapping about a bit, the chunk was tossed onto the grass where the wily bird tipped its head sideways and scooped the piece into its mouth.

Such cawing and crowing you have never heard. You would have thought an olympic medal had been won. The other birds fluttered back down, hopping about and chattering, pecking gingerly at the stuck apple, but not managing to get anything out of it. The victorious bird sailed away triumphant, content with one taste.

I shook my head and climbed in the car. Good thing I don't have to work that hard for one bite of apple! Maybe Eve should have taken a lesson.