luckyredhead

(aka: Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign)

Wednesday I got my 1st COVID-19 vaccination, and afterward Mom & I got frappacinos and lemon iced pound cake to celebrate. Pretty straightforward.

Today I took Mom for her 1st vaccination, and planned on the same celebration afterwards. What transpired next began innocently enough, but was soon far from straightforward. 

Using the Sat Nav in the parking lot of the facility where she was vaccinated to locate the nearest Starbucks, we set out. Happily looking forward to it, we’re chatting away, as I follow the indicated rights and lefts. 

Traveling down Philadelphia Avenue in Boyertown, Sat Nav lady – in her British accent – instructs me to take a left down Madison St. I naively trust her. As I come to the first “Stop” sign I know this isn’t going to end well. Mom is positive that her Google map and Sat Nav have got to know where we are, but the reality is I’ve just pulled into a High School parking lot.

A “Do Not Enter” sign prevents another ubie. Am left to cruise around to locate the legal exit, and get the hell back onto Philadelphia Ave. We take a parallel road to where Sat Nav originally sent us, and finally get back on track for our celebratory treat.

We’ve arrived at a shopping center, which looks promising enough, when the announcement, “You have reached your destination”, put us in front of a Giant grocery store.  

I put down the window, and in typical Philadelphian style, call out to the nearest 20-something dude, “Hey, is there a Starbucks around here?” He points to the Giant, and saying it’s inside. Facepalm moment for me, and we pull into a parking space to regroup.  

Find another between us, and home. Call first, to verify it is a drive through! Okie dokie, put the new address into Sat Nav, and off we go. Everything is going smoothly. I even know whereabouts the next shopping center is, and wonder why Sat Nav is taking me off the main highway?  

I’m not really concerned though because we’re on a parallel road, and I figure it is another way there. That would be a big N O. The road dead ends, with a “Dead End” sign (really?) within sight of the intersection that I was to turn had I just stayed on the highway. Mom is now ready to just go home, but of course I am far too stubborn to be defeated. Especially when I am so close to success!

So, I make a joke, and yet another ubie, ‘cause by now it’s coming up on noon and breakfast was at 4:30. Mostly though, because the lemon cake is calling to me like some siren’s song to my audibly rumbling belly. 

Back to the highway, up through to the light, and dodging potholes the size of bird baths, we get into the shopping center. After driving around and around and not finding the damn place, (I’ve pulled over and parked, AGAIN) Mom is looking on Google maps to see which store Starbucks is next to. 

Back out again, déjà vu past the pot holes and re-enter the shopping center. A tiny, as in Kodak-Film-Drop-Off-Shack tiny, Starbucks is next to Chili’s. At 12:09 the line is 15 cars long. We wait. Today I’m treating, so I tell Mom I’m getting extra lemon slices for the weekend, so Kevin gets some too. We’re stoked by now.

I order our drinks, 6 lemon slices, and 2 chocolate croissants. Surprise! No lemon slices or croissants are left. I ask, “What do you have?” I ordered banana nut slices for myself, and Kevin. Mom got a red velvet slice.  

We didn’t get what we were expecting, but we were still happy with what we got. Despite our adventurous (mis)navigation, or maybe because of it. Certainly helped to be able to laugh about it, on a full stomach, as we drove home. Without using Sat Nav.

When does the ordinary become the extraordinary? During a moment one experiences the beauty of being alive.

It’s a foggy misty morning, and I am having a tea on my porch. No work today. Observing the morning routine of several “stranger” neighbors. (as in unnamed) I am rarely around – so we nod in passing. I was able to “Good morning” a few today.

Once upon a time I wouldn’t dream of being seen in my nightgown and bathrobe sitting outside like this. Now I’m at an age where I do what I please, and without regard of what anyone thinks of me.

Even watching traffic is somehow special as it adds to the melody of various bird calls. I saw a few school buses, and smiled at memories of those days.

Three mourning doves playing on the steps directly across the street are reminding me of my late Grandmother, and times spent enjoying the day on her front steps.

Anyway, glad I changed routine when the opportunity presented itself, to sit here and experience the joy of being alive, surrounded by the beautifully extraordinary ordinary.

Gratitude is the Attitude.

It actually started long before the insignificant event of a toothache, and a trip to the dentist. When the dentist told me I’d required a root canal, and a crown, and what it would cost, I’d never expected that to be the harbinger of the end of my marriage.

For several years after losing my job I was told what a burden I was, financially, to the family. Never mind that there were years when I was the one working, while my spouse went through several operations, and he was unable to work as a result. We’d struggled then as well, yet I never once placed blame because I knew we would manage somehow.

When I got home after getting the news from the dentist, my husband exploded at the cost, and insisted I have the tooth yanked rather than saving it. He’d responded, and as far as I was concerned, for the last time, “You’re a burden on this family. Get a job if you want dental coverage.” Our insurance didn’t cover it, so it was out-of-pocket. I’d refused to lose a tooth, because I know my worth, regardless of anyone else’s view. So, in an effort to be responsible, I’d shopped around getting the best quote available and booked the necessary appointments.

He gave me the silent treatment for 3 days, and was colder than a witch’s tit in winter towards me thereafter. And that was when I’d had The Final Straw.

I hired an attorney. Spent weeks going through all my belongings, giving away to charity what I couldn’t use or didn’t need, and putting the rest in a storage facility nearby. It took me from June to August, when I finally told my adult son that I would be divorcing his Father.

Two weeks later, I made the announcement to my husband. I’d written what I wanted to say on a piece of paper, that I’d tucked into my bra. I knew that words would fail me if I didn’t have them in my hand as a talisman to get through it.

The three of us were out in the backyard, my son on the pool deck with me, and my husband in the water. It was the day before our son was to return to college, but I was actually worried what might happen if I were to tell my husband while we were alone. It was traumatic, for all involved. My husband exited the pool without a word, going into the house with a stricken look on his face as I wept. Our son stayed a moment with me, and then went to look after his Dad.

Three weeks later I left for the UK. My husband and I went to the airport together. My fervent hope was that we’d remain friends, and with that in mind I took nothing from him. The house is still half mine, with the understanding we’d save it for our son.

That was September 11th, 2015. I have had an amazing journey since then that has given me a joie de vivre that had been missing from my life. As a woman forging a new path that was completely unexpected after 32 years of marriage, I can say that along the way I have found myself again.

My advice to anyone taking the time to read this is, “Carpe the hell outta that Diem, baby. This ain’t no dress rehearsal.” If you have the right attitude, The Final Straw can set you free.