Saturday, July 21, 2012

A Story That Ends With An Angel

The goal of yesterday's trolley was 25% errands and 75% loafing.  We left mid-morning so we could picnic at a Mississippi River roadside park.  The weather was ideal, with temps in the high 80s.

Our first stop was the hamburger stand.  Second stop a picnic table.  Families were embarking on a weekend on the river and avid fishermen were anchoring by the wing dams.  Some prefer fishing above the dams, others below.

We sat there watching the weekend open, thinking back to the days we were the ones out there boating and water skiing.  Anywhere from four to twenty-four of us would gather on a sand bar and secure our tent stakes in the sand.  Life was so slaphappy back then, and all we had to do for two days was lay around in the sun, swim, ski, sip cold refreshments, laugh, eat, and go back home with sand in our pants, dreading work on Monday.

Well, it's not such a bad gig now to sit on the bleachers.  Another generation is taking over where we left off, and that's as it should be.  One thing about life, if we live it to the hilt, there's no room for feeling sorry for ourselves. There's only so much juice we can squeeze out of a grapefruit!

We are very much drawn to the magestic landscapes carved by the glaciers of long ago, and we have favorite niches where we return over and over and over again.  One such nook is beside a secluded trout stream, and it's our style to turn off the ignition, roll down the windows, recline our seats, and take a half-hour nap.  It's much like recharging a cell phone.  The trout were swimming in the water, and hubby's first words were, "Can you believe I left my fish pole at home."

Our trolley was on the homeward swing when we heard a beep and a dash light appeared.  "Low Tire Pressure."  What?  Hubby  pulled over to the side of the road and checked, and all four tires seemed okay.  We kept going, and then it was obvious we were in trouble.  A flat tire, and we knew exactly why. Shingles, and nails, had slipped off of a wagon.  We had no choice but to drive over them, cuz there were cars in front of us, back of us, and coming toward us.

Hubby got us off the highway and parked in driveway.  We called Roadside Assistance, which we never had to do before.  Oh, what an epiphany that was.  By the time they determined where our vehicle was stalled and finally understood we had a flat tire, we could easily have driven to Boston.  Then were told to expect a wait of at least 2 hours before assistance would arrive.

Oh, great!  Hubby finally told them to forget it.  We got out of the car to change the tire ourselves.  (Actually, that should be himself.)  Both of us were wearing orange shirts, which we didn't plan, so we must've looked like a couple of misplaced pumpkins pondering a plan for the tire the size of a Kwik Star donut and the jack the size of an egg beater.

Poof!......just like in the fairy tales......a young man driving a pickup, surrounded by a cloud of dust, appeared, "Do you need help?"  He eagerly jumped out of his pickup, smiled, "Here, let me help you."  The first word to fly through my mind was "angel."   What are the chances of a tire mechanic magically appearing!  Yes, he was truly a tire mechanic by trade.

Hubby offered him a tip, but he didn't want to take anything.  He said when he was a little boy his mother told him that if he ever came upon someone who needed help, he was supposed to stop and help.  We insisted he buy himself a treat and thanked him for being so thoughtful.

Never despair.  We're not alone down here!

This is the Life