The note placed on my front door reads:
I left a magazine about Doomsday with you a few days ago. Would you like more reading material on the Bible?
Well, Jim, no thanks. Thank you for leaving me your mobile number, but I don’t think I’ll contact you today. I wasn’t going to post what I had written yesterday because it was a most grumbly sort of day. But your reminder about Doomsday made me reconsider.
Stuck at the car repair shop yesterday morning, I breathed in stale coffee and read ever more discouraging news related to humanity but disguised in politics. I don’t like places that sell, repair or talk about vehicles. I don’t know what my friends drive and tend to describe one’s car, if asked, as “small” or “big” or say things like “it’s a truck”. More than two weary hours later, I walked out with a $600 bill for a non-negotiable issue. Six hundred dollars! The guy had given me an estimate of $95. This did not make me happy.
Prior to the dismal car appointment, I was ambushed by a fellow kindergarten mom who began to rant about fluoride in the City’s water supply. This is a hot topic locally and personally I have no problem with fluoride in the water. I managed to tell the woman that I had trained in public health, and actually know a little bit about the issue, but she didn’t stop speaking.
Fluoride! My whole family is auto-immune! No sugar! No toxins! Poison! And obviously I didn’t vaccinate my children! Because Autism! Google it!
She actually told me to Google it. Oh dear. I had to get out of there. Suddenly I really wanted to go to the car appointment. She waved merrily and said she hoped to chat with me again sometime soon.
I should have called that guy Jim and then I wouldn’t have run into this woman.
This morning was what we call a Labrador morning. A gentle, ghostlike fog crept in at dawn and made the lawn look like crepe paper. We talked about the potential for rain – rain!? what’s that? It’s been so long I choose not to remember. After dropping the boys at school, I went home to find our dog pacing, smiling, wriggling. He knew it was a Labrador morning.
While he whimpered madly, I located a tennis ball and we half-ran, half-walked to the park. He weighs 84 pounds and is a seven-year-old puppy. Running is the only thing that calms him down.
I could learn a thing or two from my dog, so I’m heading out for a run now.